Page 15 of Accidentally Marrying the Best Man
I laugh again, and this time it loosens the tension knot in my chest. “She made my life hell in school. Used to call me ‘Lottie Secondhand’ because I couldn’t afford new clothes. I was so mad at you for dating her an entire year.”
Nick’s grin fades, turns soft and serious. “That meant nothing, Charlotte. And it wasn’t for that long. We broke up before homecoming.” I frown. It’s true that they didn’t go to homecoming or prom together, but I thought that was because Nick was home, sick. At least that’s what Patricia said.
Nick puts a knuckle under my chin, nudging my face until I look into his eyes. “I’d rather burn this place down than let her make you feel small. We can leave at any time.”
I lean into him, steadying myself. “I’m sorry, she still gets under my skin.”
He leans in and kisses my forehead. “Don’t let her. She’s not worth it,” he whispers against my skin.
We drift through half an hour of party ritual—more introductions, more shallow conversation, and dried-out canapes. I watch Nick work the room. He’s better at this than I am. While he chats with people, his hand maintains contact with some part of me—my back, my waist, my arm, like he’s marking out territory. It should annoy me, but it feels like a badge. Like his claiming me.
Mine. This is mine.
At one point, when he steps away for drinks, two of my colleagues sidle up. Anne and Fran, both from PR, their faces lit with the glow of unfiltered curiosity.
“So…” Anne starts, voice conspiratorial. “Why didn’t you tell us you were getting married?”
I hesitate. I should have prepared better. “No secret,” I say, holding up my left hand, the light from the ridiculous chandeliers reflecting off the gemstones on my ring. “I wore this every day to the office.”
Fran grins, eyes flicking over to where Nick’s chatting with a senior manager. “I guess I’m just unobservant. Either way, I’m happy for you. He adores you. You can see it a mile away.”
Anne nods, sips her wine. “And it’s killing Patricia.” All three of us giggle, sudden co-conspirators in a new alliance.
Nick returns a minute later, pressing a bracing gin and tonic into my hand. He stands so close that even a wide-angle camera couldn’t crop me out. His fingers brush down my arm, settling with proprietary warmth at my lower back.
I introduce him to a rotation of coworkers who all shake his hand as if they’re genuinely happy to meet him.
He gamely fields questions about his work, “I’m in the security business,” and how we met, “She’s been my brother’s best friend since we were kids.” He always brings it back to me. How we reconnected, how I “rescued” him by being the only person at a mutual friend’s birthday who could quote all ofThe Princess Brideunder pressure.
His eyes never leave my face for long. Every time Patricia passes—a flash of green velvet and a fake smile—I feel him pull me closer, his thumb skating along the hem of my dress just under the safety of the tablecloth.
After a while, the dancing starts. Nick takes my hand, spinning me onto the floor with a calm confidence that soothes my patched-together nerves.
We settle into a slow sway as the band croons some old standard. The room feels gilded and dangerous, old wounds and new pride colliding somewhere in my chest.
“Do I get a reward for making it through this?” Nick murmurs, forehead brushing mine.
“You’ll get a lot more if you keep being this nice,” I say, only half-joking.
He kisses my knuckles. “I like how you look here. Strong. Even if you’re terrified.”
“Terrified is my default setting,” I admit. “Especially with Patricia.”
His eyes soften, impossibly gentle. “You have nothing to be afraid of. You’re a smart accomplished woman. She’s threatened by you, always has been, that’s why she’s such a bitch to you.”
That’s such a cliché, but I don’t tell him that. “If you say so,” I mutter instead.
“I do.”
We dance in silence. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Patricia watching, her expression unreadable.
“It’s stupid, isn’t it,” I whisper, “caring what she thinks?”
Nick’s hands grip my waist—possessive, reassuring. “Not stupid. But unnecessary. She’s not worth the energy you’re spending on her.”
He means it. Every muscle in my body believes it.
The night glides on, everything sharp and new. We slip away from the dance floor, Nick’s hand in mine, to the edge of the terrace. Warm air, muted city noise, the relief of being away from all those watching eyes.
