Page 16 of Protected By the SEAL
And now she won’t even look at me.
My leg bounces restlessly. I need to talk to her, need to tell her that last night meant everything, that I’m not going to pull back this time. But we’re trapped here, surrounded by her family, trapped in white chairs and other people’s happiness.
“Beautiful day for a wedding,” she says quietly, the first real words she’s spoken to me in an hour.
“Yeah.” I study her profile, trying to read what’s happening behind those carefully neutral features. “You okay?”
“Fine.” The word comes out clipped. She adjusts her dress, smooths an imaginary wrinkle, does everything but look at me. “Definitely ready for this to be over.”
The wedding? The weekend? Us? The ambiguity makes my stomach drop.
I stroke my thumb across her knuckles, the same gesture that would have made her melt into me yesterday. Today, she goes even more rigid. Panic claws at my chest. She’s bracing for impact, waiting for me to hurt her, to say it was a mistake. Just like I did in senior year. Just like before deployment. Christ, no wonder she’s pulling away.
“Morgana.” I need to fix this now, before she builds the walls any higher.
“The music’s starting,” she cuts me off, voice bright and false.
The processional begins, trapping us in our seats. My hand tightens on hers reflexively.Don’t pull away, please don’t pull away. The bridesmaids float down the aisle in lavender, then a flower girl who looks miserable in her puffy dress. Everyone stands as the wedding march begins, and Belinda appears at the end of the aisle in white lace and triumph.
I watch Morgana watch Victor at the altar. Her face is carefully blank, but I can see how she’s clenching her jaw, the white-knuckle grip on her purse. Yesterday she was mine, crying outmy name, telling me how good I made her feel. Today she’s locked down tight, and I’m losing her by the second.
My chest feels too tight. I shift in my seat, fighting the urge to pull her into the aisle and make her talk to me. Make her understand that last night wasn’t a mistake or because we’d been drinking, it was everything I’ve wanted ever since we first met.
“Do you, Victor, take Belinda to be your lawfully wedded wife?”
Morgana’s hand twitches in mine. Just once, barely perceptible, but I feel it. I lean closer, desperate to bridge this gap.
“We need to talk,” I whisper urgently. “Please.”
“Not now.” Her voice is barely audible.
“Then when? You’ve been avoiding me all morning.” My voice cracks slightly. “Morgana, about last night.”
She finally looks at me then, and what I see in her eyes makes my blood run cold. Fear. Regret. But underneath, pain. She’s expecting me to hurt her, to take it all back like I have before.
“I can’t do this here,” she breathes, and I can hear her voice breaking.
“I’m not pulling back,” I whisper fiercely. “Not this time. I swear to you.”
But she’s already turning back to watch Victor and Belinda exchange rings, her jaw set. The message is clear: she’s shutting me out, protecting herself from what she thinks is coming. What she expects from me based on our history.
“You may kiss the bride.”
As we file out with the other guests, Morgana extracts her hand from mine under the pretense of adjusting her purse. My palm burns with the absence of her touch. Last night, she couldn’t stop touching me. I loved having her hands in my hair, holding me like I was everything. Now she’s treating me like a stranger.
“Morgana, please,” I reach for her, desperate.
“The reception’s starting soon. We should head over.” Her voice is polite, yet coldly distant.
She walks ahead of me toward the reception venue, heels clicking against the stone path, putting physical distance between us to match the emotional chasm that’s opened up. I follow, my hands clenching and unclenching at my sides. I want to grab her, spin her around, and tell her that last night was the best night of my life. That when she was in my arms and we were making love, my whole world shifted into place. How I understood, with blinding clarity, that it’s always been her, but I was too scared to risk everything for the one person I was most afraid of losing.
But we’re surrounded by wedding guests, her family, and she’s already so far ahead I’d have to run to catch her. My chest aches with the need to fix this, to reassure her, to make her understand that this time is different.
Because I know Morgana. When she gets scared, she runs. And right now, she’s terrified, not of what we could be, but what she thinks we won’t be. She’s protecting herself from the pain she thinks is coming.
And while we’re trapped in this wedding circus, I can’t do a damn thing to stop it.
“Oh my God, Morgana!”
