Page 118 of The Unwanted Wife

“Could do with a drink.” I roll my shoulders, trying to ease the ache, which seems to have taken up permanent residence there.

He pulls out a flask and hands it over.

I accept it without question; not going to turn my back on small favors. I tilt the flask to my mouth and chug down the alcohol. It leaves a trail of fire down my throat and sets off a bomb in my stomach. I cough, lower the flask, and wipe the back of my hand across my mouth.

“Easy, Tiger.” He takes the flask from me, swigs down a few mouthfuls, then caps it and pockets it.

The organist strikes up the chords for ‘Here Comes the Bride.” Could my boy get any more traditional than this? I really don’t know him at all, do I? My eyes begin to water. It’s from the alcohol, I swear. Around me, people rise to their feet. Knox nudges me, and I push myself to stand. My gaze is trained ahead to where the best man is standing—one of Felix’s friends who I don’t recognize. Another thing I missed out on. I have no idea who my son hangs out with or who’s his best mate. The man glances around, looking worried.

Huh, where’s Felix? Is he still outside?

“Maybe I should go get him?” I turn to leave, but Knox grabs my arm. “Stay put, ol’ man.”

“I think I should find my sh-sh-sh-son?” I’m slurring. Damn. I didn’t have that much to drink, did I?

“You’re not in any condition to go traipsing around by yourself,” Knox whispers.

“I’m fine—" I sway, grab hold of the pew in front of me.

“You’re not.”

I’m not. But I don’t care. I?—

A shiver runs down my back. The hair on the nape of my neck stands to attention. I turn and see a vision in white gliding past. She’s wearing one of those slim-fitting, lace wedding dresses, which clings to her waist and outlines the shape of her hips, before flaring out into a train at her ankles.

The sleeves lovingly cover every part of her arm up to her neck, but her skin glistens through the gaps in the lace. The collar is high, almost Victorian, which makes the contrast to the plunging V-neckline almost disgraceful. Combined with the strategic panels, which cover her nipples, the rest of the embroidered bodice shows off the creamy skin off her breasts. They thrust out proudly, leading the way for the rest of her hourglass-figured body to follow. As she passes me by, a whiff of strawberries, underlaid with something musky, teases my nostrils. I’m instantly hard. Her veil flows over her features, so all I catch is a curve of dark eyelashes over a cheekbone, and then she slides by. Her train flows behind her, a ripple of water in the wake of a yacht with the most sensuous lines I’ve ever seen. A siren, a temptress, the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.

“Your son’s marrying her?” Knox hisses. His voice is awed and drips with the half-arousal, half-disbelief I’m feeling. Anger squeezes my chest, and if you ask me why, I couldn’t articulate it.

“Keep your eyes off of her,” I growl.

Of course, he doesn’t listen. He continues to stare at her, until I bury an elbow in his side.

“Ouch, what the— What was that for?”

“Don’t look at her like that,” I snap. Something hot stabs into my chest. It’s like I took a bullet to it. Scratch that, I’ve taken a bullet to the chest, and it has nothing on this sensation that spears my ribcage. I’ve swallowed a rock, which weighs me down and threatens to overbalance me. I loosen the buttons on my jacket, then run my fingers under my collar.

Everything within me insists I walk after her. Don’t let her leave. Don’t let her marry your son. This is all wrong. I push a leg out into the aisle, only Knox grabs my shoulder and applies enough pressure that I find my butt hitting the seat.

“What?” I blink.

“What were you going to do?” He looks into my face, suspicion in his gaze.

“Nothing.” I shake my head. What was I going to do? Was I going to march over to her, grab her arm and drag her out of this church, like a scene from The Graduate, hop on the next bus and? Hell, no. That would be all wrong. I’m not the one who gets to decide who my son should marry. Surely, they must love each other? That stabbing sensation in my chest intensifies, until it’s as if I’ve had a grenade detonate inside me. Sweat pours down my back. My shirt sticks to my skin. I take off my jacket, then loosen my tie and tear it off.

“You okay?” Knox takes another swig of his drink, but when I reach for his flask, he holds it out of reach. “Not happening, mate. Don’t think you’re handling that Shochu too well.”

“Shochu?” I blink. “You’re carrying rice wine with an alcohol content of thirty-five percent?”

“This one’s forty-five percent, and it hits quicker than whiskey. It’s like having an IV plugged into your vein,” Knox says proudly.

No wonder it feels like I’ve been run over by a tank. And how is Knox knocking back the stuff and staying steady? The man must have a high tolerance to the stuff.

There’s commotion ahead, and when I look up, the groomsman is talking to the bride, gesticulating with his hands. The priest has a shocked look on his face. Then the organ stops, and in the silence, the buzz from the gathered crowd is loud.

Knox taps the woman in front of us, and when she turns, he flashes her a smile. “What’s happening, darlin’?

She must be fifty, and her dress fit her ten years ago, but looking into Knox’s face, even with those scars, her gaze grows dreamy. “The bridegroom is absconding.”

---