If this had been her wedding, Chris would have been standing just where Michael stood now, smiling at her the way Michael was smiling at her aunt. Her friends Aona and Henny would have given her a “you’ve got this” look just before they preceded her up the aisle, her father at her side. She would be wearing a simple white silk tea dress, beaded—it still hung (brand new) in her closet—a pair of sapphire earrings (something blue), her aunt’s slip (borrowed), and a tiara that had belonged to her paternal grandmother (old).
She would be surrounded by friends and so, so happy.
It would be the first day of the rest of her happily ever after.
Despite what she’d said to Vivi, her eyes were pricking with tears. Oh, God, she would not cry. This was not about her. This was Vivi’s day.
A man hurried across the lobby and tucked himself into the wedding tableau behind Michael. He laid a hand on Michael’s shoulder and Michael turned and smiled at him fondly.
Phaedra took another step, which brought the man into full view. Wavy dark hair, just a little too long, broad shoulders, a chiseled jaw, and—
Oh, shit.
She knew Michael’s son.
Well, she knew Michael’s son in the Biblical sense. She had known him good and hard in his apartment forty-five minutes after meeting him for the first time, at a party thrown by mutual friends several months ago.
She’d been working her way through a run of rebound one-night stands that had capped off Chris’s revelation that he no longer wanted to marry her. Michael’s son had been one-night stand number five, the only memorable one in the bunch, and the only one she actively, desperately, wanted to forget.
She no longer felt like crying. Now her face was hot with shame. Not because she’d had a one-night stand with him; she owned her sexual choices. But because…
Michael’s son, Mack, had been the guy who’d put an end to her one-night standing. Because she’d had a panic attack in his bed and more or less run out on him.
And now he was standing at the end of the aisle, waiting for her.
2
Mack Ferrier slipped into place behind his father and squeezed his shoulder in greeting. He looked happier than Mack had seen him in years. He was gazing at Vivi adoringly, and for the first time since his parents’ divorce almost fifteen years ago, Mack felt a hell, yes, instead of a hell, no. There had been a handful of women in and out of his father’s life since his mom. As a teenager, Mack had hated them on principle. Lately, he’d just hated how none of them made his dad light up.
Until now.
Six a.m. wakeup (on five hours of sleep), forgotten. Last-minute packing, including a rush to the drugstore for deodorant and dental floss, both of which had run out, forgotten. Insane traffic on Route 101, forgotten.
Mack would do whatever he could to make this wedding a happy event for his father, who deserved joy after what he’d gone through last year with the cancer treatments. His hair still looked a little patchy, but he was one of the lucky ones to have few side effects. Some high-range hearing loss, and some nerve damage that had made him a little more clumsy, occasionally—but pretty much he was the poster child for complete remission. Best case.
Mack never took that for granted. He was grateful for every minute he had with his dad, and all the time they’d spent together last year while his father sat through chemo. They’d gotten super close, because Michael was mostly too sleepy to read and just wanted Mack to talk to him.
He loved his father more now than he ever had, and standing up with him for this mid-life wedding felt like the least he could do to show it.
He watched his aunt-to-be approach. His heart was still beating a little faster than usual from his dash from the parking lot to the lobby—when his glance shifted to the maid of honor, who his dad had said was Vivi’s niece.
For a split second he thought he must be hallucinating.
Holy shit.
It was her.
Phaedra. He only knew her first name. She’d said it to him—Phay-dra—and then spelled it, when they’d met at his friend Kevin’s rooftop 4th of July party in Seattle. Forty-five minutes later she’d asked if he wanted to get out of there and they’d booked it back to his condo to have fucking amazing sex.
Less than two hours after that, she’d run out of his apartment like her ass was on fire and then made it clear—via their mutual friends—that she wasn’t interested in hearing from him.
She was frowning at him. Big time. Which he could understand because, clearly, she’d never meant to be in the same room with him.
But here she was. And, God, she looked amazing. Given that she didn’t want to see him, he shouldn’t be so glad their paths had crossed. He should definitely not be (discreetly) ogling her body in her sundress. He’d had his hands on those curves and they were world class. He’d wanted Round Two as soon as Round One had ended, and now—getting a second glimpse—his body was demanding another shot.
Maybe… ?
He rolled his eyes inwardly, because if she’d wanted Round Two, she could have asked for it any time. She’d known how to track him down.
And no. Just no.
This weekend was about his father’s happiness. Not Mack chasing after someone who’d made her lack of interest abundantly clear.
The two women reached him and his dad, and Phaedra hugged and kissed her aunt, then fake-adjusted Vivi’s dress at the hem and stepped back to take her place. Vivi and Michael drew together and gripped each other’s hands tightly.
“Perfect,” a tiny, adorable woman said, hurrying towards them. “Steve, can you do a fast-forwarded version of the ceremony for us?”
The minister proceeded to do just that, but Mack didn’t catch any of it because he was too busy observing Phaedra. And remembering. Her curly red hair had been the first thing to catch his eye. He liked redheads. It intrigued him that the number of redheads was on the decline. Finding one in a world full of drabber hair felt lucky. And when he’d approached her on Kev’s rooftop deck, and she’d turned to smile, open and generous, he had felt lucky, and not the kind he was hoping he’d get later. Time had slipped by quickly as they’d talked. She’d made him laugh, over and over. And then she’d straightforwardly asked him, You want to get out of here?
If he was being honest with himself, he also couldn’t stop thinking about what had followed. How good she’d felt in his arms, hot and lithe and eager, setting him on fire. How she’d kissed, like she couldn’t get enough, like she was showing him what else she wanted.
How they’d moved together in his bed. How she’d held his gaze and how it had felt nothing like fucking a stranger. It had felt familiar and unnervingly intimate.
He’d liked her. He got along well with everyone, but he didn’t like people the way he’d liked her, enough to want to do it all over again the minute they’d finished.
And he knew she’d enjoyed it. You couldn’t fake how much she’d enjoyed herself. So—why the hell had she run away?
“…and she’ll say, ‘with this ring’ and slide it on his hand. And then I’ll say, ‘I now etcetera etcetera and you may etcetera etcetera,’” the priest said.
Phaedra was biting her lip and Mack wondered if she was also having trouble not laughing. She glanced at him and the humor vanished. She looked away.