Page 40 of The One Night Dash
I shift closer, keeping my voice for her alone. “Let her be pissed. I didn’t come here for her.”
Her eyes meet mine, and just for a second, the tiredness lifts.
I nudge her gently with my shoulder. “I came here for you. But I’m staying for that dress.”
She softens, letting out the smallest, disbelieving laugh under her breath.
“You’ve always been beautiful, Noelle,” I whisper. “But when you know it, you outshine anyone around you.”
She snorts, fucking snorts. “I’m good, Dash; save your flattery for the bunnies and bridesmaids.”
“I don’t do flattery. I speak the truth.”
Before I can say anything more, the music starts, and the whole room looks toward the aisle. It’s a good thing I am sitting on the left of her. That way, no one will notice that I could give a fuck about seeing the girls wearing that dreadful brown color, and the ceremony will slow me down from making a further ass of myself without putting in the time.
Training.
Train myself to be patient. Train her to see me past whatever it is she sees and toward a man who will swirl her bean better than any fictional character in her books or bastards who see what’s “been unleashed,” like those assholes said, but has always been there.
Lauren makes her grand entrance. White dress fitted to enhance, veil trailing, chin tilted just high enough to screamwatch me.It’s how she likes it, center stage, lights on her, attention soaking into her skin. I never disliked her confidence or the fact that she liked to play center … until I realized the expense all that came to Noelle.
Noelle, who’s wearing a dress that’s simple, elegant, cut in a way that skims her frame and lets her own beauty do the heavy lifting. She thinks it’s a leftover, that it was a last-minute find. Idon’t know if I’ll ever be able to tell her the truth; it was picked for her. Her hair is in soft waves, eyes lit by the candles lining the aisle. She’s stunning. Always has been. Always will be. And no one else in this room—bride included—comes close.
The officiant drones on, words as dry and practiced as a scouting report. “Sacred bond … everlasting devotion …” None of it sticks. It’s filler, not feeling.
Then the vows. His voice steady, too polished, like he’s reciting from a brochure. And hers—Lauren’s—hands shaking as she clutches her paper, eyes darting down and up, down and up. She trips over a line. “I promise to honor, protect, and … uh—” Her laugh is brittle, a crack in porcelain. The room titters with polite sympathy. She scrambles, finds her place again, pushes through with a voice pitched high enough to make me cringe.
Beside me, Noelle elbows me. What she doesn’t do is gloat. Doesn’t smirk. Just watches, calm and gracious.
The kiss comes, applause erupts, and everyone rises. I stand and watch Noelle, her smile genuine.
She catches me looking and rolls her eyes. “I love happy ever afters.”
As the newlyweds walk hand in hand out the door, Lauren’s scanning the crowd, smile in place, and when her eyes land on us, it’s obvious we were exactly who she was looking for.
She mouths, “I need you,” to Noelle, who nods.
Then Noelle looks over her shoulder and up at me like,what was that?
“No clue, but you and I need to go find a drink as soon as we get out of here.”
The applause dies down, and the herd starts moving, all smiles and chatter as we funnel out.
Noelle keeps her chin level, not rushing, not dragging. I stay close enough that my arm brushes hers every couple of steps.
We’re almost to the doors when I hear it, her voice cutting through the din like a whistle on the ice.
“Noelle!”
Lauren.
Noelle stiffens, just for a second, before she pastes on a polite smile and turns her head.
I lean in. “You still drink those …? What was it you used to pound back at the hockey house? Sour apple whatevers?”
Her eyes flick to mine, surprised into a laugh she tries to smother. “You remember that?”
“Of course I do. You were the first to puke at our place.”
