Page 81 of Wait For It

“I wasn’t.”

In saying Killian’s name, I’d given myself away. Keeping him safe would mean convincing Tristan that he meant nothing. I brought my hand up to clasp my necklace, needing my talisman like never before. “I feel like maybe—maybe God used the seizure to rewire that part of my brain.”

Tristan’s eyes flashed with something like pride, and he nodded. “God’s still in the miracle business and can use anything to His glory.”

“Amen.” I cleared my throat against another surge of bile before asking, “Do you think I’ll be home in time for Christmas?”

“Maybe—worried you might miss out on presents?” He chuckled, seemingly forgetting the very things he preached against.

Putting Christ Back in Christmas: A Four-Part Series about Leaving Materialism on the Shelf.

“I—” I shook my head, fighting the numbness that seemed to be settling in. God help me, I couldn’t bring myself to say it.

Killian. Just think of Killian.

“I just thought it might be nice to have a Christmas wedding,” I rushed out on a whisper.

This time, I had him. Tristan made no attempt to disguise his reaction and openly gaped at me for almost a full minute.

Blink. Blink.

“There are women everywhere who would kill to be in my place,” I added, sounding infinitely less threatening than Brad had when he’d said it. “I’m just afraid if we wait much longer, someone will steal him right out from under me.”

His eyes went distant as he mulled over my offer, probably trying to find time in his busy speaking schedule. And that wasn’t even getting into the required appearances and interviews to discuss my upcoming nuptials.

“Alright. Let’s do it.”Blink. Blink.

“Yeah?” I asked, plastering a fake grin on my face.

“Yeah. But that leaves a lot of work to be done.” In a rare display of emotion, Tristan lifted my hand to his mouth, pressing a kiss against my knuckle in almost the exact spot Killian had.

Although my palms were damp with sweat, they remained surprisingly steady.

I wasn’t afraid anymore.

With that knowledge, I decided to go for broke. “Maybe Morgan could help with some of the planning for me while I’m here.”

His smile dimmed, but he jerked his chin in a thoughtful nod. “We’ll see, little dove.”

“I can help, Pastor James,” Tiffani blurted. “I understand you have a busy schedule, but I could literally run out and buy some bridal magazines for Ariana to look over—not like I’d be trying to take over. And, like, you wouldn’t even have to pay me or anything like that.”

She finally paused to take a breath before adding, “I just want to help.”

“How can I say no to that pitch, Tiffani?” He winked at me, and I wondered how different our lives would have turned out had he not been a complete phony.

What would it have been like to be loved unconditionally?

It wasn’t the first time I’d considered the alternate version of reality either. Once, I’d caught Mama on a good day and asked something similar. After she stopped laughing, she’d looked at me and said, “Just because a chicken has wings, don’t mean it can fly.”

At the time, I’d taken her response as an indicator that she was slipping back into her delusional state, but it made sense now. We could have remained small enough to fit in the box he’d designated for us, but there was no realm where Tristan became a loving father.

The evil in him went right down to the bone.

“I’ve got to get back to the church—and you, little dove, need to get some rest so that you’re ready to walk down the aisle in just a little over a month.”

Tiffani waited until he was gone—going as far as checking to ensure he’d gotten on the elevator—before rounding on me. I braced myself for the onslaught of praise, my cheeks already growing sore from the forced smiles.

I didn’t know how much longer I could keep the act up.

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