Page 48 of Wild Side
Rhys:
Charming. But no.
Tabby:
Maybe I should just carry Cleocatra down the aisle? I don’t need a bouquet.
I rubmy damp palms together nervously in the small back room of the church.
My dad, Paul, doesn’t miss it, but he doesn’t jump to conclusions. Instead of assuming I’m antsy and dreading walking down the aisle today, he smiles at me kindly. “Excited, aren’t ya, kiddo?”
Since Rhys and I told my parents about the wedding, and they met him for thevery first time, they haven’t shown a single shred of suspicion over the entire thing. Which would seem strange, except it’s clear as day to me they need something happy in their lives. They need this wedding to be a joyous, happy occasion. They need it so badly that they can’t bear to look any closer.
Yeah, my parents are thrilled I’m getting married to Rhys, even though they don’t know him from Adam.
“Yeah, Dad.” I smile back. “I’m excited.”
Excited to get this over with.
I still tried to bring up a quick trip down to the courthouse, but even as the words left my mouth, I knew it wouldn’t work. There’s no chance people like Rosie, or Skylar, or West, or Bash would believe that I married Rhys for real if we did that. And I suppose that’s why they’re all in attendance today.
In the name of keeping things simple, Rosie is my maid of honor, and Bash is Rhys’s best man. I don’t know how or when, but he and Rhys seem to have hit it off beyond the bowling team. Best man and security system enforcer. Their friendship makes perfect sense and also baffles me.
“You look so beautiful.” My father’s gaze goes watery as he takes me in, and I fight the urge to squirm.
“Thanks, Dad.”
I drop his gaze and adjust the spaghetti straps of my simple, backless, lace sheath dress. They hold it securely, a necessity because my small boobs couldn’t support anything strapless. This dress was also easily hemmed to accommodate my vertical challenges as well as our short timeline.
My mom, Lisa, had fussed over me finding exactlywhat I wanted and had lamented that it was impossible with so little time to plan. I’d said something cheesy like,Sorry, Mom. The heart wants what the heart wants.
But the truth is, this dress is what I’d choose on a longer timeline. Feminine, but not too frilly. Hell, I could have this hemmed shorter next week and wear it with a cute pair of cowboy boots for a night out.
“The perfect glowing bride. I’m so proud of you, Tabby Cat. I just wish…”
I nod, my eyes swimming with tears, because I know what he was about to say—I just wish Erika were here. And so do I, though I still feel conflicted about how she’d be reacting. I’m not oblivious to the fact that Rhys’s and my stories don’t match up where my sister is concerned. I just haven’t let myself dig into why. It hurts too badly.
Still, the dishonesty of the day sits heavy in my stomach. The deception of it all has kept me up the last few nights, along with the knowledge that my husband-to-be is sleeping down in a dank concrete basement.
He’s never once complained. And yet, it bothers me more than it ever has. At first, I felt as though Rhys belonged down there, but now…now I’m not so sure.
Rhys was quiet, agreeable, and steady as a rock as we rushed to plan the wedding. We divided and conquered as though we were a real couple and not solely a business arrangement. I took charge of the food, music, and reception dinner at the bistro, while Rhys handled the ceremony itself and booked the small church just off Main Street. He designed invites, printed them, and handwrote names on the front in the most meticulous cursive.
I had stood at the kitchen counter on hold with the food supplier, phone wedged between my ear and my shoulder. My eyes stayed fixed on him as he made our invites with a level of care I never expected. His hands seemed too big for the pen or for the elegant script that he drew on each envelope. It hadlooked downright ridiculous when he carefully folded down the flap of the envelope.
But it was the way his eyes flashed to mine as he trailed his tongue over the edge of that flap that had me flushing and leaving the kitchen in a flustered huff.
Marrying Rhys for legal purposes is one thing, but letting myself stare at him like I might enjoy consummating said marriage is a recipe for disaster.
And we both know it. It’s an unspoken commitment between us. We’re both mature enough to understand that Milo is at the center of this jumbled mess, and we don’t need to make it any messier.
Basically, we’d both do anything for him. Including keeping our hands the hell off each other.
That mutual dedication breeds a grudging respect between us. I take solace in reminding myself that marriages have been founded on less.
And when I hear the click of the door and Milo’s excited squeal, I take solace in knowing I’m making the right decision for him too.
Rosie is holding his hand as she saunters in, eyes roaming, head nodding. “Yes, girl. You lookstunning.”
