Page 58 of The Wedding Crush

“Okayyy,” I say, stepping back and swiping my phone off the kitchen island. “I think it’s safe to say the tango is off the table.”

Stefano drags a hand over his face.

I’m humiliated with regret swarming inside me, yet he’s visibly relieved.

Averting my gaze, my focus snags.

It’s while I’m staring at the tan line on his finger, utterly confused why he stopped the kiss that my mind mercifully pivots.

“That’s it!” The song barges through my hazy embarrassment and lightbulbs in my mind. “Jagged Edge. ‘Let’s Get Married’ with Rev Run!”

Despite the awkwardness, Stefano nods and smiles. “It’s perfect.”

“Right?! It’s upbeat, wedding-themed, danceable,” I list, getting excited about our—hopefullylimited touching—routine, rather than my libido raging wildly against me.

I’ve been physically rejected and I’m horny as hell, but we’ve got a song!

Silver linings.

With the music pumping from his word-class entertainment center, I scarf down a sandwich, polish off my champagne, and we put together some semblance of four eight-counts that, with practice, should gain us the crown.

Eventually, I gather my things to leave, tucking the tiny cactus in the crook of his couch to discover later. Stefano walks me to the door, and with a terribly awkward side hug, I step out into the hall.

Only when I hear the door snick closed, I can’t whip my phone out fast enough.

SISTER CIRCLE CHAT

Avery

911!!!

The entire drive home, I bring my girls up to speed on the Stefano saga—minus the kiss because I’m the only one allowed to freak out, right now. Deep down, the second he pulled back, I sensed his mental combat, so I’m only half relieved when Monica contends that our emotions are running high and that I shouldn’t draw any conclusions just yet. So, I’m going to take my cue from him, we all agree.

Real simple.

It’s not like my emotions—and now, my libido—are involved or anything.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Stefano

Aweek later,the wedding party erupts in applause as I enter the private wine-tasting room at Il Sapore.

“Ayyy! There he is. The man, the myth…” Dante, up off his chair, and striding toward me, beams like I’m the man of the hour as he slaps a heavy-handed arm over my shoulder and fist-pumps the air “…the legend!”

More cheers.

It’s a bit much, if you ask me, but I play along.

For the past twenty minutes, I’ve been circling the block looking for parking. Not surprising, I’ve learned my lesson that arriving last means I’ll be in the spotlight.

“Thank you for the warm welcome.” I chuckle, waving to the group as I scan the white-clothed twelve-seater table for the only empty chair.

I’m placed beside Avery. Initially, the seating arrangement doesn’t strike me as odd.

Starting at the head of the table closest to the door, Chiara is next to her paired groomsmen Jameson at her left. Beside him, Seneca and Mike. Then Valerie and Everett. Dante’s at the opposite end of the table, with Morgan at his left, followed by Avery, which leaves me between Marcello and Monica to round out the group.

Makes perfect sense.

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