Page 28 of The Bad Wedding Date

Charlotte

“It’s very... pink,” Fraser said.

We looked around the room that had been transformed from a classy, daytime affair into a blush pink cloud of cotton candy nightmares.

It was hard to take everything in, but I trailed my gaze over every surface and new, expensive feature that had been put in place, including the thousands of fairly lights, crystal chandeliers, and not to forget the gigantic L & E at the end of the black and white dance floor for anyone who should have forgotten who they were here to celebrate.

There wasn’t a tacky latex balloon in sight. Money had been thrown at this thing without concern, yet the sight of it made me want to puke. Money could buy a lot of things, but it clearly didn’t buy taste.

Fraser cringed. “Did Taylor Swift throw up in here?”

“Like being inside a vagina, isn’t it?”

He choked out a laugh and removed his suit jacket to drape it over the back of his chair at the table we stopped at. “Who am I screwing? Barbie?”

“You’re pretty, Fraser, but you’re no Ken.”

“Please. I’ve had better than his woman.”

“I believe you.”

Oblivious to my ogling, he began to roll up the sleeves of his white shirt, revealing several things that had me sucking in a sharp breath. Tattoos ran all the way up his forearms, drifting under the edge of his shirt, a sea of vibrant colour disappearing beneath fabric around his elbow. A thick, black matte watch sat on one of those strong wrists, and on his other, Fraser wore a cluster of small leather bracelets with embossed inscriptions on them that I couldn’t quite make out in the dim lighting of where we sat near the back of the room. When he loosened his tie and unfastened the top button of his shirt, I had to swallow down my desire and look away.

Images of him naked raced through my mind. I glugged down my wine, almost finishing the drink off before I placed it back on the table with a little too much force.

“Nice tattoos I see there.”

Those grey eyes stayed on me. “Do they offend you?”

“Quite the opposite. I think they’re incredible.”

“Do you have any?”

“I’ve always wanted one, but…” I shook my head. “That would not go down well with my mother. She is vehemently against any kind of ink. She raised me to believe that anyone who needed to cover up the skin they were born in had something to hide. I share very few of her views, in case you were wondering.’

“From what little I know of you, I’d expect you to have a half sleeve already just to defy her.”

“I haven’t found anything worth putting on my skin yet.”

My eyes fell to the different colours weaving through the images he’d marked upon himself. I had so many questions. I wanted to know the story of them all. Why there? Why that? What moved him to do it? When did they happen? But those thoughts led to me imagining tracing each tattoo with my finger until I unbuttoned his shirt to see if he had any on his chest, his shoulders, and lord above… his back.

Fraser just smiled, never offering me an answer or an insight into anything, but I guessed he saw the questions burning in my eyes.

I drained the rest of my drink quickly before I looked all around me and caught sight of the mayor talking with my father, Mitchell. They were locked in conversation—the type us women in the family usually walked away from—with their heads dipped low and their voices only for the two of them, until Mayor Williamson looked our way and our eyes locked.

He frowned, his mouth setting into a thin line as my father continued to talk, oblivious, before the mayor tore his eyes away.

“Don’t ask me why, but the mayor gives me the creeps,” I admitted. “He’s got a face I don’t trust.”

“Then you’ve nothing to worry about.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s the people with the trustworthy faces you have to fear the most. They’re the ones you let your guard down with, so they’re the ones with the potential to hurt you.”

“I do love a man with a positive outlook on life,” I mocked. “Tell me… are you available for funerals too?”

“And bar mitzvahs.” He smirked.

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