Page 4 of The Wedding Crush

Wait, what?

“Oh, my goodness, it’s like a dream in there. It’s elegant and charming, and the food and the English tea sandwiches…” Avery moans, clearly unaffected by me or my fishing bait. “And Victoria is having a ball.”

So, maybe no one has seen the post yet.

Cool relief rushes through me and my stride quickens. Suddenly, the tension in my shoulders loosens and I feel lighter, giddy. I’m impressed. The corners of my mouth tug downward, lower lip protruding. I’m nodding to myself as the larger-than-life white tent beams into the path before us.

Yes, this is good.

“Now, English tea sandwiches, you say? Are those the ones with the smoked salmon—”

I toss her a sidelong glance just as she stumbles over a clump of grass. She tips forward, and I grab her elbow, steadying her on her feet.

We’re stopped just short of the tent’s entrance.

Her chest rises and falls like she’s self-soothing.

“You all right, there?” I ask, inspecting her dress, making sure she’s okay before we join the party. “Still perfect.”

Her bright brown eyes snap to mine.

But then, slowly, she squares her shoulders to me, and closes the distance between us.

Our proximity hits me head-on, and I’m frozen.

“Thank you,” she says, quietly.

Before I know what’s happening, she reaches up and straightens my tie, and I’m blindsided.

A woman who isn’t my wife—ex-wife—is touching me.

I don’t know how to respond, or if I should.

But my body does.

On an instinctual level, every inch of my body reacts. I’m unnerved by the intimacy of Avery’s touch, and she’s only adjusting my tie. I’m zeroed in on the ease with which she moves. How comfortable she is as she smooths her hands along the lapels and shoulders of my suit jacket as if she’s done this a million times. As if each slow drag of delicate fingers over the invisible wrinkles doesn’t set my skin ablaze through the taut fabric.

My breathing shallows, coming in tiny staccato gasps as I scrutinize the soft curves of her face.

I didn’t make any hard and fast vows to “never date another woman again.” Honestly, I’m still coming to terms with the fact that my marriage failed. My confidence is knocked. I’ve been out of the dating game so long. Do I even remember how to approach women? Will they want me when my divorce is so recent? What if I get rejected? What if I don’t have the stamina? Jesus, what if gray hair is an instant deal-breaker?

I don’t have all the answers yet, but I know I don’t want to spend the rest of my life pretending it doesn’t feel good to have a beautiful woman’s hands on me.

“Listen, Stefano.” Avery steps back, her gaze softening, searching. “I know you’ve got a lot going on personally….”

“Let me guess, you saw the post.” Avery hums her agreement and I shrug it off because of course she has. Of course everyone has. “Well, I guess we know what’s going to happen when I walk in there…”

Dammit.

“Healing from a divorce while your ex is moving on can’t be easy, Stefano, but…”

My neck and jaw stiffen.

I’m dying to know what comes after thatbut. I’m waiting with bated breath to hear what sunny silver lining she’ll tack on the end of that bruised sentence to make my life all better.

But then she surprises me.

“Today can’t be about you, though,” she says.

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