Page 40 of Fit for Love

I grin.“It’s a nod to the first gift Marcus sent Emma—flowers and cat food.”

What I don’t add is that Janie would know this if she hadn’t disappeared on us, resurfacing only because of her boyfriend’s machinations.

No.I will not be negative today.Not on Ems’s wedding day.

I will be so saintly I might even be nice to Ashton… Or if not nice, very good at avoiding conflict.

And… speak of the devil.I spot him, wearing a bespoke tux.

Holy fuck.The effect of Ashton’s signature V-shape is multiplied a thousand-fold, and an air of old-money, commanding arrogance pours out of his every cufflink and lapel.And did I mention the confidence the suit makes him exude?It’s radiating from him like a fucking halo.

Wait.What am I doing?I’m supposed to ignore the manwhore, not ogle him like a tasty morsel.

Yet, when he spots me, his eyes darken temptingly, and I can’t help but lick my lips—a gesture that makes the asshole smirk, like he knows the effect he’s having on me.

“Nice dress,” he murmurs, approaching us.

Janie audibly gulps.“Are you talking to me?”

“Of course,” he says, turning his potent charm on her.“Who else?”

Janie blushes.

Poor girl.Ashton in that tux has clearly jumbled her brain enough to forget that we’re wearing the exact same dress.

And hey, I feel her pain… and wish I were wearing more substantial underwear.

Fuck.

The wedding.

Must focus on it.

Except Marcus and Emma aren’t here.Nor is the priest—assuming that Marcus wants to use one to officiate, and not, say, an Ayn Rand impersonator or the Secretary of the Treasury.

Oh, I know.Maybe I should think about my design project.Would that make me stop darting glances at Ashton?

It’s worth a shot, except I’m still a bit blank when it comes to the details of my project.

Maybe I should design a tuxedo?For women?

No.Too close to the thing that I’m trying to avoid.

A wedding dress?

Hmm.That’s actually not a bad idea.Tierre has done this for a few celebs and?—

“Hello, everyone,” says a beautiful and much-too-cheerful woman holding a giant camera.“My name is Gala, and I’m the MC and photographer for this nuptial jubilee.”

“Hi, Gala,” Ashton says in that deep, melty voice of his.

“Hi,” Gala answers breathlessly.Based on her expression, something has clearly just short-circuited in her brain.Or her ovaries.

“Where do you want us?”Ashton asks.

Snapping out of her daze, Gala has all the groomsmen pose together, then the bridesmaids, and thenit’s time for what I’ve been dreading since she showed up: a group photo.

“I want you there.”Gala points me right at Ashton’s crotch.

---