Page 138 of Merry Me
My jaw clenched until my molars ached. My hand, still loosely held in his, felt foreign. Like it belonged to someone else. Someone younger. Someone who used to believe.
And still?—
I let the song finish.
Not because I forgave him.
Not because I needed the closure he was trying to script.
But because this was my sister’s wedding. Because people were watching. Because my dress was beautiful, the lights were soft, the music was sweet and aching, and I was tired of being the girl who always bolted.
So I stayed.
One slow, painful dance.
That’s all it was.
A minute and a half of shared space. Of ghosts. Of silence that stretched between us like a rope worn thin.
I didn’t say another word. Didn’t give him anything else. No absolution. No promises. No second chances tucked into a whispered goodbye.
When the music swelled toward its final note, I gently stepped back.
His hand dropped from my waist like it knew better than to try to linger.
“Thank you,” he said quietly.
I didn’t respond.
I simply turned and walked away, back toward the man whose arms had never let me fall.
CHAPTER 26
NATALIE
“All right, ladies!” Paige called from the front of the room, her veil slightly askew and her lipstick looking way too good for someone who’d just had her tongue down Levi’s throat. “It’s time!”
Groans and laughter echoed as chairs scraped and women reluctantly shuffled toward the dance floor like it wasThe Hunger Games.
“Oh no,” I muttered, grabbing Ellie’s arm. “She’s really doing this.”
“I willnotbe a cliché tonight,” someone muttered behind me like they were trying to manifest it into existence…while holding a bouquet of roses, a heart-shaped balloon, and what was definitely a ring box.
“Speak for yourself,” MeMaw said, cracking her knuckles. “I didn’t wear orthopedic heels just tonotbody-slam a bridesmaid.”
I side-eyed my mother, silently asking if she was going to step in, but she just rolled her eyes. Judging by the state of her rosy cheeks and glassy eyes, someone had drank a little too much champagne…
Up front, Paige clutched her bouquet like it was aglitter-drenched grenade. She grinned, tossed her curls over her shoulder, and yelled, “Who wants to be next?!”
A few cheers. Mostly groaning. Someone made the sign of the cross.
Easton was lounging at a nearby table with a champagne glass in hand, and he caught my eye and winked. “Catch it,” he mouthed, and I rolled my eyes, my lips twitching, even if the idea of marriage wasn’t seeming nearly as awful nowadays.
The DJ hit play on some upbeat, aggressively sparkly anthem, and Paige turned her back to the crowd, knees bent like a quarterback, the bouquet held high.
“On three!” she yelled. “One…two…”
“I swear, if this flower carcass hits me in the face—” someone hissed.
