Page 78 of Faking the Pass
“This song…”
“Yeah, sorry for the repeat,” Presley said. “It’s the only one I remembered you being crazy about. Hope you haven’t learned to hate it over the years or something. It would be pretty bad to be bombarded with an earworm on your wedding day.”
I shook my head, baffled that he’d remembered my favorite song and arranged to have it played today.
“No. It brings back good memories. Thank you.”
Presley pulled me close with our still-joined left hands and rested his right one at the small of my back. It wasn’t in a sling tonight, and I was highly aware of it pressed against my exposed skin in the low-cut gown.
I was also conscious of the others watching us as we began moving to the music.
We were not one of those cool couples with the highly rehearsed first dance, but we managed to do a pretty decent job of it.
Actually the dancing was the easy part.
The hard part was being this close to him. It was something I’d managed to avoid since we’d gone into solitary confinement together.
But at this close range, I couldn’tnotnotice how good he smelled. Or the feel of his powerful body against mine.
Parts of me I’d thought might be dormant for the rest of my life began to come online. My skin became ultra aware, sensitive to the slightest movements of his fingers. My forehead tingled at the feel of his breath stirring my hair.
It was almost like Presley sensed it, because his hand on my lower back exerted stronger pressure, and I felt a telltale hardness against my midsection.
Then he made a noise and stepped back a little so there was an inch or two of space between our bodies.
“This dress is…”
His voice broke off, sounding a little winded. “Something else. It’s very… soft. Good choice.”
My eyes, which I’d kept off to one side or the other during our dance, flew up to lock with his. My response was breathy too.
“Glad you like it.”
The song ended, and there was applause from the small group of witnesses, reminding me we weren’t the only two people in the world.
I managed to pull my eyes away from Presley’s and look around at the others. They were moving to join us on the makeshift dance floor as the quartet began to play a more upbeat song.
The brothers took turns dancing with their mom, and then Wilder drew Jessica out for a dance.
Dylan and Merc went back to the table to finish off the remaining wine as Mr. and Mrs. Lowe started slow dancing together.
In spite of his gruffness with the boys, he was sweet with her. Watching them brought tears to my eyes. They truly had it all—a happy family and a real, enduring love.
No wonder Presley was so amazing.
“Thank you for all of… this,” I said, looking around. “I’m not sure how you managed it—or why—but it’s been a pretty incredible day.”
“I had a lot of help,” he said. “Olivia was a pro. As for why… I know you didn’t want to do this any more than I did. And after all you’ve been through, the least I could do was make it a nice day. If we’ve got to get married against our will, we might as well have fun doing it, right?”
And there it was. The artificial high of the past hour or so came crashing back to stark reality, bringing my heart down with it.
See? He’s just being nice, like the nice guy he is.
No matter what it may have looked like, all of this meant nothing. It was like delicious buttercream frosting spread over an empty cardboard box.
And it was just plain stupid to get sappy over frosted cardboard—or to start assigning feelings to Presley that he didn’t feel.
Been there, done that, got the game day jersey… and had it taken away again.
