Page 68 of The Wedding Crush

Half an hour passes, and I might as well not even be in the room.

Mommy and Ace aim and shoot rapid-fire questions at him. How’s the wedding planning? How was the Champagne Sip? Did anything “eventful” happen?

I don’t miss the sidelong glance Mommy gives our coffee-less mugs.

Even as Stefano responds impressively quick, I know we’re doomed, the second I spot the misaligned buttons on his shirt.

That’s what it’s come down to.

One missed button, and boom! Mommy knows I’ve been doing the horizontal tango.

Soon, she and her conspiracy eyes go home. By the time Stefano stands to leave, too, I’m fighting back a horrible case of feeling-shaped things. For a moment, I allow myself to get lost in the fantasy. This gorgeous man, falling head over heels in love with me and my son. Us, growing together. Them, bonding over cars and attending Dads and Donuts together at daycare. Our families and friends blending seamlessly.How can I not fall for him? Then again, who falls for the first person they connect with after marriage ends—one way or another?

Stefano grins.

“Thanks for the coffee,” he says loud enough for Ace to hear in his room.

We both laugh quietly.

But then Stefano pulls in a long breath through his nose and slowly releases it from his mouth, signaling his exit.

My inner voice and my gut perk up at his soft, downcast gaze.

Reading his energy, I expect a sneaky kiss or sly thigh graze before he invites me for a real cup of Joe later. Or, maybe, to ask if we can meet in person this Monday, instead of video chatting. Anything.

So, when he grabs his wallet off the hearth beside Justin’s shadow-boxed burial flag, pulls me in for a side hug, and leaves without asking to see me again, it feels like a gut punch.

I know this is me, over-feeling. The man runs a conglomerate of companies; he could have a ton of work on his plate. I’ve, for sure, piled on planning projects. Who knows? It could be any one of a million reasons, but after last night and this morning, I was hopeful I’d be one.

But maybe it’s for the best. Maybe, we just needed to have fun, and get it out of our systems. Maybe, neither of us is ready, and we should focus on the wedding. That way, no one gets hurt.

My heart recoils.

Theoretically.

Ten minutes later,Carsis queued up, and I’m back in the kitchen, scrolling through Instagram to quiet my loud insecurities as I make a strong cup of coffee for real.

Out of curiosity, I search for Stefano’s profile.

Hey, I’m a glutton for punishment.

It’s nothing more than a bunch of goal-slaying, work-ethic quotes and pictures of the Fortemani Vineyard & Winery. Except for one, two years ago, which I gingerly expand with my thumb and forefinger, careful not to like it, lest this man think I’m now a new-age cyberstalking fatal attraction villain.

In the photo, he and Carina are standing side by side, smiling. But it’s hard not to notice the canyon-sized gap between them.

Like it’s any of my business, now I’m wondering why he didn’t post about her. Did he value work more? Or maybe privacy is important to him. Maybe, social media wasn’t his thing. Maybe, he loves deep and out loud but doesn’t need external validation.

Naturally, my busy brain needs answers.

Sugar and French vanilla creamer swirling in my steaming cup, it feels like go-time.

Now, being the thorough detective that I am, of course, I must tap Carina’s profile for more pictures to corroborate my ridiculous—extremely nosy—interest in Stefano’s marriage.

“Oh myGod!” I gasp.

Ace comes zipping out of his room, immediately taking inventory of his lined row of cars, like that’s the bomb-drop shock that almost made me scald my hand.

“What happened, Mommy?”

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