I took one last breath, grabbed my clutch, and walked out.
Connor stood in our tiny living room in a wool overcoat and cashmere scarf, like he’d stepped out of a Buzzfeed article titled “Men Who Will Break Your Heart For Christmas (and You’ll Ask Santa For Seconds).” His hair was neat but not severe, and when he saw me, something in his expression made my stomach flip.
“Hi,” I said, because apparently that’s where my vocabulary had gone.
“Hi. You look…” He shook his head, like words weren’t adequate.
“You clean up okay yourself,” I managed.
Teresa made a sound that might have been a laugh or a cough, handing over my winter jacket. “You two are painful. Go. Havefun. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, which leaves you a lot of room.”
The walk to the Adelphi took eight minutes and felt both too long and not long enough. The December air was crisp but not bitter, and Connor’s hand found the small of my back beneath my jacket.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
He exhaled, his breath visible in the cold air. “I should be asking you that.”
“Why?”
“I haven’t seen you in two months, and the last time we talked, you—”
“Drunk dialed you and said a bunch of embarrassing things I barely remember?” I forced lightness into my voice. “Yeah, sorry about that. Teresa’s friends are… a lot.”
“You don’t need to apologize.”
“Pretty sure I do.”
“You don’t.” He glanced at me, quick, before returning his eyes to the sidewalk ahead. “I’m glad you called.”
He paused as we reached a crosswalk, turning to face me fully. His gaze swept my face in a way that somehow felt like he was using telekinesis to check my blood pressure, and when I passed whatever the test was, his shoulders dropped, tension released.
“For the record,” Connor said quietly, “I don’t think anything you said was embarrassing. I thought it was honest.”
Despite everything, I smiled. That was why I’d called him that night. Because even when things felt impossible, Connor made me feel like maybe I wasn’t failing at everything.
“So,” I said with a hint of humor to disguise my nerves, “what are the odds Sebastian actually behaves himself tonight?”
Connor misstepped slightly. “Whatever he does, I’ve got you. That’s why I’m here, remember?”
“Right. Fake boyfriend.” The words tasted sour in my mouth. I wanted him to want to spend time with me, instead of just sticking it to my ex because he felt guilty that he’d stepped in.
The Adelphi rose before us, all Victorian elegance and winter grandeur. Through the windows, I could see people gathering, the warm glow of chandeliers against the December gray.
Theceremonyspacewasbreathtaking—rows of chairs draped in white, an aisle lined with pillar candles and winter greenery, everything elegant and hushed with anticipation. We stopped at coat check and my mouth went dry when Connor shed his overcoat to reveal a full tuxedo, looking like a bespectacled Cary Grant.
If he was devastating in a regular suit, he was lethal in a tux. I hadn’t seen him in months, and I hadn’t been with anybody else in that time, so I’d showed up lonely, horny, and glad that my sister had tucked an emergency condom in my purse just in case my patience gave out.
“What?” he asked, catching me staring and fiddling with his cufflinks like an anxious James Bond.
“Um, your bow tie is crooked,” I lied, pretending to straighten it, unconsciously leaning into his warmth. He met my eyes, pupils dilating as—
“There you are, Connor,” the flustered wedding planner said, grabbing his lapel and pinning a boutonniere to his jacket. “The other groomsmen—”
“Groomspeople,” he corrected.
“—are in the side room getting ready.”
“Wait,” I said as she fluttered off to manage the next crisis. “You’re a groomsman?”
