Page 17 of Wicked Pickle

SYMPHONY

Diesel watches me the entire ceremony.

I try to avoid fidgeting under his penetrating gaze.

Penetratingbeing the operative word.

I think about that moment when he sliced off my Spanx. How his gaze got hard and focused, like he was a man on a mission from then on.

He’s got the same look about him now.

And I’m not wearing Spanx.

“You may kiss the bride.”

My attention jolts back to the officiant. It’s over already?

I fix my expression into a radiant smile as Rhett draws Bailey to him. His kiss is long and lingering, and a few whoops go up from the guests.

The two of them turn, and I quickly step forward to hand Bailey her bouquet.

Marietta and I bend down to straighten her train, then Bailey and Rhett walk up the aisle. I don’t have flower girl duties anymore because little Amy gave out halfway through and ran to sit on her mother’s lap. She’s the daughter of one of our teaching assistants.

Rhett’s brother Axel has the ring bearer well in hand. It’s a big brood, the Pickle family.

And Diesel is sitting smack in the middle of it.

I’m dying to ask Bailey about this. Is Diesel part of Rhett’s family? Did she know?

My belly flutters as I walk by their row, but I keep my gaze ahead.

The wedding coordinator leads us down a back hall to a small, enclosed flower garden behind the mansion. Vine-covered trellises surround a white swing decorated with daisies. It’s gorgeous.

The photographer and her assistant are already photographing Bailey and Rhett. There’s no way to ask questions, and I guess it’s not appropriate anyway. It’s her big day.

But Marietta and Jenna surround me the moment we’re outside.

“What was Diesel doing with Rhett’s family?” Jenna asks.

“Right? And he never took his eyes off you.” Marietta bumps my elbow.

“I have no idea,” I say. The three of us watch Rhett push a laughing Bailey on the flower swing.

“Will you ask him at the reception?” Marietta asks.

“I guess so.” I glance over at Rhett’s siblings. I met them briefly at the rehearsal dinner last night.

Jenna figures out what I’m thinking. “They’ll know! Go find out!”

I’m working up my courage to walk over when we’re called to take a photo with Bailey. Then a full bridal party image. Then silly images pushing Bailey on the swing.

“The family should be assembled inside,” the photographer says. “Everyone not related to the couple can move on to the cocktail hour in the rose garden.”

Oh, that’s us.

“We should look when they do the Pickle photo,” Jenna whispers as we head back into the air conditioning. “If Diesel is in the family picture, then we’ll know.”

She’s right.

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