“That’s a unique name.” I closed my eyes after I said it. “That sounded so dumb.” I put my hands on my face, hoping he didn’t see me blush.
Even though the room was booming with music and people chattering, his laughter filled the room. “You, Addison,” he said to me, “are the best thing to happen to me while I’ve been here.” I tilted my head to the side. “And go figure, I meet you on my last night here.”
“So you aren’t from here?” I asked him, and of course, it would be just my luck I would meet the hottest man of my life, and he doesn’t live here.
“No, I was here for work,” he informed me. “Have you eaten yet?”
“I have not,” I replied, and he smiled at me, and his green eyes got even lighter.
“Want to grab something to eat?” He motioned with his head toward the door and all I could do was nod mine.
The sound of cheering breaks me out of my daydream as I look down the aisle and see Matty holding Sofia’s face in his hands as he kisses her. Both sides of the aisle are on their feet cheering.
I clap my hands excitedly for them as they turn and start to walk down the aisle. Sofia looks at Matty as he holds her hand in his, kissing it. I feel eyes on me, and when I turn, I find Stefano staring straight at me. His eyes a dark green, unlike the time I was with him. I stare back at him for a second, and then look at the movement beside him as Jenna whispers something in his ear. “He’s never going to be yours,” I tell myself as I turn and walk back to the barn to make sure everything is ready.
stefano
. . .
I watch Addison walk away at the same time I feel Jenna pull my arm down. “I love that dress,” she says of Sofia’s dress as the couple walks down the aisle in front of us. Matty’s smile is so big on his face that nothing, and I mean nothing, could wipe it away. Fuck, what it feels like to be that in love, I will never know.
I look back down the aisle toward the altar and see the boys walking down with the girls behind them. My eyes are on Avery as she walks and throws flowers in the air, then twirls. Everyone laughs at her, and I can’t help but feel proud, which is the stupidest thing I have ever thought because all I’ve done for her is have sex with Addison. The best sex of my life, I might add, but it was after that I said no more hookups. I was never going to have another one-night stand.
“Isn’t she cute?” my father says as he laughs at her throwing another petal in the air and trying to catch it coming down.
“She’s beautiful,” I say out loud, but in my head, I also add she’s mine. I can’t help but watch her the whole time. My eyes never leave her as she makes her way down the aisle with the other little girls. I may be biased, but she really is the most beautiful out of all of them.
“I can’t wait to sit down and eat,” Jenna states as she looks around at people starting to make their way out.
“Um, excusez-moi,” someone says behind me, looking over my shoulder. “Did my son walk in here and not even say bonjour?” My mother mixes the French with English. She pushes my father out of the way and walks to me. She grew up in France and came to the States to go to school. She fell in love with New York and decided to stay. She was a serial dater, so much so that she created a blog and then had her very own column in a magazine. No one knew it was her until she met and fell in love with my father. Then the serial dater became the serial mom, which grew even more. She went from saying she wasn’t ever going to get married to having four children and pushing for everyone to get married.
“Maman,” I say in French, walking to her and bending to kiss her cheeks and give her a hug.
“Mon beau gar?on.” My handsome boy, she says. “Comment vas-tu?” How are you? She smiles up at me. Her dark-blue eyes light up when she puts her hand on my chest. “？a va bien oui?” It’s
going good, right?
“Oui. ?a va.” It’s good, I tell her.
“Tu as l'air fatigué.” You look tired, she tells me.
“I’m good,” I reply, avoiding looking in her eyes. Something about being a parent, they know right away when something is amiss. It used to always amaze me when it happened. “Have you met Jenna?” I ask her, looking toward Jenna to change her thoughts.
“Bien s?re.” Of course, she says and puts on her fake smile. Trust me, I know her fake smile.
Once, when I was ten or twelve, she threatened to beat my ass in French with a smile on her face, and everyone thought she was praising me. She was not.