Page 75 of The Boyfriend List
“I am,” I say with a smile when he steps back. “And please, don’t apologize again for not picking me up. I still needed to run around the apartment looking for the perfect earrings to match my dress.”
And a strapless bra that I haven’t worn since my law school convocation.
“Well, they look beautiful.Youlook beautiful. I’m sorry, I should have led with that.” He’s rambling, something he only does when he’s nervous. He shoves his hands into his pockets, and I feel the loss of his touch like a tangible thing—like fog or wind or cold.
“London, no apologizing.” I press a finger to his lips, smiling when I see his expression go from furrowed apology and sheepishness to a more relaxed state. “What did I just say?”
He doesn’t respond. Instead, he grabs my hand and kisses my fingers, my palm, and the inside of my wrist. “You can’t expect me to remember what you’re saying when you’re touching my lips.”
I laugh, seeing the frustrations of the last-minute change of plans melt away. “You’re such a guy.”
“Nope. Just in love with you.” He lowers my hand from his mouth and tugs me gently toward the wedding venue. “Come on, the ceremony starts in half an hour and I have to walk someone else down the aisle. Though I’d much rather it was you.”
My breath hitches slightly at his words. I know he’s not talking about marriage—but part of me wishes he were. “I don’t want to make you late for that. I’m sure your sister would have your head.”
He shakes his head. “You have no idea.”
London escorts me to a seat a few rows behind his parents, which I’m grateful for. I don’t know if London has told his mom we’re together yet. And the last thing I want is to cause any drama between the two of them.
I take in my surroundings while waiting for the ceremony to begin. Peach and white roses drape over the arch at the front of the ballroom, and silkycoral fabric covers every chair. Rose petals in a matching colour are scattered across the aisle, like an overeager flower girl already ran through the ballroom. Grand, glittering chandeliers sparkle from the ceiling.
Savannah’s four bridesmaids sashay down the aisle, each graceful and beautiful, before they take their places by the arch. Everyone rises as London’s dad walks Savannah down the aisle. An exquisite lace gown sculpts to her petite frame, flaring out at her hips in a princess-style ballgown. A tiara sparkles on her head to complete the image. London’s father looks younger than his sixty years, only his greying hair belying his age, and his stride is calm and assured as he walks his only daughter down the aisle.
The groom, Micah Wong, already dabs away tears with a handkerchief that London hands to him. Micah is lined up next to London and his brothers, all of them wearing pink roses with sprigs of baby’s breath pinned to their lapels. London’s brothers look either teary-eyed, bored, or in London’s case, stressed. Frown lines furrow his brows and wrinkle the corners of his eyes.
A pantsuit-clad, silver-haired woman clears her throat as she addresses first the happy couple, then the guests. We sit through the couple’s vows, including cheesy promises to save the last taco for each other and sing off-key in the shower.
Micah sweeps Savannah into his arms for a dramatic, drawn-out kiss that has the guests and his brothers-in-law whooping, hollering, and clapping. London remains stiff, that anxious expression still crinkling his brows. What is he still worried about? He’s already completed everyone else’s errands for them.
As the bride, groom, and the wedding party file down the aisle to the applause of the guests, I spy London’s parents at the front row. Their heads are bent close together, but they’re facing each other, so I spy their side profiles. London’s mom’s hair has fallen out of its neat coif, and her eyes lookred-rimmed. As if she’s been crying. Not an unusual sight for the mother of the bride. But her tears don’t look happy.
London and his family file off to the required dozens of pictures in the hotel’s botanical greenhouse. Half an hour later, he re-emerges from the throng of his family, looking slightly disheveled with a flower petal in his hair. I chuckle as he scans the cavernous ballroom for me. I found a corner between the bar and the ladies’ room to hide in, not wanting to make any more awkward small talk with one of London’s cousins. One of them tried to hit on me before I explained that I was here with London.
Relief washes over his face when his eyes land on me.
“I got you this.” He takes his hand from behind his back, offering me a cheerful sunflower.
I smile and take it, tucking it behind one ear and securing it with my bobby pin. “Black-eyed susans are my favourite, but I accept.”
“Can I get you a drink or anything?” He sets a hand on the small of my back, ready to steer me to the bar.
“I’ve had enough. I was nursing a glass of wine before you got here,” I say. “Shouldn’t I be offering you something? You’ve been running around all day with barely any time to catch your breath. The deep-fried mac ‘n’ cheese bites are to die for.”
Despite having a traditional sit-down Chinese banquet later, waiters are also circulating with yummy hors d’oeuvres.
“I can’t catch my breath, because every time I see you, you steal it away,” he teases, tracing patterns on my lower back in a languid caress that makes me wish I was wearing a backless dress.
“You’re so cheesy.”
“That’s why I don’t need the mac ‘n’ cheese.” London grabs a whiskey sour, one of the signature drinks at the bar. He swigs it in one go beforeputting it back down. My eyebrows quirk up. I knew being around his family was stressful, but is itthatstressful? “Want to dance?”
“We haven’t even had dinner yet,” I protest. He doesn’t strike me as the type to flout social convention. “And the bride and groom haven’t done their first dance, either.”
“Just… let me hold you in a socially acceptable way for a moment, would you?” His brown eyes plead with me.
I let him steer me onto the dance floor, somewhat reassured that my feet are safe from being crushed by his missteps. "Is everything okay? I can’t say I’ve ever seen you drink this much in such a short period of time. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you drink at all.”
“I’m fine,” he says.
