Don’t look. Don’t look. Do not look.
Bridget entered on the arm of her grandfather, the former King Edvard, and an awed hush blanketed the crowd.
Across the altar, Rhys fell unnaturally still. His eyes locked onto Bridget’s, and his face glowed with such love it made my heart squeeze. A meteor could’ve landed in the cathedral and he wouldn’t have been able to tear his eyes away from her.
Bridget’s returning smile was visible even beneath her lace veil. The moment stretched between them, so raw and intimate I felt like I was intruding despite the thousands of guests surrounding us.
I blinked away the tears gathering in my eyes. I wasn’t crying. I was expelling excess moisture. That was all.
But when the archbishop started the ceremony, I couldn’t stop myself from scanning the pews to tamp down my emotion. The last thing I needed was to ugly cry on live television.
My gaze skipped over a handful of recognizable European royals, a world-famous pop singer, and the up-and-coming soccer star Asher Donovan before it snagged on Josh.
So much for not looking at him.
He sat in the second row behind the royal family, devastating in a black tuxedo. He’d tamed his hair into a neat style that emphasized the finely chiseled lines of his cheekbones, and his coal dark eyes burned into mine with an intensity that seeped beneath my skin.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
My heartbeat drowned out the archbishop’s voice as Josh’s eyes held me captive.
I should look away before my face broadcast to the world what I wasn’t ready to admit myself.
And the fact that I couldn’t terrified me more than any blackmail or monster from my past could.
32
JOSH
If regular wedding ceremonies were long, royal ceremonies were interminable.
The novelty of being surrounded by the world’s richest and most famous faded fast the longer I sat on that ass-numbing wooden pew. I was happy for Bridget and Rhys, but all I could think about was Jules.
The way we left things the other night gnawed at me, and if we didn’t clear the air soon, I would fucking lose it.
I stared at her as she stood at the altar. She wore the same purple dress and carried the same bouquet as the other bridesmaids, but she glowed in a way that made it impossible to look away.
I traced her features with my eyes, soaking in the lush curve of her lips and the fine planes of her features. When she smiled at Bridget’s entrance, something tripped in my heart.
Some people smiled with their mouths; Jules smiled with her whole face. The sparkle in her eyes, the adorable crinkle of her nose, the small crease in her cheek…watching her smile was like watching the night sky light up with stars.
My muscles tightened when she scanned the pews. If she turned just one more inch…one more centimeter…
Our eyes met. Held.
White hot sparks of awareness blazed down my spine with such force I almost lurched off my seat. I curled my hand around my knee while Jules’s smile dimmed and her face flared with equal awareness.
The music drifting through the cathedral faded away, and I was gripped by the sudden urge to storm over to the altar and whisk her away to somewhere we could be alone.
A moment of eye contact wasn’t enough. I needed…fuck, I didn’t know what I needed. To apologize, to explain, to make her smile at me again the way she did before the other night.
I hadn’t spoken to Jules since the night of Bridget’s bachelorette. Forty-eight hours, and her absence was already eating me alive.
When I’m not with her, I wish she were there. When I am with her, I want that moment to last forever.
Sweat coated my palms.
I’d replayed the other night over and over again since it happened.
The unshed tears in her eyes. The hurt in her voice when she told me she overheard me talking to Ava. The way she just left after we had sex.
It was the first time we’d truly adhered to the rules of our arrangement. Even our quickies at the beginning ended with some conversation. I thought I would welcome it, but all I’d wanted was to pull her back into my room and kiss away all her hurt.
I made it a point to keep my promises, but my vow to bring our relationship back to sex-only status had died faster than a moth flying into a lamp.
Bridget walked down the aisle and cut off my view of Jules for a second. By the time she passed, Jules had already looked away. Her eyes were now fixated on the archbishop, so determined I suspected she was making it a point not to look at me again.
My hands fisted on the pew next to me.
We were in the same room, but I still missed her so much a moment of broken eye contact sent a deep ache spiraling through my chest.
What the fuck did that say about me?
When I’m not with her, I wish she were there. When I am with her, I want that moment to last forever.
The sweat on my palms intensified.
It couldn’t be because…I couldn’t possibly…
The past two months raced through my head at warp speed. Everything from Vermont to the other night blurred together into one jumbled stream until cold realization rattled my lungs.
Motherfucker.
By the time the ceremony ended and the reception rolled around, I was a coil of raw nerves and tightly wound emotion, and it finally snapped when I saw Jules laughing with Asher Donovan near the dance floor.
I’d tried to talk to her multiple times since we left the cathedral, but she always had some bridesmaid duty to fulfill.
Now that she was finally free, she was flirting with Asher fucking Donovan?
I didn’t fucking think so.
I stormed over to them and nearly bowled over the Prime Minister of Denmark in my haste. My heart pounded out a hard, territorial rhythm with each step.
Mine. Mine. Mine.
Up until this moment, Asher had been one of my sports idols, but I wanted to gouge his fucking eyes out for looking at her like that. Like she could possibly be his when she so clearly, irrevocably belonged to me.
Asher’s eyebrows shot up when he noticed my approach.
“Excuse me.” I forced a tight smile. “I’d like to speak with Jules.”
Jules’s shoulders visibly tensed. Instead of looking at me, she kept her eyes on the other man.
My blood burned.
I’d never been jealous over a woman before, and I hated how it made me feel. Like I was a train barreling toward the side of a mountain, out of control and on the verge of snapping.
“Sure.” Asher’s green eyes glinted with amusement. “Jules, it was nice meeting you.”
“You too.” She smiled at him, and the fire in my blood burned hotter. “Let’s meet up the next time you’re in D.C. You have my number.”
Meet up? Number? What the fuck?
“I’d love to.” Asher kissed her on the cheek. Possessiveness burst, hot and ugly, in my chest. I wanted to yank him off her and deck him in his stupid pretty boy face. “See you around.”
Jules waited until he was out of earshot before turning to me. “Yes?”
“What the fuck was that?” I tried and failed to keep the territorial growl out of my voice.
“What was what?”
My jaw locked at her cool, impersonal tone. “That.” I gestured in the soccer star’s direction. “With Asher. Why the fuck does he have your number?”