Page 67 of Craving the Player

Chapter Thirty

BRADEN

I’ve never been afan of weddings. But that’sprobably because Idon’tever want one.

Weddings are pointless, futile. They’re an excuse to spend thousands of dollars on the idea and hope of forever. You invite hundreds of people, some of whom you probably haven’tseen in ten, fifteen years, and stand in front of apriest just to proclaim alove that you already know you feel. The day is over before you know it, and life carries on like it did before you were handed that flimsy piece of paper. The one that tells you that you’re tethered to someone for the rest of your life. For better or worse, right?

But what happens afterward? After the honeymoon phase washes away and you realize that there’sno going back. The years go by and you begin to hate the way your partner handles stress, or maybe they work too much and are home too little. You realize that you’re not happy, but that damn piece of paper says you have to stick it through. You have to grow to hate each other before the topic of divorce is brought up.

That nasty seven letter word still makes my skin itch. Divorce. Even nine-years later Iremember exactly how it felt when my mother sat me down at the kitchen table and told me that her and Dad were getting adivorce. “We’re just not happy anymore,” Mom had said, as if Ihadn’talready known that. As if Ihadn’tspent most of my life watching them grow to hate each other. There was areason that Iimmediately understood why she had chosen anight that he was out of town fighting to deliver the news to me, her things already packed. They hadn’tbeen alone together in the same room for months, too busy ripping each other apart, so why would Ihave expected that night to be any different?

She dropped me off at my grandmother’sthat night and Ididn’tsee her again for two years. It was two years that Ispent confused, hurt, and worried. Ididn’tknow where she was, or who she was with. Dad would let me know that she was alive and well every few weeks, saying that he had talked to her and that she was fine.

Iwas seventeen when my mother came back from atwo year trip trekking across Europe with Antonio, her new fiancé. It turned out that they met in Italy, at some hole in the wall bistro or something like that. He was visiting his family for afew months, and as my mother would say, the rest is history. It took me years to forgive her for leaving, too betrayed to hear her out.

And it wasn’tuntil Isaw how easy it was for my mom to move on and be happy once the chains of marriage were broken that Ipromised myself that Iwouldn’tmake my parents' mistakes. That Iwouldn’tmarry someone just to lose them afew years down the road.

Idon’tneed apiece of fucking paper to tell me that I’mgoing to spend the rest of my life with someone. That’snot how it works.

Ihave no idea why my dad wants to get married again, let alone throw another huge party. But I’ve tried not to spend much time thinking about it. If he wants to keep making the same mistakes, then who am Ito stop him?

It’sSierra that brings me out of my head, her voice putting me at ease. “This really is beautiful. Did they plan it themselves?”

Iturn in my seat until our knees brush. Her eyes are already waiting for mine. Ireach over and place my hand on her thigh, squeezing the bare skin over her knee where the dress has ridden up. Toying with the hem, Ismile, happy to have her with me. Fuck, she’sasight for sore eyes. All warm, pink cheeks and bright eyes that hold the power to consume me with asingle look.

“Ican only assume that Lana hired someone to do the work. She seems like the type,” Imumble and pull my attention to the tacky vase placed on the center of our table. The number of frilly, pale-pink flowers peeking out of the top makes me cringe. Talk about overkill.

“Braden,” Sierra scolds, placing her palm on top of the hand Ihave wrapped around her leg in what seems like an attempt to pull me back. “I’msure if she did hire someone that it was for areason. Some people need help planning something as big as awedding. If this is just the reception, Ican’timagine how beautiful the ceremony must have been.”

It was definitely something. “You’re lucky that you weren’tthere. Ialmost fell asleep at the altar.”

Huffing, Sierra removes her hand from mine and wraps it around her wine glass instead. “You’re helpless.”

“Weddings aren’tmy thing, babe. I’mnot going to apologise for it.”

“You don’thave to apologize. But you don’tneed to be adick either,” she scoffs before taking asip—or more like agulp—from the crimson liquid in her glass. “Iactually happen to love weddings. Awedding is supposed to be one of the best days of your life,” she sighs, the faint ghost of asmile on her lips.

Isling my arm around the back of her chair and lean in so my mouth brushes her ear. “Let me guess, you’ve been planning yours since you were alittle girl? Did you used to dress up in one of your mom’sdresses and pretend you were abride?” Imeant for it to be ajoke, but Isound more mocking than Iintended to, and when hurt flashes across her face, Iknow that she caught it too.

Her smile falls and she begins looking around the room to avoid looking at me. Guilt falls like arock in my gut. “If you don’tlike weddings that’sfine, but don’tbe aprick to everybody who does. This day isn’tabout you and your arrogance, it’sabout your dad and his new wife,” she replies after afew seconds, her words muttered low enough to only be heard by the two of us and not the entire table. Thank God for that. Gracie is already pinning with me aglare that has my blood cooling.

Suddenly, ahand is placed on my left shoulder, causing me to flinch in surprise. With an uncomfortable cough, Iturn to see my mom, her attention glued onto the annoyed woman beside me.

“We didn’tknow that you were here yet, Braden. And with aguest at that,” she half-scolds. If it weren’tfor the slight smirk on her lips, Iwould have assumed that Iwas about to receive alecture.

Sierra jerks beside me as she takes in the woman beside me before introducing herself. “You must be Braden’smother. Icould recognize those timeless cheekbones anywhere. I’mSierra.” She extends her hand confidently as she slips into business mode.

Iregister her compliment and smirk. So, she thinks Ihave timelesscheek bones, eh? Can’twait to tease her about that later.

Mom’seyes widen for asplit second, aclear response to Sierra’soutgoing, genuine gesture as her grip on my shoulder tightens ever so slightly and her other hand grabs Sierra’s.

She’shappy with the compliment, although I’mnot sure why she’ssurprised by it. My mom’sfeatures really haven’taged over the years. She isn’told by any means, but she definitely doesn’tlook fifty. Idon’tthink that she’sever even found agray hair among all of the chestnut brown.

“Please, call me Tia.” She grins. “Ican’tsay that Ihave ever had one of Braden’sgirlfriends make me blush so easily. Thank you, Sierra. You are just lovely.”

When Sierra’scheeks darken to match Mom’s, Istep in with achuckle. “Okay, Iget it. Sierra’sspecial. How about we not scare her away.”

There has to be athousand questions running through my mom’shead right now, considering that there’sonly ever been two past girlfriends in my life, and Iwould never have taken either of them to such afamily-filled event. Not willingly, at least.

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