Page 86 of Heathen

"A dance with the bride?" he continues, when all I can do is stare at the idiot.

"She's my wife," I growl.

I narrow my eyes when a wide smile spreads across his face as he holds up his hands near his ears in mock surrender before disappearing into the crowd of dancing people.

"Very caveman-like of you," she mutters.

"You'll have to get used to it," I say, pulling her tighter against my chest.

We get a few more minutes of peace simply existing in each other's arms before a spotlight lands on us.

I fully expect it to move on, but when it doesn't, Kaylee takes a step back

"She's usually better at reading social cues," she mutters before turning around.

I watch as a pretty woman who looks remarkably like the actual Cruella de Vil from the most recent rendition of the movie approaches.

"Is this your dick," she says, eyes working over my costume, "of a husband?"

"Morgan, this is Ellis. Ellis, meet myex-best friend."

"Nice to meet you," I say, holding out my hand.

She takes it and shakes it, but her attention is everywhere but on me.

"Are you here to win her over or break her heart more?" she asks.

"Win her over," I answer easily.

"You're a good guy in my book," she says. "Take good care of her."

Without another word, she walks away, that damned spotlight following her.

"She seems nice," I mutter as I pull Kaylee back into my chest.

"She's distracted."

"The party seems great. She should be proud."

"I heard her having an argument with someone on the front porch last night," she says, somehow just now remembering it. “I blame my own distractions and the wine for not remembering it sooner,” she says. "I think she's nervous he might show up and make a scene."

I straighten. "Someone I should worry about?"

She shakes her head. "I don't think so. She claimed it was just some guy she went on a blind date with. He liked her more than she liked him."

"Would you recognize him if you saw him?"

She shakes her head again. "I never saw him. They stayed on the front porch, and I had too much wine last night."

I smile down at her, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

"I don't want to talk about Morgan and how all the men she's ever met fall at her feet."

"What do you want to talk about?" I ask.

"Us," she whispers. "What does this mean, you showing up here?"

"I'm hoping it means that I don't have to leave alone," I confess, wondering not for the first time if I'm speaking out of turn and will only leave empty-handed.

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