Wild Side (Rose Hill, #3)(39)
Because as much as there’s a part of me that wanted to tell her this whole thing is a sham, I felt like I owed it to Rhys not to. It may be a sham. But it’s our sham. And for better or for worse, we’re in this together.
So today I smile shyly, grateful that Rosie is here as my maid of honor and that Skylar is sitting in a pew. Over the past several weeks, they’ve been the closest things I’ve had to friends in a long time. We don’t work together, and they don’t need anything from me—they’re just happy to spend time with me. Hell, they make me happy too, and at a time like this, that’s special.
Rhys and I don’t make each other happy. But I’m here, about to walk down the aisle to him anyway. Because, like always, I do what needs to be done.
“Ready,” I respond with a firm nod. “How about you, Milo?” I turn and crouch before him.
“I’ll be the best flower boy,” he gushes, eyes bright and cheeks flushed.
Even though I can tell he’s nervous, his excitement is palpable. I can’t help but reach forward and hug him. Seeking comfort in him—in knowing I’m doing the right thing. And when his tiny arms wrap around my neck, all my nerves disappear.
The music starts to play as I straighten, and my stomach flips. Rhys is on the other side of those doors, standing in front of a small group of people he doesn’t know at all, like nothing about this entire thing is weird. I casually asked him about inviting some of his friends and family. And in response, I’d gotten a grunt and a “No, that’s fine.”
I tried not to take it personally. Told myself that it made sense. After all, we’re selling this to my family. I know we don’t need to overcomplicate it with more people and more lies, but it left me wishing my future husband felt some semblance of pride about me.
Dad links my arm through his, pulling me out of my internal pity party. He puffs his chest as we wait, every bit the proud father waiting to walk his daughter down the aisle.
Bash slips out through the double doors, face impassive. His gray suit is immaculate, highlighting the silver flecks in the salt-and-pepper hair near his temples.
“We’re up,” he says matter-of-factly and ushers a jittery Milo forward. He crouches down to check on him. Bash’s son is grown now, so his days of talking to small children have passed, but he still softens for my nephew.
“You ready, pal?” Bash asks him.
Milo nods and takes a deep breath.
“Of course you are. You’re gonna fuckin’ rock th—” Bash’s eyes flash to mine right as Milo gasps and bursts out laughing. Bash grimaces with a grumbled, “Shit, sorry.”
Okay, maybe he isn’t completely adjusted to three-year-olds. But he’s trying.
My lips twitch and then flatten so I don’t laugh too.
That’s what I focus on as I watch Bash send Milo in first before taking Rosie’s arm. In what feels like mere seconds, their backs disappear through the double doors leading into the nave.
And so my wedding begins.
CHAPTER 18
Rhys
Bash: You better be fucking ready. Your bride looks beautiful.
Rhys: I’m ready and waiting.
Bash: I don’t just mean the wedding. You better be ready to take care of her. She’s been through enough. Everyone wants to see her happy.
Rhys: I’m ready.
WE TURN THROUGH THE DOORWAY AT THE TOP OF THE AISLE. My eyes immediately lock with Tabitha’s, and the world stands still.
She’s a vision. Shiny dark hair falling in soft, loose curls. Cheeks flushed. The stark white of her dress makes her skin appear more bronze than usual.
I swallow roughly, reminding myself that this day is a farce. A carefully constructed facade meant to fool everyone.
But not me. I’m not meant to be fooled by it.
Yet here I am, heart pounding in my ears, lungs struggling for air, fucking hearts in my eyes as a woman who tolerates my presence glides down the aisle toward me. It niggles at me that she’s going through with this thinking I betrayed her, but I push my own discomfort aside.
Bash stands at my back stoically, Rosie across from me, and Milo is on the step below me, staring out at the pews. There are only a handful of people in the crowd, none of whom I know. And I don’t even care.
Right now, everything else falls away. My gaze lingers on the subtle up-turn of her lips as she peeks up at her beaming dad. Before I know it, they’re standing in front of me, and I am once again reminding myself to act natural. To play my part. If Tabitha can pull it off, then surely I can too. Hell, half my job is acting. This should be a breeze.
“Sir.” I nod in Paul’s direction as I step down and reach for his hand. We’ve met once. It was nice, but I’d be lying if I said I’m not a little suspicious of how easily they’ve accepted the news of our marriage. I know I’m in on the charade and Tabitha doesn’t need my pity, but there’s this part of me that wants to shake them. Tell them to wake up and notice the burden their daughter has taken on, all for the sake of keeping everyone around her happy.
Over the past weeks, it’s become clear that the only person looking out for Tabitha is Tabitha. And fuck if it doesn’t make me want to look out for her too.
If there’s no one else to take up her cause, it might as well be her husband.