Page 15 of Stuck With the Best Man

For a few heartbeats, I forget whom I’m standing next to. It’s all just so… beautiful. So perfect. Exactly what someone like Eva deserves.

Then Ben holds out his arm for me to take. I have no choice but to tuck my hand into the inside curve of his elbow and walk alongside him. I try not to focus on the fact that the photographers will be immortalizing this specific situation: me and him.

Still, it’s hard not to notice that his arm is noticeably firm and muscular underneath the fabric of his suit jacket. Despite his broad shoulders, however, he’s fairly slim. Maybe he’s a swimmer. Not that it matters. I don’t care what he does in his spare time… when he’s not kissing girls and then forgetting about them a day later.

Whatever.Whatever.

We’re halfway down the aisle before I know it, and it’s easy enough to focus on the altar ahead and pretend that I’m holding on to anyone other than Ben Hawthorne.

When the time comes for the groomsmen and the bridesmaids to go our separate ways, I step away from him without a single backwards glance. I take my place at the front and turn my attention to the doors, where Eva will soon make her entrance.

It’s a beautiful day for a wedding. Bright and balmy. There’s a soft breeze—just the perfect amount for all the outdoor photo sessions that will happen later to turn out flawlessly windswept without ruining anyone’s hair. The venue itself is stunning, bursting with flowers and silk ribbons. Eva floats down the aisle like a goddess—a true vision in white. It’s no surprise when Sebastien has to wipe away a few tears as she approaches the altar.

The ceremony itself is dreamy and sweet. Their vows are personal and tender without being corny. Not a single person fidgets impatiently or checks the time while the officiant recites words in English, French, and Russian to honor Eva and Sebastien’s respective families. Everyone is happy to be here.

I’ve never given much thought to my future wedding—never really figured I’d bother to get married in the first place—but I think I’d like it to be like this. I wouldn’t dare to spend the time planning a wedding until after retirement, but maybe if I did end up falling for someone…

It doesn’t matter. It’s not important. Not right now.

The ceremony drifts gracefully away into cocktail hour, which flows artfully into a delicious four-course dinner and then melts away into a lovely reception in the historic manor’s ballroom.

Miraculously, I’ve managed to avoid Ben for all of it. After we walked back down the aisle together, I immediately put distance between us and he didn’t fight it.

Unfortunately, now that the romantic day is starting to dissolve into stylish, star-studded, drunken debauchery, I think my luck has run out.

Because now he’s walking right toward me, where I’m perched on a chair at the very edge of the dance floor.

I gulp down the remainder of the white wine in my glass and angle my body away from Ben’s approaching figure, desperately looking for someone else to quickly engage in conversation.

Yet, I’m alone. Everyone else is dancing or mingling by the open bar, or admiring the elaborate cake that will soon be cut and served.

He pauses before me. I don’t bother standing up. Not even when he holds out his palm toward me, not quite like a handshake, but rather like a prince inviting a princess to join him for a fairytale dance.

I glare at his hand. He smiles.

“Will you dance with me?”

I hate that his deep, whiskey-roughened voice makes my stomach flip. I saw him, Sebastien, and Pierre sampling the strong liquor just a few minutes ago before I swiftly averted my eyes.

“No, thank you.”

Ben is not easily deterred. “Why not?”

“Because I don’t feel like it.”

“But you’re a professional dancer.”

“And so therefore, I should dance whenever and wherever the opportunity arises?”

Ben shrugs. “I don’t see why not.”

I roll my eyes. “Like you said, I’m aprofessionaldancer. Nobody is paying me right now.”

His lips curve slowly into an amused smirk, the gesture so smooth and casual that it makes me want to scream and drool at the same time. How does hedothat?

Man, I hate him.

“Come on, Ruby. This is a great song. Lower your standards for five minutes and offer a mere civilian the chance to dance with a real ballerina.”

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