But now we’re here, together, and I know she’s putting on a show. I can fucking feel it. I feel her slipping away, and if it were under any other circumstances, I’d pull her to the side to explain everything to her, but unfortunately, now is not the time.
And just to make things worse, fucking Jill had to go and say, “Compared to this morning, you look amazing.” Considering I wasn’t at my house when Kelsey woke up this morning, this looks bad. Really bad.
It looks like I fucking slept with the girl, after I wouldn’t sleep with my own girlfriend the night before. And from the stiff set in Kelsey’s shoulders, I’m thinking that’s exactly what’s going through her mind.
I know her from our lawyer’s office. She’s Taylor’s secretary, so she was privy to the whole extortion fiasco. I saw Jill at the coffee shop this morning. And she was right, I’m looking better than this morning because I thought the nightmare was over.
Now . . . not so much.
Gripping Kelsey’s arm, I lean close to her ear and ask, “Can I speak with you?”
“Not now,” she says through clenched teeth.
“I need to explain.”
Her eyes flash to mine. “Not. Now.”
And then she pulls away as the wedding planner calls her to take a picture with Lottie, Huxley, her mom, and Jeff. My gut churns as I watch her put on a happy face and smile with her family. I see the tight grip she has on her bouquet, as if it’s the only part of her that can show any sort of emotion, and when they’re done with the picture, she doesn’t come stand next to me. She stays near Lottie, helping with her dress and assisting the photographer and wedding planner. Some might think she’s being the dutiful maid of honor, but I know she’s avoiding me.
After an hour of torturous pictures, we’re lined up at the entrance to the adjoining rooftop where everyone is waiting, and we wait to be announced.
Kelsey’s shoulder bumps into mine as we wait and I attempt to take her hand in mine, but she doesn’t allow it. It’s not until we’re walking out onto the rooftop that she briefly holds my hand up to the sky before dropping it at her side. Then she goes straight to our assigned seats and sits. I take my seat next to her and drape my arm over the back of her chair while Lottie and Huxley dance to an acoustic version of Fleetwood Mac’s Dreams.
“Baby, I need you to listen to me,” I say quietly so only she can hear me. “Jill is the name of the girl who came up to me, she works for Taylor. She saw me this morning at the coffee shop. She was grabbing bagels and coffee for her team. I know it looks bad, but I need you to know, what you’re thinking about what she said isn’t even close to the truth.”
She keeps her eyes trained on the happy couple. She doesn’t acknowledge me, doesn’t even flinch. I know she heard me because the smallest tear rolls down her cheek before she swipes it away.
“Kelsey, please tell me you believe me.”
She sniffs and brings her handkerchief to her eyes before saying, “Yes.”
“Do you really?”
Still watching Huxley and Lottie, she replies, “I have to, right?”
“No,” I answer, concerned by the cold tone in her voice. “You don’t. You can talk about it, you can tell me how you’re feeling.”
“The happy couple would like to invite everyone to join them on the dance floor as they finish dancing to their first song,” the DJ says.
Kelsey stands and I follow her closely, but when she doesn’t stop at the dance floor and keeps moving through the crowd, I catch up to her quickly. She weaves past a few tables, down the stairs, and into the private rooms below, straight into the bride’s suite.
I shut the door behind me, and when I turn around, I see her shaking her hands and pacing the room as she takes deep breaths. “Don’t break down. Don’t break down,” she says over and over again.
“Kelsey, talk to me, baby.”
She pauses, and with deflated shoulders, she says, “I—” Her voice catches. “I don’t . . . I don’t know what’s happening.” When she looks up, tears fall down her cheeks, cascading in a steady flow. “I was so happy last night. I was . . . I was going to tell you I love you, for fuck’s sake.”
She what? Fuck . . . why did she say that in the past tense?
“But then, it was as if I was too happy and something was bound to happen. That’s what I kept saying. It was too good to be true, all of it. And I was right.”
“No, you weren’t,” I say. “It wasn’t too good to be true.”