This is Klaus. In all his beautiful glory and he’s giving it all to me.
Soon, it’s the sounds of our pleasure, the scent of our joining finding all my senses. And as I get close, digging my nails into his back when he pulls back, inches from me, our eyes meet. His jaw is tight. His expression says everything he needs to.
This isn’t just sex or getting off. It feels like so much more in the weight of his gaze, the heat of his body and the fire sparking at my core and spreading. It’s almost too much.
I come again, before I can warn him, mouth falling open in a silent scream while our eyes stay locked on each other.
And then he comes. Heavy, fast, and hard thrusts hitting the end of me but finding my soul at the same time.
“Will it ruin your smile if I say how amazed I am you’re doing so well today?”
Nothing can wipe the smile off my face today, thanks to the orgasm Klaus gave me this morning. I’m still thinking about it. He went to shower, leaving me with a smile on my face, limbs loose and limber, and my head in the clouds. I’m still floating, hours later, able to ignore the reality of what’s about to occur.
Or it’s possible I simply don’t care.
Not after last night’s revelations of both who Roman is, and who Julianna wants to be. Talking to her last night was eye-opening.
I sink into Klaus’s side and squeeze his hand. “I’m actually doing okay. I want to get through this ceremony, and head to the reception, get drunk, and then put this weekend in our rearview.”
Klaus’s hand in mine tenses. “All of it?”
“Yes.” My family, this ridiculous affair. Sure, I now understand why they’re hosting the reception at their house, and why they’ve allowed Roman to move in. I feel horrible for what his mom is going through. Teresa is the only decent Vitrianni I know, but that doesn’t mean I want to linger in Charleston any more than necessary or give any of what’s happened here, outside my orgasm a second thought.
It occurs to me that’s what Klaus meant, and I turn to him to apologize.
His blue eyes have turned glacial, jaw hardened, and I swear there’s sadness in his eyes.
“Klaus,” I say, at the exact same time the wedding march begins and everyone stands.
“Don’t worry about it. I understand.”
But I don’t think he does, and now it’ll have to wait until later. Do I want what he’s offering when I don’t exactly know the offer on the table? Fear keeps holding me back. What we have now works for me, even if it’s not everything, but that doesn’t mean I’m willing to risk the greatness of our friendship for nothing.
I need time to figure that out.
He stands behind me, one hand settled politely at my hip, his fingers almost exactly where they were this morning, and my face burns as I fight down a pleasurable shiver. In front of us, bridesmaids, girls I went to school with who I haven’t spoken to since, and two of Julianna’s cousins make their entrance, flowing beautifully down the aisle in shimmery champagne-colored gowns that probably cost more than my mortgage each. There are eight of them and I still haven’t looked up to the church’s altar to see Roman standing there waiting for his bride, because I don’t want to see the look on his face when he gets that first glimpse of her. The music changes, and two beautiful heavy wood doors at the back of the church open.
Julianna takes that first step forward, dressed in the most elegant gown I’ve ever seen. It’s so beautiful, I almost forget I hate her and turn green with envy but then I see the smile on her face. It’s stretched tight across her face, a victorious and thrilling grin that shows everything she said last night is true.
It’s then I glance at Roman. As my head turns, Klaus’s hand on my hip tenses. When I see him, I blink.
He’s not focused on Julianna at all. His dark brown eyes are on me, guilty and remorseful in a way it makes me want to cry.
Not for him.
Not for me.
Certainly not for what we had.
But for Julianna, who’s marrying a man who doesn’t love her and most likely never will, but will give her a lifestyle she desires. She’s getting exactly what she wants and for whatever reasons he has, Roman is going along with it. It’s not my issue to figure out or a problem to solve. It’s their choice, and one they’ve both agreed to.
I turn back as she nears our pew, only to find her gaze exactly where Roman’s is—on me. I shake my head, apologizing for nothing, but understanding what she’s feeling, and why. Yet it’s her own choices that have brought her to this moment when she suddenly pales and stops.
The flowers in her hand tremble and Klaus, behind me, mutters, “Oh shit.”
It’s the curse of the church’s ghost, the story we all know well. Legend has it a woman was once poisoned on her wedding day and dropped dead in the aisle, right where Julianna has paused. She shivers again and takes another step, slower, as if trying to resist the urge to go forward but then whatever happened is gone. Julianna passes us with her face pale, her expression knowing what she’s signing her life away to, and she’s doing it despite everything.
And there goes my sadness for Julianna.
She’s been warned up until the last possible moment, by ghosts and mortals and old friends and even her fiancé.
This is the bed she’s made. Time for her to lie in it.
Once she’s passed us, we all sit, the sound of suits and silks and satin dresses shuffling among the wooden pews and I can’t help but grin at Klaus when his lips brush against my ear.
“I’m not going to lie. I was hoping that would happen ever since you told me this is where they’re getting married.”
I press my lips together to stave off a laugh. “It’s poetic and just.”
I send up a simple, quiet prayer and thank you to the ghost of Harriett before facing the front and grinning up at the bride and groom. ‘Til death do they part.
20
Jillian
I take a sip of my wine, scanning the reception of hundreds at the Fox Lounge. Klaus has left me for the bar, and while I’d love nothing more than to sit at the table where we ate dinner with my parents and Nana, with barely any of us talking, but where it allows me to avoid everyone else, I take my leave and walk the perimeter of the room.
The table centerpieces are alight with candles and three-foot-high vases holding Calla Lilies and blush-colored roses. White drapery drips from the ceiling in elegant waves tucked around exposed and arched reclaimed wood beams. Crystal chandeliers are centered between the drapery, sending the prisms sparkling and dancing across the ceiling like it’s a star-filled sky. The Fox Lounge is one of the most luxurious places to host events.
All of it is so elaborate, so undeniably beautiful, but also incredibly showy, I can’t wait to leave. There are few people in this room I care to spend much time with, including my own family.
And one of them, Adrianna, meets my gaze from where she’s standing at a circular table, manicured hand pressed to the shoulder of a schoolmate we both know and despise. Daniel Johanssen. Her grin is fake but as she lets go of him, he clasps her hand, making her already fake grin smash into a thin line. Any manner of pretense evaporates when Daniel says something to her and then he lets her go, dismissing her as he refocuses his attention on the other couples at the table, now all sharing uncomfortable looks.