Page 8 of Stuck With the Best Man

Beyond the cliff on which the manor is perched, the ocean is roaring her usual song. When we were kids, Amy and I used to go to the beach in the evenings and call out to the sirens that legend claims guard these shores. They never answered back, of course, but we didn’t mind.

I want to go back to Gram’s and change out of this dress. I want to get as far away from Ben as possible.

Unfortunately, it’s still too early for me to duck out. Even if my title as maid of honor is more of a formality than anything, I shouldn’t leave yet.

Eva sidles up next to me while the other girls coo over the starlit scenery.

“He’s cute, huh?”

I blink at her in confusion. “Who?”

She giggles. “Ben, of course. He’s single, you know.”

I wrinkle my nose. “Good for him.”

“Andyou’resingle.”

“By choice, Eva. It’s a very specific, intentional choice.”

Eva sighs. “One day, you’re going to fall madly in love with someone and it’ll catch you so off guard that the only thing you’ll be able to do is say, ‘Oh my goodness Eva, you weresoright! Idobelieve in love after all!’”

“That sounds like a threat.”

She snickers quietly. “Why don’t you like him, anyway?”

I throw her a sideways glance. “Who?”

“Ben, obviously.”

“Who said I don’t like him?”

“I’m not blind, Ruby. I know you. I can tell when you don’t like somebody.”

I consider telling Eva the truth. She wouldn’t judge me for it. In fact, there’s even a chance that she might agree that Ben is a self-important snob. That he’s just so veryspecial—so special and rich and gorgeous and powerful that he wouldn’t deign to remember little me.

Yet, that would require providing more details about that day at the Strand than I’m willing to give. I never told anyone about it. Not even Eva.

Plus, Ben is the best man. One of Sebastien’s closest friends. I don’t want to make things awkward between Eva and her husband-to-be by voicing a complaint.

“It’s fine,” I say to Eva. “He’s… fine.”

“Like, that’s afineslice of man-meat kind of ‘fine,’ or…?”

“Ew, Eva! Please don’t say the phrase ‘man-meat’ ever again.”

Her laughter is loud and raucous, catching the attention of the other girls. They start discussing the plans for tomorrow as we head back inside, where the guests are now mingling casually throughout the dining room. I hover at the fringes of the bridesmaid group.

As if my mind is content to infuriate me, it tempts my gaze to wander toward the far end of the room where Ben is talking to a couple of guys that I don’t know.

My blood boils at the sight of him. The audacity to look that good while being that nefarious… he should be locked up. Permanently.

Everything about him irks me. I hate the way he wears his designer suit like it’s something he just happened to throw on. I hate the way the luxurious clothing hugs his tall, impressively toned frame and that, despite the perfection of it, something about it is somewhat glamorously askew. Maybe it’s the fact that he’s not wearing a tie, and that the collar of his shirt isn’t lying flat. Maybe it’s the slight wrinkles in his trousers that he wears so carelessly and confidently that you’d think the pants were designed to look like that.

Everything about him screams of effortless ease. Even the stray, wavy locks that escape his subtly gelled hairstyle seem to drape themselves across his forehead with casual artfulness.

The entire effect should make him appear untidy and inattentive.

Unfortunately, all that disheveled luxury makes him look kind of… hot.

---