Page 49 of Wild Side
“Thank you, thank you.” I drop a small curtsy that’s received with giggles from everyone.
This morning,theSkylar Stone played beauty salon with me, curling my hair and applying my makeup with a level of expertise that I just do not possess. I suppose years in the spotlight have taught her a thing or two about primping. And when I told her she could do it professionally, she didn’t laugh me off. Instead, her head tilted, and she met my eyes in the mirror with a soft,You think so?
“Here.” Rosie holds out a bouquet I don’t recognize. Jagged green leaves top long, ribbon-wrapped stems. The white flowersthat top those stems are small and delicate, but not as delicate as the slender threadlike petals that shoot out from them.
“Rhys told me to tell you he tracked down your favorite flowers.”
I quirk a brow at my friend. “Oh he did, did he?”
“Yeah. Apparently, Cat Whiskers are not a common bridal choice, and he had to have them shipped in by special order.”
I blink. “I’m sorry?”
Rosie nods eagerly. “I know. Isn’t that sweet? Leave it to you to love something so obscure.”
I look down at the bouquet in my hand and bark out a laugh.
Fucking Cat Whiskers. What a man.
I’m grinning like a loon and shaking my head in disbelief when Rosie lays a hand on my arm.
“You ready?” Rosie asks, eyeing me carefully. She wasn’t quite the easy sell that my parents were.I know the feeling. Sometimes love and hate are two sides of the same coin, she’d said, and I’d nodded along even though the way she and Ford feel about each other isnothinglike Rhys and me. She didn’t hesitate to accept her role in the wedding party, though. And I took that as a win.
Because as much as there’s a part of me that wanted to tell her this whole thing is a sham, I felt like I owed it to Rhys not to. It may be a sham. But it’soursham. And for better or for worse, we’re in this together.
So today I smile shyly, grateful that Rosie is here as my maid of honor and that Skylar is sitting in a pew. Over the past several weeks, they’ve been the closest things I’ve had to friends in a long time. We don’t work together, and they don’t need anything from me—they’re just happy to spend time with me. Hell, they make me happy too, and at a time like this, that’s special.
Rhys and I don’t make each other happy. But I’m here, about to walk down the aisle to him anyway. Because, like always, I do what needs to be done.
“Ready,” I respond with a firm nod. “How about you, Milo?” I turn and crouch before him.
“I’ll be the best flower boy,” he gushes, eyes bright and cheeks flushed.
Even though I can tell he’s nervous, his excitement is palpable. I can’t help but reach forward and hug him. Seeking comfort in him—in knowing I’m doing the right thing. And when his tiny arms wrap around my neck, all my nerves disappear.
The music starts to play as I straighten, and my stomach flips. Rhys is on the other side of those doors, standing in front of a small group of people he doesn’t know at all, like nothing about this entire thing is weird. I casually asked him about inviting some of his friends and family. And in response, I’d gotten a grunt and a “No, that’s fine.”
I tried not to take it personally. Told myself that it made sense. After all, we’re selling this tomyfamily. I know we don’t need to overcomplicate it with more people and more lies, but it left me wishing my future husband felt some semblance of pride about me.
Dad links my arm through his, pulling me out of my internal pity party. He puffs his chest as we wait, every bit the proud father waiting to walk his daughter down the aisle.
Bash slips out through the double doors, face impassive. His gray suit is immaculate, highlighting the silver flecks in the salt-and-pepper hair near his temples.
“We’re up,” he says matter-of-factly and ushers a jittery Milo forward. He crouches down to check on him. Bash’s son is grown now, so his days of talking to small children have passed, but he still softens for my nephew.
“You ready, pal?” Bash asks him.
Milo nods and takes a deep breath.
“Of course you are. You’re gonna fuckin’ rock th—” Bash’s eyes flash to mine right as Milo gasps and bursts out laughing. Bash grimaces with a grumbled, “Shit, sorry.”
Okay, maybe he isn’t completely adjusted to three-year-olds. But he’s trying.
My lips twitch and then flatten so I don’t laugh too.
That’s what I focus on as I watch Bash send Milo in first before taking Rosie’s arm. In what feels like mere seconds, their backs disappear through the double doors leading into the nave.
And so my wedding begins.
