Page 50 of Wild Side
CHAPTER 18
RHYS
Bash:
You better be fucking ready. Your bride looks beautiful.
Rhys:
I’m ready and waiting.
Bash:
I don’t just mean the wedding. You better be ready to take care of her. She’s been through enough. Everyone wants to see her happy.
Rhys:
I’m ready.
We turnthrough the doorway at the top of the aisle. My eyes immediately lock with Tabitha’s, and the world stands still.
She’s a vision. Shiny dark hair falling in soft, loose curls. Cheeks flushed. The stark white of her dress makes her skin appear more bronze than usual.
I swallow roughly, reminding myself that this day is a farce. A carefully constructed facade meant to fool everyone.
But not me. I’m not meant to be fooled by it.
Yet here I am, heart pounding in my ears, lungs struggling for air, fucking hearts in my eyes as a woman who tolerates my presence glides down the aisle toward me. It niggles at me that she’s going through with this thinking I betrayed her, but I push my own discomfort aside.
Bash stands at my back stoically, Rosie across from me, and Milo is on the step below me, staring out at the pews. There are only a handful of people in the crowd, none of whom I know. And I don’t even care.
Right now, everything else falls away. My gaze lingers on the subtle up-turn of her lips as she peeks up at her beaming dad. Before I know it, they’re standing in front of me, and I am once again reminding myself to act natural. To play my part. If Tabitha can pull it off, then surely I can too. Hell, half my job is acting. This should be a breeze.
“Sir.” I nod in Paul’s direction as I step down and reach for his hand. We’ve met once. It was nice, but I’d be lying if I said I’m not a little suspicious of how easily they’ve accepted the news of our marriage. I know I’m in on the charade and Tabitha doesn’t need my pity, but there’s this part of me that wants to shake them. Tell them to wake up and notice the burden their daughter has taken on, all for the sake of keeping everyone around her happy.
Over the past weeks, it’s become clear that the only person looking out for Tabitha is Tabitha. And fuck if it doesn’t make me want to look out for her too.
If there’s no one else to take up her cause, it might as well be her husband.
He offers me a firm handshake and a watery smile. “You take good care of my little girl now.”
I nod with conviction, staring back at the much shorter man. “I intend to.” My voice comes out sure and even, full of determination. Because nothing about the sentiment is fake. I intend to take good care of Tabitha—in any way that she’ll let me.
Then her hand is in mine, and I lead her up the low steps to the dais, where I lean toward her and whisper, “You look incredible.” Because I can’t help myself. And because it’s true.
She shivers as she peeks up at me, eyes searching as though to see if I’m telling the truth or not. Then I get a nod along with a quiet and unexpected, “So do you.”
And there’s no snideness to her voice. In fact, I get the sense she’s being entirely genuine. It throws me off, but I don’t get much time to fixate. Within seconds, we stand facing each other, in front of a crowd, and it’s no longer the time or place to be confused by Tabitha Garrison.
“Tabby girl, congratulations.” The officiant smiles at her affectionately, and she gives the same grin back.
I wasn’t expecting Doris, who I’m told owns the bar, to be the one marrying us, but Tabitha insisted, and I have a record of sucking at saying no to her. So here I am, getting married by a woman who reeks of cigarettes and looks like she’s worn baby oil in the sun for decades. But apparently she’s a registered officiant, so whatever.
“Thank you, Doris,” Tabitha whispers back.
“I hope he has a huge dick. It makes the dumb shit men do a lot more forgivable.”
My face goes blank as I stare back at the woman with no filter. Thank fuck, she’s not wearing a mic. Bash groans behind me, and Rosie covers a snort by slapping her hand over her mouth. Tabitha makes a slight choking sound and thumps a fist on her chest.
