Page 30 of Too Good to be True

He shakes his head. "I'm sure. And I'm looking forward to meeting your friends. It'll help me learn more about you."

"Actually, the only one I'm really friends with is the bride, Francesca. She's my best friend. That’s part of why I’m out of sorts."

I ramble on to Tim, telling him all about my friendship with Francesca and how we met as we head down in the elevator.

"She's everything I always wanted to be. Beautiful and funny—"

"You are beautiful and funny."

"No. Seriously, she's gorgeous. Long dark hair. Big brown eyes. Mediterranean skin."

"She sounds pretty. But I'm sure she's not nearly as beautiful and exotic looking as you."

I stare at him open-mouthed.

"Come here." As we step off the elevator, Tim takes my hand and leads us to a large full-length mirror on the wall. "Do you see that," he says, standing behind me so that his hand is on my right hip and he's speaking into my left ear. "That woman in front of you," he points at our reflection. "She is the most stunning woman here."

I humor him and smile. The dress accentuates my curves. My normally non-existent waist is pronounced. So are my hips and boobs. I do look sexy. I stand a little taller, allowing myself to embrace his words and their implications. My gray eyes are bright. Happy.

"This woman," his soft brown eyes meet mine in the mirror, "enchants me. She has me under a spell unlike anything I've ever experienced before."

I feel his words in my head. In my heart. In the tingling between my legs.

I take another look in the mirror, and I believe the reason I look so good is because he's standing next to me. I can't keep him with me, but this moment—this moment I can burn into my memory and hold onto with both hands.

"I wish we could skip out on the rehearsal."

"You're not getting out of it that easy," he teases. "I promise I won't embarrass you."

"You couldn't."

"Don't be so sure." He holds his arm out and offers it to me. Arm in arm, we head to the ballroom together.

*

We enter the room unnoticed. The rest of the bridal party is gathered around a man dressed in black with a white collar. I let go of Tim and slink over to the others surrounding him, hoping my tardy arrival goes unnoticed. Or at the very least, that no one makes a big deal over it.

I listen carefully as the priest explains where we are supposed to be and what we will do at each point. I pay attention, but I'm distracted by the glamour of the spacious room. The area looks awfully big for our little group.

I remind myself that there will be a lot more people at the reception. Sam comes from an affluent family, and they have a long guest list. The ceremony will be held in here, then we will be escorted out to the terrace for the cocktail hour while the staff transforms the room and sets it up for the reception. As we prepare to run through the rehearsal, my skin cools. Tiny bumps form, and the hairs on the back of my neck prickle.

I look around to see if I can figure out what is creeping me out. I catch Ian's eye. He's standing across from me. Staring.

His lips are curled up in a smile, but there's something there, something in his dark stare that unnerves me. I chalk up the strange vibe coming off him to my guilt for ditching him at the club last night. I should apologize.

I glance back at Tim. His brows are furrowed as he discusses something with a waiter. He's probably trying to bribe the poor guy into bringing a cart full of food up to my room for our very own "after" party.

I try my hardest to stay focused so I’ll know all I need to for the wedding tomorrow night. I glance to the back of the room every now and then. Every time I look at him, Tim is engaged in animated conversation with one of the hotel workers. Just before we finish our run-through of the wedding, I see him talking on his phone.

Even from this distance, I can see the tension in his face. I wonder who he’s talking to. I get an uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach. It dawns on me that I know nothing about him. We know nothing about each other. All I know is that it feels like something heavy is coming. I wonder if that something is the realization that in less than forty-eight hours, the morning after the wedding, we will say goodbye and go our separate ways.

"I look forward to seeing you all tomorrow to help Samuel and Francesca celebrate the beautiful sacrament of marriage."

I tune out the rest of what the priest says. I wish the best for my friends, but recent events with Corey and Tim have me questioning everything I thought I knew about love, marriage, and happily ever after.

"So where is he?" Francesca asks once we get the official word that our practice session has ended.

"Um," I look around. I don't see Tim. "I'm not sure."

---