Page 61 of You Started It

A blush rises through me but I try to find the simmer button. “It’s just a basic black dress,” I say.

“Maybe on anyone else, but on you, it’s fire.”

“Thanks, I guess.” I look away from Axel, twisting my heel into the shiny tile.

“You’re not so good at accepting compliments, are you?”

“I just prefer the ones that have to do with my brain.” I smile.

“Okay.” He clears his throat. “Your legs look very intelligent in that dress.”

We both laugh and it’s nice. It’s like no one else matters. Just us. I wish it could stay that way. “So, what should I expect tonight?”

“A loud, elaborate entrance by the bride and groom, followed by twenty minutes of nonstop dancing to Arabic music. A lot of the guests join in for that. Then food. Speeches from the wedding party, but most of the Arabs won’t pay attention and will likely talk over them. And then entertainment followed by more dancing.”

“What kind of entertainment?”

Axel shakes his hips. “A belly dancer.”

“Oh. Isn’t that kind of old-fashioned?”

“It’s pretty typical at Arab weddings. It’s not sexist, despite what some people say. Belly dancing is an art. And it’s empowering.”

“I guess I never saw it that way. Probably just some leftover antiquated rhetoric from my mother. She has me believing every aspect of the Arab culture is embedded in misogyny.”

“Well, she’s wrong.” He takes a step closer as more guests arrive and whispers in my ear, “Will you dance with me tonight or is that too antiquated?”

I swallow, his lips inches away from mine. “I did agree to play the role of adoring girlfriend.”

“Or…” He pauses. “You could dance with me because you want to.” His eyes sear into mine and I get lost in their light-brown hue. The little swoop of curls resting on his forehead. Those very pillowy lips.Snap out of it, Jamie.

“Maybe if you sneak some alcohol into my cup,” I joke.

“You don’t need alcohol. You’ve got me.”

You’ve got me.

But do I?I want to ask.

“Axel,” a groomsman calls from behind.

“I’ve got to go. I’ll come find you once my duties are over.” He starts to leave, then comes back and places a kiss on my cheek. “You really do look incredible.”

The warmth of his words spreads through me and I can’t fight the smile that wants to come out. A moment later, my phone buzzes in my hand. I open it to see a notification from Instagram. Axel tagged me in a photo. Dread fills me as I open it. He snuck a picture when I wasn’t looking and captioned it, “Mydate.”

I wonder if Ben will see this. Just to be sure, I share the photo to my Stories.

Axel wasn’t lying when he said the reception would be elaborate. His mother dragged me from my spot at the table to join everyone else on the dance floor to cheer on the bridal party after their introductions. Once I got over the fear that everyone was watching me (they weren’t), I clapped along and cheered with his family. About ten minutes into dancing, Axel removed his suit jacket, vest, and tie and rolled the sleeves of his white dress shirt. He kept stealing glances at me, smiling each time. Therewas a small part of me that wanted him to pull me into the dancing circle to join him (must have been the adrenaline), but I understand he has his own role to play tonight.

Over dinner, Axel and I text back and forth, me at the table with his family and him at the head table with the bridal party. At one point his mother walked right up to him and made him put his tie back on. I took a picture of the interaction and sent it to him. In return, he sent another candid photo of me, this time chatting with his sisters.

The food is never-ending, and I get up halfway through the (second?) main course to use the restroom. Axel’s in the foyer with his cousin and his new wife, their heads close together. The bride looks upset. When I come out of the restroom, I find Axel in the foyer alone.

“What’s going on?” I ask.

He runs a hand through his now loosened curls.

“The entertainment canceled and the bride is freaking out.”

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