My stomach clenches. What would she think of me if she knew the truth? There are so many people here, it feels like at least someone might recognize me. I should probably be struck by lightning for entering a church, except I stopped believing in God a long time ago. My father was a religious man. He donated money. The priest called him a close friend. It stopped feeling like a betrayal when I accepted that it was all make believe, as real as fairy sprites.
“Hi,” I say, feeling shy. “I’m Ashleigh.”
“Beatrix. You can call me Bea.” The child squirms, and she takes the little girl with a soft clucking sound. “Darling. Won’t you relax? Teething,” she confides to me. Her friendly manner makes it easy for me to calm down. No one will recognize me.
“I’m sorry. Can I do something to help?” Except Hugo has already produced some half-frozen toy from his suit jacket, and the toddler grabs for it greedily. She sucks on the blue plastic with an expression of intense relief. “Honestly, I need one of those.”
Bea laughs. “I think we’ll get along fine.” She glances at Sutton. “You can go.”
A queen couldn’t have dismissed someone better. Still, Sutton doesn’t leave right away. He turns to me, a notch between his golden brows. “Are you sure you’ll be okay?”
He’s beautiful. It’s like looking up at some old Roman statue made flesh and blood. The fact that he’s also kind and smart… how did Harper leave him? The fates always liked to play tricks. “What will you do if I say no?” I murmur. “Insist that I stand next to you at the altar?”
A slow smile. “Maybe so. You don’t think the priest would mind, do you?”
“No way,” I say, feeling breathless. “I’m sure he’d let me pass out communion, too.”
“So you were raised Catholic,” he murmurs to himself, and I realize I’ve let something slip past my defenses. While we were talking—or would that be flirting?—he saw through me.
“Of course,” I say with forced nonchalance. “All the good Catholic girls are slutty. We’re rebelling against authority and all that.”
He frowns. “You aren’t slutty.”
I turn away, embarrassed and babbling. “Aren’t I? It doesn’t matter. Shouldn’t you be with Christopher already? The ceremony will start without you.”
“Hey.” When I don’t quiet, he lifts my chin so I’m facing him. Stormy blue eyes study me. It feels like he can see right through my secrets, past my religion and my profession, into the broken heart of me. God, the irony. That’s what Harper whispered to me. Don’t break his heart again. Again, because she knows what she and Christopher did to him. I don’t have that kind of power, but I think he might break my heart.
He leans down and brushes his lips against mine—once, twice. A third time, which sends sparks of latent pleasure through my limbs. He’s going to pull away; I feel the intention in his hold. I’m not ready to release him. I press my mouth fully against his. It’s a clumsy, childish kiss, but it’s one I’m giving freely. He stills, as if I’m a wild animal. Yes, yes, that’s me. A doe. Why are they made so defenseless? All we can do is run. We stand together in unnatural stillness, connected only by the kiss. His breath brushes my skin. When I step back I feel dazed. His hand steadies me.
“Take care of her,” he murmurs to Hugo. He leaves without a backward glance.
Slowly I become aware of my surroundings—the large baptismal pool with water gently lapping, the profusion of royal blue calla lilies in elaborate, artistic arrangements. My cheeks heat with embarrassment that they saw our kiss.
Bea’s eyebrows are raised, and even though she tries to act casual I can see a faint flush beneath her freckles. “Well,” she says, brisk and businesslike. “Shall we find our seats?”
I mumble something incoherent, and Hugo smooths over the moment with that charm of his. “Two beautiful ladies. That’s what I usually have. Now, three.” He takes the toddler with a swift kiss on her forehead. “I’m a very lucky man. Come, lead the way.”
Beatrix takes my arm, and we head down the bustling aisle to find empty seats. An usher waves us forward. As we move sideways to our places, I see someone glance at me and away. Someone else whispers behind their hand. For a cold moment I think there’s actually a scarlet letter pinned to my dress, as if they know, they know, they know. That’s impossible. It’s not me they’re whispering about. The realization makes me even colder. It’s Sutton. They’re whispering and wondering about me because I came with Sutton.
I raise my chin, doing my best to appear worldly and well satisfied.
“That’s good,” Bea murmurs. “Let them wonder. They’re vultures, all of them.”
The wood of the pew is smooth, the program crumpled in my hand. This whole thing is too familiar. It might as well be Daddy sitting next to me. Bile rises in my throat. I force it back. The last thing I need is to spew vomit all over the people in front of us. They’re wearing Yves Saint Laurent and Versace, for God’s sake. “It doesn’t feel right that Sutton should be the best man.”
“He’s really his only friend. Oh, there’s Hugo and Blue, but they’re really more Sutton’s friend than Christopher’s. That’s what happens when you put ambition before everything.”
“It doesn’t seem to have hurt him any. Look at this place.” It’s filled to the brim with rich, beautiful people. They may not be close friends, but they’re here.
“They’re mostly here for the drama.”
“What do they think’s going to happen? Sutton won’t disrupt Harper’s wedding day.”
Bea gives a faint smile. “I know that. And you know that. They don’t.”
I’m not so foolish as to think Sutton’s a saint. I can still remember the feel of his cock in my mouth, his hands on my head, guiding me, teaching me. The memory of his mouth between my legs makes me blush. He made me come again and again.
He has his flaws, but he deserves better than to be the sideshow.
The hair on my neck prickles, and I glance up. Sutton’s watching me, that unfathomable ocean turbulent across this many pews. His golden beauty looks striking and sun-drenched, especially in contrast to the man he’s standing next to. Christopher Bardot, the developer who’s turning dilapidated buildings into luxury hotels, condominiums, and retail. He’s well known, even to the street trash like me. One of these days my sugar factory will probably turn into a Louis Vuitton store. He looks like a dark god, all black hair and slashes for brows. His tux is immaculate. Silk and wool wouldn’t dare be out of alignment on this man. Weren’t we good together, all three?
Imagining Sutton with Christopher makes my cheeks warm. I’ve never felt anything when I imagine Ky with one of his customers—not even his special customer. It’s only Sutton that makes the fantasy come alive. It’s impossible for him to do anything by half. He’s such a physical man, a fully feeling one, which is what makes the heartbreak so real.
And he’s so damned strong, so self-assured in his masculinity, that he wouldn’t give a damn what anyone thinks. Him and Harper and Christopher. Why did he turn them down? Why would he leave them and bring me home? There’s no way I could have satisfied him like they would have. Uncertainty makes knots in my stomach. Don’t break his heart again.