Page 30 of Married to the Frenemy

I pull myself to my full height. “After lunch, sweetie.”

With her hand clutched tightly in mine, we make our way down the stairs and into the back hallway of the tasting room. While I hate the idea that Grady closed down just for us, especially on a Sunday, he wouldn’t hear otherwise. Said we deserved to get married with the stunning backdrop of the vineyard behind us. And the view from the floor-to-ceiling windows in the main hall is more than just stunning. It’s breathtaking.

“Ready?” Parker asks once she sees me.

I take a calming breath and nod.

“Okay.” She peeks her head out of the hallway and signals Grady to start the music. Once he does, Parker takes Maggie’s hand and walks out with her.

I close my eyes, taking a few seconds to calm my breathing. I give serious consideration to running out the back door, especially when I hear the music change, my cue to head down the aisle. I’m not sure how many seconds pass before I finally move, but it’s probably enough to make people nervous.

“This is for Maggie,” I say softly as I take that first step into the main hall.

The handful of guests immediately stand, everyone turning to look at me. Including Beckham’s mother, who has tears in her eyes. If I felt guilty about deceiving her earlier as she was going on and on about how she always imagined we’d get married, even after everything fell apart, I feel even worse about it now.

I do my best to remain steady on my heels as I make my way down the aisle, trying not to look at his mother for fear the guilt will become too much and I’ll blurt out the truth.

After what feels like an eternity, I finally reach Beckham. I’m momentarily caught breathless by how handsome he looks. I didn’t really take a moment to appreciate him as I walked down the aisle, too uneasy about the prospect of being married in mere minutes.

But now that I’m standing in front of him, it’s impossible to ignore.

I thought he looked handsome when we went out to dinner all those weeks ago. But that’s nothing compared to how he looks in his gray suit. Being who he is, he kept it casual by foregoing the tie. But he still looks good. Hell, he looks better than good. He looks good enough to eat.

Based on the way his hungry eyes skate over my frame, I get the feeling he’s thinking the same thing about me.

“You look beautiful,” he says softly as he takes my hands in his, his warm skin sending a delicious shiver down my spine.

I resist the urge to remind him he doesn’t need to say that to me. But several pairs of eyes are on us, including Grady’s as he stands mere inches away, about to marry us.

It’s better than having a minister perform the ceremony. I need as many karma chips as I can get, and I’d rather not get on God’s bad side any more than I already am.

“So do you,” I tell him, my voice trembling from nerves. “I mean, you don’t look beautiful. But you look good. Better than good, really.”

“Ah, young love,” Grady remarks, which earns a laugh from everyone.

I look away from Beckham and smile at our guests.

Like we agreed, we kept the guest list small. Just Beckham’s immediate family, as well as Parker and Grandma Estelle. Not surprisingly, my parents didn’t show up. I sent them an invite as a courtesy, but I didn’t expect them to be here. They didn’t approve of Beckham all those years ago. They certainly don’t now, as evidenced by my mother’s scathing phone call last week. It doesn’t matter how successful he is. How much he’s overcome. How much he’s changed since high school.

He’ll always be the boy who tried to corrupt their daughter.

“Friends and family, we’re gathered here today to celebrate the long-awaited marriage of Beckham Lawrence to Haley McBride,” Grady begins, pulling my attention back to him.

Beckham squeezes my hands, and my eyes lock on his as I listen to Grady go through the short ceremony we insisted on. It’s probably for the best, considering the longer I stand up here, the more I fear someone will take one look at my expression and realize the truth. Beckham always teased me about having a terrible poker face. That hasn’t changed with time.

“It’s my honor to be the first to announce you husband and wife,” Grady proclaims a short while later, finally bringing the ceremony to an end. “You may now kiss your beautiful bride.”

Over the past several weeks, Beckham and I have spent as much free time together as possible to make everyone believe we’re a real couple. Thankfully, Maggie was often with us, which proved beneficial for cutting through the tension between us. But even when she wasn’t, the one thing neither of us thought to discuss was the inevitability of having to kiss at the end of our wedding ceremony. Aside from a few pecks on my cheek when we were in public, he’s barely touched me. If my knee somehow grazed his, he’d immediately increase the distance between us.

Now that we’re here, I have no idea what I’m supposed to do.

Well, I know what I’m supposed to do. We’re supposed to kiss. I just don’t know if I’m ready to feel Beckham’s lips on mine again. Not ready to experience all the emotions I’ve fought to bury for the past fourteen years.

It’s just one kiss. We’ll get it over with, then never have to do it again, and I can keep pretending I feel nothing for him.

With painfully slow movements, Beckham licks his lips and curves toward me. My heart thunders in my chest as I hoist myself onto my toes to meet his height, closing my eyes. The seconds tick by, yet his mouth still doesn’t touch mine.

I’m about to open my eyes to see what he’s doing when his lips finally brush against mine. His kiss is firm and stilted, lasting less than a second. It’s even more awkward than our first kiss was.

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