Page 21 of Accidental Groom
“—I just think you could stand to maybe live a little and see what comes out of it, since you were blushing up a storm earlier when you saw him in the lobby.”
“I’m going to crawl under a rock and die.”
“Look. Your life has never really been under your control, right? You’ve been doing what other people want you to since you were sixteen. You’ve been protectingmefor longer. Maybe just think about what you want to do now that you don’t have as many constraints.”
Before I can respond, the sound of the elevator chiming just outside the door rings out. He’s back.
“I have to go,” I mumble.
“Okay, okay, just try to remember this isn’t the end of the world?—”
“Love you, bye.”
I hang up before she can get another word in. The mechanical whirr sounds as the door unlocks, and then he’sthere, standing in his button-up with his suit jacket clinging to a single finger over his shoulder.
He stops when he sees me on the couch. “You okay?” he asks, his gaze flicking over my calves before settling back on my face. His expression is stone, but the way he says those two words makes me think, for just a second, he might actually care.
But I wouldn’t know what to do with that even if I were given a full instruction manual.
I nod anyway. I’m not sure if he believes me.
————
An hour later, we’re sitting across from each other at a corner table in the hotel’s restaurant, the lunch crowd dying out around us. Most of the wedding guests checked out this morning, but a few stragglers are around us, somewhat familiar faces seated at tables, distant relatives or family friends or business associates who stayed an extra few hours or a whole extra day.
And all of them keep stealing glances at us.
Harry had insisted we go down for food. Whether that’s because I wasn’t being exceptionally sociable upstairs or because he wants to keep up appearances, I’m not sure. But as he cuts into his salmon with precise movements, his sleeves rolled up to reveal the strong lines of his forearms, I can’t stop staring at his hands. My salad is lost to me. All that goes through my mind is the way they flex, the way they looked last night when he’d?—
“You’re not eating,” he says, his voice quiet enough that it won’t carry. He sets his fork down.
I force my gaze back to his face. “I’m not that hungry.”
His lips purse like he’s able to see right through the lie, dark green eyes studying me. “Their staring is bothering you.”
I snort. “That’s one way to put it.”
“Want me to kick them out?”
“That’s—”Insane. Surprisingly sweet. Genuinely nice.“—not necessary.” I stare down at my plate, stabbing a bit of lettuce with my fork. “I just keep wondering what they’re thinking, is all.”
“That you married up,” he says dryly. His fingers knit together, his chin coming to rest on the threaded knuckles. “That I’m having a midlife crisis. That we’re both insane.”
The waiter comes by, pouring more White family wine into his glass, but I can’t stop staring at the hint of a smile playing at the corner of his mouth.
“They’re probably not wrong on the last one,” he adds.
I bite my cheek to keep from grinning at that. “Glad one of us finds this entertaining.”
He shrugs, reaching out to grab the glass. “It’s better than dwelling on how fucked up it is.”
The pianist in the corner starts a new song, something slow that makes the cacophony of conversation in the restaurant fade into background noise. Harry’s attention shifts the moment my shoulders relax just an inch.
“The music helping?”
“A bit,” I admit, shoving the lettuce in my mouth.
He studies me for half a second, then sets down his glass and pushes back from the table. “Dance with me,” he says, so nonchalant I’m almost certain I’ve misheard him.
