Page 11 of Accidental Groom
The world narrows to the way her breath hitches when my thumb brushes just beneath her ear.
The kiss should have been ceremonial.
Over in an instant to satisfy her father and the crowd.
Instead, it lingers more than a beat too long.
When I finally pull back, I don’t hear the applause or the confused laughter or the questions from the priest beside us — I’m far too zoned in, and from the way her eyes are locked on mine, wide and dark with something that looks a lot like hunger, she’s right there with me.
She felt it too.
Must have.
I step back, offering my arm with the practiced grace of a man who looks as though he’s never lost control of anything in his life, already calculating how on earth I’m going to keep from wanting to do that again.
And I already know I’ll fail.
Chapter 4
Elena
The reception passes in a haze of forced smiles and glasses of my family’s lowest-calorie white wine thrust into my hand by my mother.
Everything feels too bright, too loud, too much.
The lights reflect off the chandeliers above, casting rainbows across tablecloths that Iknowcost far more than what’s reasonable — I’ve ordered them before for other events.
I go through the motions as I try to pretend like I’m not drowning, accepting congratulations from blurred faces, air kisses from women whose names I should probably remember, and firm handshakes from men who eye me with something likecalculation.
Everyone wants their time with the bride who married the wrong groom.
“Elena, darling, you look radiant,” someone coos, someone who looks exceptionally like my mother’s stepsister I’ve met maybe twice before in my life.Radiant. How she’s come to that conclusion when I feel shellshocked and barely held together baffles me.
The rest of my family gleams with new money. Expensive dresses by top-name designers shimmer under the lights, stupidhats like we’re at the Kentucky derby, suits that cost more than my car fitted perfectly around shoulders, everything exact to screamwe’ve made itas they desperately claw at belonging.
Meanwhile, the Highcourt’s extended family and friends exude effortless elegance from generations of wealth — understated jewelry, no overly flashy outfits, watches that have been passed down from father to son. They have nothing to prove here.
Sarah appears at my elbow, pressing a glass of definitely-not-diet-friendly champagne into my hand. “You okay?” she whispers, her eyes wide, her lower lip red from biting down on it. She maneuvers herself in front of me, blocking out what I can only imagine is Mom’s overbearing gaze, hiding the flute.
I want to tell her no. I want to tell her that I just went through the motions of marrying a man eighteen years older than me, a man who was supposed to be my father-in-law, and that it will be made legal in the morning. I want to tell her that my life is spiraling out of control because I couldn’t bear to see the same happen to her.
Instead, I nod.
“Just overwhelmed,” I lie.
She squeezes my hand and taps my other, the one wrapped around the cold, thin crystal flute, a silent order —drink before Mom sees.I down it in a matter of seconds.
“Mrs. Highcourt.” The name sounds foreign, but I turn regardless, the empty flute plucked from my hand by Sarah’s quick fingers as I lock eyes with my father. He’s wearing his signature look, the one that means business, and my throat closes.
He guides me to a quieter corner, away from Sarah, away from my only rock here, and it's like the room is closing in on me again. “The contracts will be adjusted tomorrow after you two goto the courthouse,” Dad says quietly. “Everything will transfer as planned.”
Of course. Heaven forbid he gives me a second to breathe.
“This is better, actually,” he continues. “Harry’s more established, better connected. The merger will be stronger.”
I blink at him, my eyes narrowing at the man who’s meant to love me, protect me, support me. “Is that genuinely all you care about? The merger?”
Dad’s nostrils flare. “Don’t be naive. You’ve known this would be how this worked for fourteen years.”
