Page 24 of Never Been Worse

“Hello there, little wife,” he whispers into my ear as my arms wrap around his neck awkwardly, despite our need to make this look convincing. Not just for cameras that will surely leak clips of our first dance to some tabloid. But because everyone else in this room, including my parents, who we flew out for the wedding and showed minimal surprise or even interest in my news, thinks we’ve been experiencing some low-key, whirlwind romance out of the eyes of the press and they’re in the presence of true love.

His words send a shiver through me, my body unwittingly melting into his touch without my permission, making it all the more believable. But my pulse starts pounding as the opening strings of “At Last” by Etta James fill the room.

“You’ve been ignoring me all night,” he whispers as he begins to sway my body easily in time with his, the cloyingly sweet tones of a song I’ve loved for as long as I can remember playing.

Over his shoulder, I glare at Ava, who definitely knows this is the song I wanted to one day dance to with my husband at my wedding.

“No, I haven’t,” I deny impulsively, even though we both know it’s absolutely the truth.

“Now, now, Harper, let’s not start this marriage off on a lie,” he says, and I pull back to look at him, his eyes twinkling as he smiles.

“Isn’t that exactly what we started this with?” I whisper.

“No,” he says, then twirls me out and then back in smoothly, despite the drinks and heels that should make me clumsy. It’s as if my body just instinctively knows how to work alongside his.

I hate it.

“We’re both very much aware of how this is starting, so it’s not a lie at all.” I’m back against his chest when his hand moves up, tipping my chin to look at him. “I’d like to keep it that way.”

I can’t look away from him, from the earnest look in his eyes, even though a warning bell in the form of fluttering wings in my belly is going off.

“My only request is we never, ever lie to each other, Harper. That’s all I ask of you. Can you agree to that?” His breath ghosts along my lips as he speaks, and it wouldn’t take much at all for him to dip a bit, to press his full lips to mine again.

“Okay,” I whisper without even meaning to, though the wide smile he gives me makes it worth it. It also desperately makes me want tokeepthat promise.

“So why have you been avoiding me?” he asks.

I bite my lip, and his thumb moves up, tugging it out from between my teeth before brushing over the bruised skin. The move sends bolts of desire through me, desire I should absolutelynotbe feeling.

“Because you’re hot,” I admit, deciding it’s both the truth and the safest one to admit.

Wes’s head tips back in a laugh, and it rumbles through me, forcing my own lips to tip up in response. A camera flashes somewhere, and subconsciously, I think I want a copy of that photo, of Wes’s handsome face tipped back with laughter, my face most likely tipped up to look at him adoringly…

I’m so fucked.

“You’ve been avoiding me because you think I’m good-looking?” he asks, and I nod.

“You’re gorgeous, and I find it annoying,” I grumble under my breath, my typical filter completely annihilated from the chaotic day. Or maybe it’s just Wes.

“I’m annoying because I’m hot?”

I shake my head. “No, it’s annoying thatyou’re hot. I think you’re just annoying because you were born that way.”

His smile widens, making him even hotter, and that confirms that he is, in fact, annoying as can be.

“Is it bad that your husband is hot?” he asks, our bodies still swaying in time to the music on the dance floor, everyone still watching us. But the way he’s holding me, the way his attention is locked on me, it’s almost like it’s just us here, alone and bickering as we move together perfectly.

“Technically? No. I think most people tend to consider that a good thing. For me, however, very much so.”

He leans forward, lips moving to my ear, his breath grazing there, sending an unwanted chill down my spine. “Why’s that?” he asks. I open my mouth, but he speaks again. “Remember, no lying.”

I sigh, recalculating my answer before laying it out there.

“Because this… this isnotthat,” I say low, ignoring the sharp bite of disappointment in my stomach. “It can’t be that.”

A long beat passes, Wes swaying me to the music as he contemplates my response before he speaks. “It could be,” he finally replies in almost a whisper, that hand on my bare back burning now in a different way.

His gaze meets mine, and for a moment, I consider some other universe where this is actually our first dance, the start of something beautiful.

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