Page 118 of Make Me Sin (Bad Habit 2)
The groomsmen have taken their pictures separately from the bridesmaids, in keeping with the tradition that the groom not see the bride before she walks down the aisle. The guests have been seated in the garden, the string quartet from the philharmonic has started playing. The distant whir of helicopters is only slightly distracting; Nico has arranged for a no-fly zone directly over the hotel, so paparazzi and news choppers hover off in the distance. Security is crazy tight; even the streets around the hotel are blocked off, so that no one who doesn’t live in this uber-exclusive area of Bel Air can get in.
I’m breathing a little easier because of that. Trina’s question about Eric coming to the wedding spooked me this morning, but judging by the amount of cops and private security personnel lurking discreetly in corners, I doubt even the President could get in if he wanted to.
We’re waiting in a small banquet room adjacent to the garden for the cue from Jennifer to start down the aisle. As the best man and maid of honor, A.J. and I should be walking down together after the rest of the bridal party, but for obvious reasons that won’t be happening. Brody and I will walk together. We’ll be followed by Grace and A.J., then Ethan and Chris, Bad Habit’s keyboardist and bassist, will escort Kenji between them. Nico comes after, then Kat.
When Jennifer calls my name, my heart starts thumping, but I’m still holding it together. It isn’t until I walk out of the room and onto the shaded brick walkway where the groomsmen are waiting that I fall apart.
Because there he is, standing a little apart from the others beneath the spreading boughs of a weeping willow tree.
I’d almost forgotten how gorgeous he is. How fundamentally male.
Like the other groomsmen, he’s wearing a white button-down dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up his forearms, a tight black vest (no coat), a skinny black tie, black slacks, and black leather shoes. He has a wide leather cuff on one wrist that for some reason manages to make him look even hotter, sexier, and more dangerous than usual. His hair is shorter, just above his shoulders, a tousled golden mess.
He looks at least twenty pounds thinner than the last time I saw him. That shocks me, but not as much as the other thing that shocks me.
As if he’s been watching the door, waiting for me to walk through it, he’s staring right at me, piercing me through with those beautiful amber eyes.
And I just die all over again. All the scabs are ripped off. All the progress I thought I’d made is reversed with one giant bitch slap to my face. I start to tremble. My eyes water. My throat closes up.
I still love him as much as I ever did. I still want him just as badly. I’m still just a lonely, lovesick fool.
Thank God for Brody, because I wouldn’t be able to tear my eyes from A.J. without his help.
“Here we go,” he murmurs, firmly taking my arm and turning me away toward the path leading to the gazebo. “I’ve got you.”
I almost groan with the excruciating pain those three words evoke. They’re exactly what A.J. said to me the night Eric put me in the hospital.
But Brody’s just being kind. He links his arm through mine, steadying me, and guides me out of the shade of the trees and over the little grassy rise to the ceremony area. When Jennifer cues us, we start walking slowly down the aisle. I barely notice the guests, the music, the flowers. I can only see A.J.’s face. His eyes. The way he looked at me . . .
How much weight he’s lost.
Halfway down the aisle, after I’ve recovered the ability to speak, I ask, “Why is he so thin?”
Brody is smiling, staring straight ahead at the gazebo where a pastor robed in white awaits. “I don’t know. We’ve barely seen him over the last two months. He hasn’t been coming to sessions.”
My heart goes wild, ping-ponging around inside my chest. What could this mean? Has he been sick? Why wouldn’t he show at the band’s sessions? My frantic thoughts are cut short when Brody clears his throat.
“Chloe, there’s something you should know. I thought it would be easier for you if it wasn’t a surprise. And just for the record, I told him not to do it. We all did.”
My stomach clenches. I know whatever he’s going to say will be bad.
But I don’t know just how bad, until he drops a bomb on my head so powerful I stumble and he has to grip my arm and pull me upright so I don’t fall flat on my face on the processional aisle.
“A.J. brought Heavenly as his guest.”
The violins suddenly sound off-key and screeching. The sun shining so cheerfully overhead burns my bare shoulders. The white swans floating in the lake beside the ceremony area look sickly and mean. Everything beautiful about this day turns ugly, and I want to drop my flowers and run.
I don’t, of course. I plaster a smile on my face, grit my teeth, and remain silent, because I don’t trust myself not to start screaming if I open my mouth.
Brody successfully gets us down the aisle. We take our places on either side of the pastor. Though everything inside me is a wasteland of ashes, I straighten and smile wider.
I don’t look down the aisle to watch A.J. approach with Grace. When he takes his place in front of Brody, I turn my head and watch Kenji, Ethan, and Chris head down. I watch Nico walk down, swaggering, grinning from ear to ear. Then the music changes, and everyone stands for the bride.
A murmur runs through the crowd when they see her, and I understand why. Kat has never looked so stunning. Her dark hair is gathered back on the sides and pinned beneath a long, trailing veil, which is edged in crystals and seed pearls. Her ivory silk chiffon dress is fitted across the bodice, cinches tight around her tiny waist, and flares out into a ballerina skirt. She’s wearing over one million dollars of Fred Leighton diamonds Nico bought her, including a twenty-carat pair of drop earrings and a choker with a ten-carat center stone. She looks like a fantasy princess.
She looks like a perfectly happy, blushing bride, which I know deep down in my soul I will never be. I’ll be the single mom everyone feels sorry for and tries to set up with their divorced friends. I’ll be the bitter career girl who wrinkles early and drinks late.
I’ll be the spinster aunt.
