Rosie and Bethany stood to Georgie’s left. Stephen and Dominic were positioned at Travis’s right. All the tension between Bethany and her brother were forgotten in those moments beneath the twinkling, ethereal lights and twilight sky. There were no houses being flipped, only their sister marrying a man who believed she’d hung the moon.
Feeling eyes on her in the crowd, however, and knowing Wes watched her, Bethany couldn’t help but remember she’d agreed to a dance.
It was just one little dance.
Only, was it? From her maid of honor position at the front of the crowd, Bethany couldn’t stop herself from searching the sea of faces for Wes. Under the guise of welcoming guests with her smile, of course. At first she didn’t see him. Even while listening to the minister expound on the virtues of love, she despaired over her disappointment that he’d missed the wedding—
His head popped up in one of the center rows, cowboy hat and all.
The corner of her mouth tugged up when she realized he’d been hunting in a bag for Goldfish crackers to hand his fidgeting niece. Honestly. Where did he get off serving “James Bond meets Daddy of the Year” vibes tonight?
Slowly, his gaze lifted to meet Bethany’s and he winked, giving her a blatant once-over that made her grateful she was shielding her excited nipples with a bouquet of roses.
It cost her an effort to focus back in on the ceremony, but she managed it, well aware of Wes’s rapt attention on her from start to finish. Once the bride had been kissed, there was a rush to change Georgie into her reception dress and make sure the music for her and Travis’s entrance was cued up.
In the romantic, starlight-dappled setting, with “The Way You Look Tonight” playing softly from a string quartet, the dance she’d promised Wes felt the furthest thing from inconsequential.
Bethany watched him out of the corner of her eye as she spoke with one of the caterer waiters. Now that she could see Wes better, she noted he’d traded in his cowboy boots for shiny black loafers. Still, every time Stephen introduced him to someone new, he swept off his cowboy hat and pressed it to his chest, like Buffalo goddamn Bill, the college years. That flash of white teeth and accentuated jawline every time he smiled was so distracting that Bethany almost walked straight into the ice sculpture.
“Pull yourself together,” she muttered, batting a nonexistent wrinkle out of her bridesmaid’s dress. “You are mature enough to know better—”
“Are you talking to yourself or the ice sculpture, darlin’?” His shoulders shook with silent laughter. “What the hell is that supposed to be anyway?”
Bethany’s chin went up a notch. “It’s two swans with their heads bent together, thus creating a heart. Obviously.”
Wes winked. “Did they model it after your frigid heart?”
“Yes. Didn’t they do an amazing job?” Bethany erected her middle finger on the far side of the sculpture, making it visible through the ice. “If you look closely you can see which part of my heart you occupy.”
“Let me guess. That would be the fuck-off zone?”
“Bravo, Wes. You can’t discern the basic shapes of animals, but you know your geography.”
Bethany had the strong, stupid urge to laugh. Not a mean laugh, either. A good, long, belly laugh. Sparring with Wes had always been kind of a fun pastime, but it was alarming how much she’d been enjoying it lately. For the most part. Every once in a while, he made her stomach jolt with a barb about their age difference. Like yesterday afternoon when they’d met to pick out tiles and he’d joked that she had a few good years left in her. Those comments didn’t roll off her back quite as easily as the others. As much as she wanted to disregard them . . . they smarted.
But why? Shouldn’t she be grateful for the reminder that they’d been born seven years apart and were totally unsuitable for each other?
Yes. Yes, she should be. Totally grateful.
“So. I was thinking of squaring off those archways in the house—”
“Uncle Wes!”
A blond streak of lightning split the atoms between Wes and Bethany. A second later, the laughing child was tossed up on his wide shoulders, knocking Wes’s cowboy hat to the ground and leaving his hair in some kind of . . . mesmerizing mess. Needing a distraction from his warm chuckle and haphazard hair, Bethany stooped down and picked up the hat, holding it awkwardly.
“Hi, Laura,” she greeted the child. “Are you enjoying the party—”
“Elsa!” Laura’s eyes lit up. “How come you don’t babysit me?”
It took Bethany a moment to recover from the odd rush of pleasure she experienced over the child recalling her. Even if she remembered her by the wrong name and as a Disney character whom she apparently resembled. “I . . . well, I leave that in more capable hands.”
Laura’s forehead wrinkled. “What?”
Wes patted the child’s knee. “What Elsa is trying to say, kid, is that she ain’t the babysitting type.”
“What type is she?”
“Less make-believe, more make-miserable.”
Bethany and Wes traded toothy smiles.
“Did you make that ice, Elsa?” Laura pointed past her shoulder at the frozen swans. “With your powers?”
Not wanting to disappoint, Bethany leaned in and whispered in her ear, “Yes, but you can’t tell anyone. Our secret, okay?”
“Okay,” she responded in a hushed tone, though her feet were kicking in tandem against Wes’s shoulders. “Uncle Wes, make her babysit. Please?”
Wes was looking at her in a quiet way that made her dumb stomach flutter. “I can’t make her do anything, kid.”
Bethany opened her mouth, then closed it just as fast. Was she really about to offer to babysit? She didn’t know the first thing about entertaining a child. No, it was definitely better to have Laura believe her to be a fictional princess than to bring that illusion crashing down. And it would. “Um.” She clasped her hands together at her waist. “The cake is coming soon. You don’t like cake, do you?”
“I love it!”
Having distracted Laura, Bethany let out a relieved breath, but it caught when she saw Wes was still watching her in that knowing manner. Like he was trying to navigate the landscape of her mind and was making headway.
Or thought he was.
Good luck, buddy. I can’t even find my own footing in there.
“Bethany!”
She turned to find Stephen approaching with a bottle of Sam Adams in his hand—and she braced herself. Her brother drinking alcohol was never a good thing. He seldom imbibed, usually sticking to energy drinks and smoothies. He couldn’t hold his liquor to save his life, either becoming competitive or so sentimental about the past it made everyone uncomfortable. He was well within his rights to drink on Georgie and Travis’s wedding day, but she couldn’t help but think, Here comes something stupid.
“Hey there, Stephen,” Bethany said, looking pointedly at the little girl sitting on Wes’s shoulders so her brother would remember not to curse.
“Hey there,” he repeated, snickering. “I want to introduce you to Travis’s agent, Donny, and his girlfriend.” He turned in a circle. “Hey, where’d they go?” He waved at someone in the distance, who indeed turned out to be the slick couple Bethany had seen arriving earlier. They were flashy Manhattan types, comfortable in their formalwear, and they extended their hands to Bethany with practiced ease.