He looked me in the eyes. “That’s not Theo. Swear on a bible.”
"Oh." I believed him, I really did.
And I was relieved.
But the weight of my panic had been extraordinary, and now that I'd been reassured that fight or flight was unnecessary, I had to deal with all those extra endorphins the panic had produced inside me.
I started to cry.
Not a full-out sobbing, tears-rolling-down-my-cheeks kind of cry. But my eyes leaked and my lips trembled and my shoulders shook.
"No. Oh, no. This is..." Weston patted my arm where he held me, looking around, perhaps for someone to help him. Maybe he gave up, or realized he could handle me on his own, because a second later he pulled me into his embrace. "Don't do that. I mean, weddings are for crying, but not this one. Well, maybe this one. But not for the usual reasons, and that's not really a comforting topic right now. What I mean to say is, what can I do? I'm not really sure why you're upset. I am terrible with women crying. Are you okay?"
With my face buried in his lapel, I worked on pulling myself together. This wasn’t the place to cry everything out of my system. I needed to just get the valve under control, put on a happy face, and get back to the event.
Weston was helpful thankfully, rubbing my back as he rambled. Both were soothing. Both distracting.
When I could finally swallow past the lump in my throat and get out a coherent sentence, I broke away from his chest.
"I'm sorry," I said, accepting the handkerchief he offered. "This is really embarrassing. I just really thought it was Theo. Which I'm sure doesn't explain anything and you just think I must be truly bananas."
Weston continued to rub my arm. "I can actually fill in the blanks, I think. Elizabeth told me Theo is currently serving time for rape. Am I making unreasonable connections?"
“Um. No. Not unreasonable." I turned my face away, feeling another wave of tears threaten.
"Hey, that's not what I wanted." He swiveled on his shiny black shoes, trying to decide what to do with me. We were off to the side and out of the way of most of the crowd, but my display of emotion was definitely not well suited for Weston's wedding.
I was about to apologize again, tell him I wasn't his problem, when he said, "Oh, let's do this. Come join me on the dance floor. They just started a slow song. We can talk—or not—and sway, and no one will be the wiser."
As much as I didn't want to be his burden, I was still shaken up. "Okay."
I let him take my hand in his to lead me to the center of the dance space. It was warm, but nothing magical happened at his touch. It was funny that I once thought I might have a future with him. I’d always belonged to someone else.
And, maybe, so did he. "Aren't you supposed to have the first dance with Elizabeth or something?"
He shook his head. "We aren't doing any of the traditional things like first dance or cutting of the cake. It seemed strange under the circumstances."
Was I wrong or did it seem like there was a note of disappointment in his tone?
"Makes sense." I pressed easily against him, grateful for both the familiarity and the friendship. "While I’m disappointed to not see the two of you have a first dance, I appreciate this."
"That’s what friends are for, right? Want to talk about it?"
"I prefer not to, if that's okay." The tears had stopped, but there was a layer of pure terror just under the surface, like heavy clouds after a rainstorm. There was more inside me waiting to get out. I was barely holding myself up, and it was with Weston doing most of the holding.
"Completely fine. I just have to say, I'm here for you. You have to know that. Things might not have gone the way," he lowered his eyes from mine and cleared his throat, "I once intended for us, but maybe this is better. Whatever this is, I have a feeling it lasts longer."
He sounded forlorn. More so than I expected a man on his wedding day might, even a fake wedding day.
“Uh oh. That sounds like there's trouble in paradise already. Things not going so well between you and the Mrs.?" It was nice to be able to have something to joke about. Not that I wanted Weston to be miserable. I just didn't want to focus on the reasons I felt miserable.
But Weston apparently wanted to play the same avoidance game. He shrugged. "It's a strange situation. I guess, all in all, things are going exactly as they should, and I'll leave it at that."
We shuffled together in silence for a little while, both of us lost deep in our complicated psyches. Then all of a sudden, Weston exclaimed, "Hey! You came to this with Donovan?"
I leaned back to look at him, smiling. "Oh, yeah. You've been preoccupied. I didn't know if you knew."
"Word gets around. Especially when it's juicy."
"I suppose it is pretty juicy," I said, not even caring anymore that I was the center of gossip.
"But is it good? Is he treating you right? Donovan's my guy, but if he doesn't take care of you I won't hesitate to kick his ass." He’d said words like this before, and while I didn't really believe Weston would ever take Donovan down, his intentions were sweet.
"Yes, Weston. He's taking care of me." Donovan Kincaid redefined what it meant to take care of someone.
"Good. You deserve it."
I wasn’t sure I deserved it, but I wanted it. I wanted all that Donovan gave me and every way he gave it.
I also wanted the best for Weston. “You deserve it, too. To be loved. To be taken care of. To take care of someone.”
He looked away as though he wanted to reject what I was saying, but I put my hand on his cheek and pulled his face back front and center. “I’m serious, Weston King. If that means growing up, do it. We aren’t kids anymore. I know Donovan would want you to know the same.”
He rolled his eyes. “I’m sure he would.”
The song ended, and we parted.
"Speak of the devil…" He nodded toward sidelines where Donovan was standing watching us.
I headed toward him immediately, still worked up and eager to have his arms around me. Weston followed.
"You're here," I said, pressing into my date.
He paused a second, maybe surprised about my show of affection. Then he wrapped his arms around me. "I was only in the lobby with Cade. I've been here the whole time."
There was a slight hint of tension in his voice that I felt mirrored in his body, and I wondered what had happened between him and Cade to put him in this mood, but my curiosity wasn’t strong enough to make that question a priority.
"I thought I saw Theo,” I told him, desperate to share what had happened—even though it had turned out to be nothing. “I thought he was here, Donovan. I freaked out."
Immediately, his mood shifted. He was on high alert, my protector. "You saw Theo?" He scanned my face, urgently.
"I thought I did. But I was wrong."
"Clarence Sheridan," Weston explained. "He's friends with Melissa."
Donovan nodded, understanding.
"They look so much alike.” My throat tightened again. “I thought it was him, and you weren't here…"
"I'm here now." Donovan drew me in tighter, wrapping an arm around my waist and placing a hand at the base of my neck. He kissed the tip of my head. "Are you okay?"