How to Ruin a Wedding(40)

Humming, I turn from him and face the moonlight. “I get that.”

It takes a couple of extra seconds to pull up the sober parts of the day. “Do you know Nick?”

His eyes widen a fraction before returning to normal. “She told you about him?”

“Not really, no,” I say, an idea playing in the back of my head—but I’m not able to pull it into a coherent thought yet. “She just brought him up, which I thought was a little strange, seeing as we were searching for her wedding venue.”

I refrain from mentioning that it was her and Nick’s first date or the initial moment she believed in the authenticity of love. I owe Anders a lot, but I also owe Valerie some respect—it’s girl code.

It doesn’t feel right sharing more intimate secrets she may want kept closer to her chest. I’m already planning to ruin her marriage; I don’t need things getting out that could maximize the hurt she’ll feel when it all falls through.

“This is what I meant,” he says softly. “Valerie is all over the place. And wherever she decides to land—even if she knows it’ll hurt—she latches herself to it anyway. After Nick . . .” He cuts himself off, then restarts. “That was a dark time for her. Maybe the worst. I’ve never known anyone more careless with their own heart.”

“Do you think Valerie does love these men? John, and Nick, and anyone else? Or do you think she doesn’t understand it?”

He opens his mouth, then shuts it. “I’m not exactly sure.”

Then, after a few moments, he adds, “Did you love them? Your ex-husbands?”

I hold a hand to my chest like he landed a direct hit. “Thanks for the reminder of my two failed marriages.”

“Sorry—”

“I’m kidding.” I nudge him. “And sometimes I think, of course not, and other times I think, I must have.” I shake my head. That doesn’t make any sense. “You know what I think?”

“What do you think, Lucinda?” he asks, and the way he says my name disregards any vow I just made to keep from longing over him.

I peel my gaze from him. “I think people make love out to be this scary and weighted word—and sure, it can be—but love comes in many forms. It can be this lighthearted feeling, this sense of true contentment, like sitting out and basking in the sun for hours and listening to the sky breathe. It can be as small as the act of letting a bug out the slider door rather than killing it. It can be weighted and filled with baggage, but still feel warm—like loving people who hurt you as much as they make you laugh. And it can be this all-consuming desire to care for another person.”

“So.” I slap my hands on my knees. “Maybe Valerie does love John, and I loved my men, and love isn’t so hard to feel as people make it out to be. But some people don’t deserve that love, and sometimes it isn’t enough to keep two people together—when so many people get away with hurting others because they know that love can save them. How horrible is it to keep hurting someone and let love be your shield from accountability for it?”

When he doesn’t speak, the tips of my ears warm.

“I’m rambling now. Sorry. I don’t mean to project. I’m not making much sense.”

He reaches for my hand, bringing it over to hold it in his lap. “You make perfect sense.”

Anders keeps his hand wrapped around mine, his thumb tracing small, hot circles into my skin, until my initial nerves settle and my heartbeat slows.

My eyes flutter, and my head becomes too heavy for my neck, so it rests on Anders’s shoulder.

Neither of us complains, or moves, or speaks—as if any disruption to the peace will ruin this delicate, confusing comfort between us.

We stay like that for hours.





12.


“Well, well,” Taina says into my ear, “look who finally decided to give attention to her worried, restless sister.”

I pat my finishing powder into my face, speaking loud enough that my phone—buried under makeup brushes on the bathroom counter—picks up on it. “I have texted you over five times each day.”

“Texting isn’t the same; anyone can text. What if some freak stole your phone and was messaging me the whole time? How would I know it’s you?”

“How do you know I don’t have a gun to my head and my kidnapper isn’t forcing me to speak with you right now?” I counter.

She pauses, then says, “I’ve already contacted the authorities. You’ll never get away.”

I snort. “My hero.”

“Speaking of heroes,” Taina says—and I can visualize the exact smirk on her pretty, nosy little face—“how’s the sexy boy toy wandering around the house? Has he made any moves?”

“Now, Taina, why would the man paying me to ruin his sister’s wedding make a move on me?”

“Because you’re equally as sexy, and you’re smart, and fun, and have a perky ass.”

“It is very nice.”

“Do you want to sleep with him?”

I shut my compact and start gathering all my stray items, shoving them into my makeup bag. “Sleep with who?”

“I’ll kill you.”

“Then I’m better off staying with my kidnapper.” I take her off speaker and bring the phone to my cheek. “I’m not sleeping with Anders.”