I give her a wry smile. “Even though you all call him Wylde? Even though he’s the team playboy?”
“Especially so,” Nora retorts with a giggle. “Nothing like watching a man like that fall.”
The other women agree. More “amens” and “mmm-hmms,” and another snap over the shoulder.
“I’m glad you shared that with us,” Brooke says, patting me on the thigh. “You’re one of the girls now. An official member of the Vengeance family.”
I’m really not since I’ve only been dating Aaron for a few weeks now, but the sentiment is silly sweet.
“Here, here,” the other women proclaim, holding up their champagne glasses.
“By the way,” Pepper says, and I can tell by the tone of her voice the subject is changing, for which I’m glad. “Did you guys know Rafe is coming, and he’s bringing his new fiancée?”
“Fiancée?” Willow exclaims. “He’s only been gone for a couple of months. How does he have a fiancée already?”
“Says the woman who jetted off to Vegas to marry a man she’s only known for a few months,” Regan mutters out of the side of her mouth to Nora, who snorts loudly.
Willow shoots Regan a glare, then looks back to Pepper for the answer to her question. Pepper shrugs. “No clue.”
“We’ll find out tomorrow, I suppose,” Brooke says, then drains the last of her champagne. An attendant materializes out of nowhere, refilling her glass before moving among the women to top us off.
The bubbly is already making me a little lightheaded, and I wonder what Aaron will do if I show back up at our room completely drunk later. Either things will get really crazy or I’ll be a complete dud.
Regardless, I do know one thing with surety. It speaks to the fact I am willing to judge Aaron on his own merits instead of based on my past experiences.
Regardless of the shape I show up in to our room later, Aaron will make sure I’m taken care of and protected. He would, in no way, take advantage of me.
The fact I can admit that tells me quite a bit about myself.
CHAPTER 18
Wylde
I’m not a romantic type of guy. Scenery is lost on me. Details like flowers and wedding dress lace don’t mean a thing. But as I look around at the wedding reception, which is in full progress, I can’t really think of a more appropriate place to tie two lives together.
Today, Brooke and Bishop got married on a bluff overlooking Caneel Bay. They said their vows right at sunset, so the water was sparkling with orange and gold. There were no chairs to sit upon and no formal aisle by which Brooke made her way to Bishop. Friends and family merely stood around in a large semi-circle facing the Caribbean waters. Brooke pulled up in a resort golf cart, and her father escorted her through the crowd that parted for her procession. She wore a strapless white dress that was lacking any adornment, but which flowed down to her ankles. It swished and rippled with her strides, and her bare feet peeked out as she walked across the lush green grass toward her intended. Bishop stood with his back to the sea, a local pastor from the island of St. Thomas beside him.
And right there, with no fancy music, flowers, or even chairs, they exchanged handwritten vows while guided by the pastor. It was the purest thing I’d ever seen, and I thought… if I ever decide to get married, I’m doing exactly this same thing.
The reception is way fucking cool, held in an old abandoned sugar mill dating back to the 18th century on the resort property. It’s nothing more than cobbled brick walls—half having fallen—a refinished wooden floor, and no roof to hide the stars above us. Round tables dot the interior, spilling outside to a large tent set on the lush lawn to accommodate the guests. A full sit-down meal of beef tenderloin and lobster is served, the champagne is never-ending, and there’s a DJ who’s going to be cranking some jams before long. It promises to be a night of partying and celebration. Thank fuck, we’re not leaving until the day after tomorrow because I’m sensing many, many hangovers.
We’re somewhere in between the newly married couple’s first dance and the cutting of the cake, a mellow time for people to mingle and digest the glorious meal we just had. Clarke sits to my left, looking lovely in a peach-colored dress that hugs her body, has only one sleeve, and is cut fairly low. Not that I mind her glasses in the slightest, but she went with her contacts tonight and is wearing her hair down. But rather than her normal wavy curls, she did something to straighten it so it’s sleek and hanging even farther down her back than normal. I expect when we make it back to our room at some point, I’ll have it wrapped around my wrist, perhaps while taking her from behind.
I immediately banish that thought, not wanting to sport wood in front of my friends, and take the moment to talk to Rafe. He and his new fiancée, Calliope, flew in yesterday and I’ve not had a chance to catch up with him yet. Merely some brief introductions right before the wedding, so I was happy to see us seated at the same dinner table, along with Tacker and Nora.
Rafe is someone I got close to toward the end of the season, but for reasons I wouldn’t wish upon anyone. Just as the playoffs were gearing up, Rafe’s dad got diagnosed with an aggressive form of pancreatic cancer and was given only weeks to live. Through some wrangling of deals between Dominik Carlson and Gray Brannon, the general manager of the Carolina Cold Fury, Rafe got traded to that team to be near his dad as he faced his end-of-life journey.
And now, Rafe is here with a fiancée.
“So, what’s the deal?” I ask, shifting to peek past Clarke. I drape my arm casually across the back of her chair, then give a sly wink to Calliope, who sits on his other side. She grins back. “You leave, then, a few months later, you show up with a beautiful new fiancée. Dude… fill me in.”
Rafe throws a little shade my way, nodding at Clarke. “I’m not the only one with surprises.”
Chuckling, I nod back as if to say touché. “My story is probably much simpler than yours.”
“And way more fun if I tell it,” Clarke cuts in, her eyes sparkling from the fun of the evening and a few glasses of champagne.
She proceeds to entertain Rafe and Calliope with my antics of walking into her store and baiting her into a contest for a date she had no clue was rigged in my favor. She holds nothing back, not even her pure intentions of only ever attending the weddings with me before parting ways.
“I love it. What a great story.” Calliope claps her hands once, then sweeps them wide to indicate the festivities around us. “But you two clearly have a thing for wedding dates.”
Clarke tips her head, snorting with humor. “Yeah… maybe that’s our thing.”
“We definitely have a thing for weddings,” I concur, leaning over to brush my lips across hers. When my eyes slide over to Rafe, I find him regarding me with a mix of amusement and approval in his expression. He definitely knows me sitting here at a destination wedding with a woman I worked very hard to get to notice me is far and away from my normal. But enough about me. I give Rafe a pointed look. “Tell us everything about how you two got engaged.”
Clarke and I settle in, listening to Rafe and Calliope tell the story together. One starts, setting the scene, and the other takes over to put a spin on the story. Back and forth they go, two people who clearly know each other very well, which isn’t surprising given they grew up together. A true second-chance-at-love type of story, leading up to his proposal to her about a month ago.