Page 87 of Fauxmance

Marco was obviously three sheets to the wind. Either that, or he'd taken something right before the wedding because the guy tripped over his own feet more than once. He was even slurring his words as they said the vows, botching his intended's name and calling her something that sounded like "Pifflippa." Hayden wasn't the only one who snickered at that. I felt so bad for the bride, but she didn't seem too embarrassed. Her face held a cold smile the entire ceremony, and when it came time for the kiss—my #1 favorite part of any wedding—it was over in a blink. Literally. I closed my eyes for half-a-second, and they were already done, walking (or in Marco's case, stumbling) down the aisle and out the door.

Hayden raised a brow after they'd passed by.

"So, what'd you think?" he asked.

I nodded, trying to put a positive spin on things. "It was nice. The way she supported him on the way out was very…sweet."

Hayden started laughing.

And he didn't stop until we walked into the reception area.

At least he wasn't scowling anymore.

#

"Time for the hard part," Hayden said. "My parents are just over there, talking with Grandma Constance. The aunts and uncles are there, too. It looks like a Davenport reunion or something."

I gulped.

"You ready for this?"

"As I'll ever be," I said, putting strength into my voice. "Do I look okay?"

Hayden shook his head. "No."

My face scrunched at that.

"You don't look okay," he said, taking my hand and lifting it to his lips. "You're stunning. Every guy in here wishes they were me right now. You're the most beautiful person in the room."

His lips brushed my skin, leaving a scorching kiss there.

"Wow," I murmured, "you're really good at the whole acting thing."

"I'm good at a lot of things." Hayden winked, laying one last kiss on my hand. "Remember what I said, Maggie."

All right, it was official. I was never washing my hand again.

With a silent nod, I let Hayden lead me toward the center of the room. There was a fairly large gathering of people, all Davenports, all very chic. I recognized Hayden's father immediately from the scrapbook photos. Several of the other faces I could put names to as well, and I was grateful to Hayden for arming me with the knowledge beforehand. There were a few people I didn't recognize, and I assumed they were the spouses of Constance Davenport's kids. I hadn't seen any pictures of them.

It struck me then.

I didn't even know what Hayden's mother looked like. Would she be haughty like Constance? Or laidback like Hayden?

I was just about to ask which one was her when—

"Hey, Dad," Hayden said. "Long time, no see."

Hayden's father gave him a half-smile, and it was so reminiscent of Hayden's I had to do a double-take.

"So, the prodigal son returns," he said.

"Yep."

"Glad to see you're still alive."

"You, too, old man," Hayden said. Despite what he claimed, I could tell there was some affection between Hayden and his dad. It sent a pang through my chest. I missed that, wanted to tell him to enjoy it while he could. But that would probably sound preachy, and sometimes you didn't know what you had until it was gone. "Did you miss me?"

"Of course. Your mother certainly did, so I'm glad you're back." Mr. Davenport's eyes moved over to me, and when he spoke, he sounded curious if a bit cool. "And I see you're not alone. Who's this?"

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