Page 80 of Savannah Sweethearts

“You’re not upset I ruined the reception?” My chin began to quake.

She stared at me, wide-eyed. “Honey, he was hurting you. You stand up for yourself, no matter what. Never let a man control you or handle you like that. My ex-husband was like that and I should have left long before I actually did.”

Her attention turned to Orlando. “Would you like a drink? Ice for your hand?”

Flexing his right hand, he nodded. “That would be great.”

“Now,” Riviera said, turning back to me. “If you’re okay, we’ll cut the cake in five minutes.”

The panic in my mind eased and bridesmaid Amaya came back into focus. “Five minutes, got it.”

Perhaps I misjudged Riviera. She was a strong, independent woman and I had a newfound respect for her. She left to get Orlando ice and a drink and the crowd had resumed talking. I bit my lip and looked at Orlando.

“Thank you.”

“He deserved it. But I think you could have handled yourself.” He cupped my face with his hand.

“Just because I could have, doesn’t mean I’m not glad you were here.”

“You’re okay?”

My wrist was a little sore, but it would recover. I nodded.

He winked at me and pulled me closer. “Looks like I’m invited to stay.”

“Save me a dance after they cut the cake,” I said as I leaned into him for a quick kiss before dashing off to get the cake knife.

Orlando

At home that night, I replayed the events of the previous few hours in my head. When Linaya called me, I had thought something awful had happened to Amaya. While I felt a little silly pulling up to the dark VFW building, I figured I could catch up on my reading while I sat in the quiet. The text from Amaya simply saying to come launched me into action.

I knew she wouldn’t have sent that without reason, but I was not ready for the sight before me when I came into the room. Dozens of people ignoring the girl trying desperately to get away from a man in a cheap suit. Then she had screamed and everything stopped. The people, the music, and my heart all stilled. Her words sliced through the air and right into my heart.

Before I knew what I was doing, I was in front of the sleazeball, decking him. I didn’t care if I was hit back or arrested, nobody touched a woman—let alone Amaya—like that and got away with it. I think the bride’s words to her afterward were just want she needed to hear. Sleazy men were sleazy men. And hopefully Kyle would take a hint from now on. I hoped I had broken his jaw. He deserved it.

My hand would recover, though it had been a while since I punched someone. Maybe I needed to take up boxing, it felt good. Maybe we needed to hold self-defense classes in the ballroom once a month for women in the community. I pulled out my phone and made a note to mention it to both Amaya and my mom. They would like the idea.

After the couple cut the cake, Amaya and I had danced to a slow song that came from speakers in the corners. There wasn’t a proper DJ or anything, and Amaya said they had created a playlist that played on a three-hour loop. She had helped create the mix of songs.

When her time was up, I walked her outside, making sure no crazy exes were in sight. “You sure you’re okay to get home?”

She nodded, leaning into me. “Yeah. He doesn’t know where I live now and I doubt he’d bother to find out after that.”

I kissed her forehead. “So you don’t need a knight in shining armor to check your place over?”

I got a raised eyebrow in response. “I appreciate it, Orlando, but that’s dangerous territory on its own. Besides, I think Linny will be at my place and will stay with me tonight to keep me safe. We princesses can handle ourselves.”

“Duly noted. I have no doubt you can save yourself, but I do enjoy coming to the rescue every so often.” I tucked a stray hair behind her ear. “Goodnight, Amaya.”

Popping up on her tiptoes, she kissed me lightly. “Goodnight. And thank you. Truly.”

So I came home, put on my joggers and a t-shirt, and wrapped my hand. I fell onto the couch and scrolled through social media, finally landing on Amaya’s page. There were gorgeous photos of her in a variety of bridesmaid dresses. Most of the photos were not actually of her, but of brides and grooms—Amaya standing off to the side as a bridesmaid. An accessory to the event. In every photo, she was always a bridesmaid.

When my phone buzzed in my hand I startled and dropped it under the couch. “Hang on, hang on,” I muttered as I reached for it. I yanked it up and answered in one motion. “Hello?”

“Orlando?”

It was Amaya. No. No, this was a feminine voice but was not Amaya. Why did I know this voice?

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