Page 8 of Dangerous Encore
2
Violet
Itryto get comfortable in the cozy chair, but it isn't happening. This is the only bakery in all of Orange County that could squeeze us in this last minuteandpromise as ornate a decoration as our heartsdesire.
This is a perfectly normal chair, the same as the rickety white chairs in most of the coffee shops inthearea.
But no amount of crossing or uncrossing my legs helps me getcomfortable.
Ethan is at the counter, talking to the manager. His wide smile lights up his bright eyes. He looks happy. That's how he's supposed to feel as a groom-to-be.
The manager laughs and presses her palm to her chest. She leans over to Ethan and whispers something. Her hand grazes hisforearm.
He's charming her. Of course he is. He's Ethan. The man was born to entertain. In his skinny jeans, leather jacket, t-shirt combo, he looks every bit the rock star. He looks like he belongs onstage.
Charming one person at a time is a waste of his skills. He could be charming ten thousandpeople.
He could be charming a few hundred thousand people with some TV appearance. Or even a million people. Hell, a fewmillion.
I take a deep breath and exhale slowly. This has to be normal, pre-wedding jitters. It can't be anything else, because I can't survive withoutEthan.
He's still the only person who reallygetsme.
It's normal being stressed before a big occasion. Especially one that falls mostly on my shoulders. Nobody talks about the blushing groom and his beautiful suit and his perfect hair and makeup. Nobody asks him what he thinks of the ribbons on the chairs or the floral arrangements or the seatingcharts.
Two months sounded like plenty of time to plan a wedding when the date at the Kimberly Crest House and Gardens opened up. It was the only available weekend in the next year and a half. Well, the only one that lined up with Ethan'sschedule.
His mom had just passed away, and he was hating that he was hurting, and I was hating that he was hurting. It felt necessary to claim him as my familyrightaway.
Don't get me wrong. I still feel that pull to make things official. I still want to tell the entire world—or at least all my friends and family—that Ethan is my family now andforever.
But I'm tired of hearingaboutit.
There are still so many details up intheair.
And I still have to deal with everyone's reactions on every oneofthem.
And then there are the opinions on the one thing that reallymatters—
Nobody in my family gets why I'm marrying Ethan. Mom and Dad try. They really do. But they still look at him like they want to tell him to cut his hair and cover histattoos.
"Hey." His voice grabs my attention. He's standing at the counter, holding two cups. "Green tea." He places it on the table in front of me then takes the seat next to mine. "You okay,honey?"
Maybe. "Juststressed."
He takes a long sip of his coffee. "You lookexhausted."
"Don't tell me I didn't cover up my under-eyecircles."
He laughs. "It's more yourposture."
"Good." I smooth my dress. I prefer to think of my makeup and wardrobe as armor, but I can't deny that I want to look good as much as I want to looktough.
"Don't worry. You look fucking hot." He leans in to whisper. "I'm tempted to drag you to the bathroom, push those tights to your knees, and get you coming onmyhand."
My cheeksflush.
He drags his fingertips up my thigh, over my tights. "I could probably do it right now. Over thetights."
