Page 23 of Bad Boy for Hire
“Lush was the word I was thinking, but you’re not wrong.” She dropped his hand to wring her fingers. There weren’t many—any?—familiar faces. She assumed that Prescott and the rest of the Stantons were elsewhere, preparing for the outdoor ceremony.
“Champagne?” Xavier reclaimed her hand and angled for the bar.
“That might help.”
“It’ll help.” He leaned in to mutter against her ear, “Trust me. I’m a professional.”
They bypassed the open doors at the rear of the barn. A sea of white plastic chairs awaited guests for the upcoming ceremony. Fabric and more orange and red flowers decorated the aisle as well as the white arch under which the bride and groom would say their vows.
She tensed, remembering Paisley’s Fiji wedding. The sand and surf had been beautiful, but the sun had been too hot, and sitting next to Prescott had been uncomfortable—for multiple reasons. She’d felt trapped with no way out, even though she’d agreed to go with him. She didn’t feel exactly that way now, but the echo of that fated weekend was there.
Xavier, evidently sensing her thoughts, or the death grip she had on his hand, asked, “You okay?”
She blinked his handsome face into focus and offered a jerky nod. “I’m okay.”
“Not buying it,” he said with a smirk. “I’ll check again later.”
“I’d appreciate that.”
He tilted his head to one side and glanced down at her mouth. “Would a kiss help?”
Yes.
She opened her mouth. Closed it. Then settled on biting her lip.
His grin was honey-slow. “Too soon. Got it. I’ll check on that later too.”
Chapter Eight
Xavier had been to a wedding or three in his lifetime. Hell, he’d been in a wedding or three in his lifetime. He knew the drill well enough that he could have drafted the damn itinerary.
So when Posy and her father walked down the runner, and everyone stood to face her, and when the groomsman behind Posy’s fiancé gave him a swift pat on the shoulder, it was nothing he hadn’t seen before. Neither was the preacher or the vows—written by the bride and groom—or the applause when they kissed.
What was different about this ceremony was that he was here with May. He typically went solo to weddings, especially the ones he’d been in. Reason being it was easier to go solo. No questions, no expectations. But with May, he’d happily ticked the plus-one box. Being with her felt natural—even here.
Next to him, she pulled her shoulders back. She’d kept a smile on her face as if she was acutely aware of the location of the photographer. She also knew the precise whereabouts of her ex, who happened to be directly across from them. The seating was different from the weddings he’d been to before, he conceded. At Posy’s wedding, they hadn’t divided the groom’s side from the bride’s side.
Once the ceremony was over and Posy and Marcus Waterford made their way to the barn, everyone stood to filter out behind them. Evidently there’d be no formal post-wedding photos or a receiving line. As Posy had announced after she kissed her groom, the plan was, “Let’s dance!”
Xavier shuffled onto the runner, his arm at May’s back, his head down to make sure she had her footing. When he lifted his chin, his date and her ex were standing face-to-face.
“Prescott. Hi.” Neutral. Measured.
“Hello, May.” Formal. Devoid of emotion.
Prescott Stanton regarded Xavier, chin lifted despite them standing at roughly the same height.
Bring it, jerk.
“Xavier Dane.” He offered his hand, pleased when Prescott was resigned to shake it. “May’s date.”
“This is Sarina.” Prescott pulled the woman at his side closer, though by the looks of her, he could have lifted her off the ground and twirled her around a few times. Petite and under five feet tall, she had a whole Ariana-Grande thing going on: Wide, doe-like eyes, sharp cheekbones, and a pink smile.
“You must be May!” Sarina chirped as she flipped her dark blonde hair over one bared shoulder. She’d worn white. To a wedding.
“Nice to meet you.” May’s tone was level, but she stiffened against his hand, which was resting on her back.
“The pleasure is all mine.” Sarina pressed her hand—her left one—to her décolletage. A sizable solitaire diamond on a gold band glinted in the sunlight. She shook out her fingers. “Dang, this thing is heavy.”
