Page 47 of To Believe In You
The music continued. They must not have chosen a shortened cut of the song. John stepped forward and took the spotlight, and the audience cheered him on. The guys must’ve spent hours—days—with choreographers to get all of this down.
Thoughts reined in, he risked a glance at Lina. “A flipper?”
“Yeah. You know?” With a flick of her fingers, she indicated a circle.
“Now that you mention it, I would enjoy watching them perform in flippers.” He shifted in his seat, mimicking a penguin waddle.
“No. Someone who does the big moves like flips.” Lina leaned closer, shouting again like this was a death metal concert and not a wedding reception. He caught a whiff of her perfume, fresh like the ocean. “Like you.”
“You did not just call me a flipper.” He cut her a look.
Sure enough. She was close.
A smirk slanted across her lips. “You prefer to be called a flandscaper?”
He barked a laugh, and Lina chuckled along, the best duet he’d been a part of in ages.
Still laughing, she resumed watching the show. “Maybe no one calls the stunt person a flipper. I learned it from one of those dance competition movies.”
“I always trust what I learn from movies.” His fingers twitched to reach over and smear her lipstick, show her what it felt like to be human, to not have it all together all the time. Touching her lips to cause trouble would be better than not touching them at all. In this upbeat mood, maybe she’d forgive him.
Cheers rose as Gannon took his turn front and center. Since few people ignored the show, Tim stood out as he skirted tables, headed toward Matt and Lina with a drink in his hand. In keeping with the formal tone of the event, he wore a suit. Probably an expensive one of his own rather than a rental like Matt’s.
Isabella had met a few girls her age after dinner and lingered with them at the corner of the floor. A man in a staff uniform shadowed Tim.
Tim took his seat while the stranger bent to say something in Lina’s ear. She replied quietly, and Matt missed her shouting. With a confused frown, she rose and followed the man away.
He looked to Tim. “What’s that about?”
“He’s on the staff. Maybe there was a mix-up at the coat check.” He tipped a drink of the amber liquid, then lifted a finger from the glass to point toward the dance floor. “I suppose you don’t at all regret turning them down right about now.”
Gannon, John, and Philip struck their final pose as the last beat dropped, and raucous applause filled the ballroom. Panting but grinning, Gannon broke formation to join his bride. When the couple kissed, more cheers went up.
Joyful abandon. Pure celebration. Happy friends and family. Love.
Matt could see it all from where he sat. Was there any way for him to claim it for his own?
* * *
Shane couldnotbe here.
He must be, or security wouldn’t have told her he was, but …
Shane had traveled all the way to Wisconsin? Tried to gain entrance to the wedding of the year by claiming to be her plus one?
The sequins of Lina’s clutch bit into the thin skin inside her upper arm as she followed the staff member down the hall of the country club. As the passage opened into the foyer, her gaze skipped from person to person, dismissing each before she even focused until her vision stopped on a man standing with his back to her.
In a dark blue suit, he faced the windows overlooking the golf course. His haircut was textured by neatly combed waves. He took one hand from his pocket and tapped his pant leg before turning. As he did, his expression lifted with recognition and appreciation.
She’d raided more of Grandma’s jewelry than normal for the wedding, taking a tennis bracelet, hair clips, and a necklace from the safety deposit box at the bank, where she stored the pieces she didn’t wear regularly. The weight of the necklace rested on her breastbone like armor.
She smoothed a hand over her dress. She’d made a special trip to an upscale shopping center in Milwaukee to find a gown, and for a moment, she was glad she had. She wanted Shane to regret losing her, even if she’d never give him another chance.
But as Shane neared, his gaze lingering, the yards of fabric suddenly seemed like skimpy cover, and the necklace, far too small to protect her heart.
To prevent fidgeting, she tensed the muscles of her arms. She hadn’t wanted to face him on the phone or in text. Was she strong enough to do this in person?
She’d better be. “What are you doing here?”
