Page 139 of Wild Then Wed
I don’t say anything. Mostly because I’m trying not to say something I’ll regret. Like, who the fuck wouldn’t take Wren Wilding out on a real goddamn date?
She runs a hand through her hair and pulls it over one shoulder, and something about the movement—slow, absentminded—makes my brain stall out.
Her neck’s bare now, the skin smooth and exposed. There are a few red strands stuck along the curve of it, tangled from the wind and it takes everything in me not to reach out and brush them away.
I don’t. But I want to. God, do I want to.
She’s quiet now. Still. And there’s something about the way she looks—barefoot, hair falling loose, the night catching on her skin—that unravels me completely. Like she’s not trying to be anything, and somehow that’s everything.
She keeps talking, soft now. “I don’t know. I guess I thought this part of my life would feel more…earned. Do you know what I mean?”
I watch her for a second, but she’s not looking at me. Justout. Like if she’s quiet long enough, the night might offer her some kind of answer.
Whoever her ex was, I don’t think he ever really saw her. Not properly. He probably mistook her being quiet for simplicity. Mistook her independence for a lack of needs, and then used that as an excuse to give her nothing.
What a fucking idiot.
The sky is dark enough that it almost looks soft. No stars, no moon—just a velvet stretch of navy blue. The air is cold enough to bite, but not enough to send you running. A rare mercy in Montana this time of year. I breathe it in and it settles something in me. Or maybe it just distracts me from the way everything else doesn’t feel settled at all.
Behind us, through the glass doors, I can still hear the music.Unchained Melodyis playing.
Our first dance song.
Wait for me, I’ll be coming home. Oh, my love, my darling.
We’re supposed to be in there right now. Dancing. Pretending we’re swept up in each other instead of hiding out on a cold balcony. A love story sealed up in white linen and cake frosting.
I glance at Wren. She’s not moving. Not saying anything either. Just standing there like she forgot the rest of the night exists.
She’s quiet in that way she gets sometimes, like her mind’s folded in on itself and she hasn’t decided if she wants to come back out. I’ve started to realize she doesn’t always want rescuing from that place. Sometimes she just wants space to sit in it.
Still, I watch her. I always watch her.
“Do you wanna dance?” I ask.
Her eyes flick toward the sound of the song, the glow of the reception spilling through the doors. “In there?”
“No.” I shake my head. “Out here.”
That gets her attention. She turns to look at me, full-on this time. “Here?”
I glance around us. “Yeah. Why not?”
She looks back at the doors. “Everyone’s probably wondering where we are.”
“They might be.”
A beat. Then another.
“Do you care?” I ask.
Her mouth curves into a small smile. “Not really.”
“Me neither.”
I hold out my hand.
She hesitates, just for a second. Then she slides her hand into mine.
