Page 55 of Nathan

“Car’s here,” Ciaran says. “And I’ve checked in with Callum. He and Laurella are on their way to the church.”

“Oh, God,” Declan mutters and rubs his stomach.

“Fuck’s sake,” Nate says. “You’ve been living together for almost four years.”

“Yeah, but marriage.” The green tinge is back.

“Okay, let’s go.”

Ciaran takes hold of Declan’s arm and propels him toward the foyer. Nate and I follow, along with Millie. By the time we reach the church, Declan has calmed down.

Paul, his best man, meets us outside, and he claps Declan on the back. “Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be,” Declan mumbles before heading inside.

“Want me to have a bucket on standby?” Callum calls after him, receiving a cutting glare from Laurella for his trouble.

“Thank Christ I’m not the best man,” Nate says, taking hold of my hand.

“Why aren’t you? Or Ciaran, or Callum?”

“Imagine having to choose and then explain to the ones who missed out? Nah, we all agreed weeks ago that it should be Paul. Easier all round.”

I wrinkle my nose. “Yeah, I guess. At least I won’t have that problem. Elva will definitely be my maid of honor.”

Nate’s gaze cuts to mine. “I don’t remember asking, Titch.”

Oh shit!

Heat floods my face, which is damn annoying. I’m not a blusher, yet since hooking up with Nate, the blood rush to my cheeks is turning into a regular occurrence. “I-I didn’t mean that. I meant?—”

Nate gives me a nudge. “Chill. I’m teasing you.”

“Oh.” I glower at him. “I wasn’t talking about marrying you, anyway.”

“That’s good because I don’t plan to ever get married.”

A wave of disappointment crashes over me. My stomach clenches, but I keep my face straight. It isn’t that I want to marry Nate or anything, but for him to one day call me his girlfriend, and the next day announce we don’t have a future is a bitter pill to swallow.

“Just as well. I’d pity the poor girl.”

Nate pinches my side. Despite a despondent feeling weighing me down, I giggle.

“Who’s that?” I ask as we take our seats, jutting my chin at a bearded, tattooed giant chatting to Ciaran.

“Draven,” Nate replies. “Ciaran’s best friend and business partner. They run a private detective firm together. Both former NYPD.”

“Your brother was a cop?”

Nate nods, and I furrow my brow. It’s yet one more thing he hasn’t mentioned. An interesting career choice considering the family is loaded, but he must have had his reasons. I bet he was a great cop. He has that way about him, kind, yet a steely look in his eye that says, “Don’t fuck with me.”

Moments later, the wedding march rings out. When Indie begins her solo walk down the aisle, Nate lets out a huge yawn. Despite his bad manners and my dark mood, I suppress a smile. Nate is his own man, and that goes a long way in my book. Still, I flash a glare his way, which he studiously ignores. His eyes do follow Indie, though, as she passes by us, and there’s the smallest curve to his lips.

It isn’t a long ceremony, and in no time at all, Indie and Declan are walking back up the aisle, their faces shining as they look at each other the way my mom and dad used to with blind adoration.

As the congregation follows the happy couple outside, Nate slings an arm over my shoulders and whispers, “Come on, Titch. Let’s get drunk.”

Once the wedding breakfast and the speeches are out of the way, Nate leads me onto the dance floor, folds me into his arms, and rests his chin on top of my head. I nuzzle into his chest, breathing him in. He smells delicious, of fresh body wash and woodsy cologne. I burrow my hands beneath his jacket, the soft cotton of his shirt warmed by his skin.

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