“Time to go to the church!” Mom calls out. “We don’t want to be late.”
Gina laughs and shrugs. “What are they going to do? Start without us?”
I envy Gina’s confidence and her carefree attitude toward others’ opinions. If only I could find a way to reconcile my own feelings. Everything I do is measured against what others might think, and I never seem to discover what I truly want.
Ford and I haven’t spoken or seen each other since that night we shared, and I miss him. I miss his presence. Given that he’s always been nearby since I returned home, it feels as if I was merely a fling—a way to get back at Asher for reasons I still don’t understand.
It hurts. A lot.
The drive to the church is quick, and I position myself to capture images of everyone as they arrive. It’s like creating a personal portrait gallery of those who have come to celebrate my sister and her soon-to-be husband. This has become my specialty, and I’ve received requests for similar shots after trying it the first time.
I’m almost on autopilot with the camera until Kenzie and Asher walk in together, her champagne-colored silk dress shimmering under the church lights, his hand possessively pressed against the small of her back. Their presence baffles me. Gina had spent an entire Sunday brunch last month listing all the reasons she couldn’t stand “that fake blonde bitch,” and Lance’s jaw had visibly clenched when they’d crashed the bachelor-bachelorette party.
Kenzie extends her left hand toward me, that one-and-a-half-carat round diamond with a halo catching the light as deliberately as a disco ball, while her right arm snakes around Asher’s waist. My ex’s eyes narrow when they meet mine through the viewfinder, his lips curling into that familiar sneer I’d seen countless times since returning to our hometown.
But at least he keeps quiet. What could he say? He knows Dad has zero tolerance for anyone causing a scene at his daughter’s wedding, especially since he’d drunkenly confessed a couple of nights ago that he never thought his wild-child Gina would settle down with anyone.
It’s also the safest route regarding Kenzie. Anything Asher might say wouldn’t sit well with his fiancée. She’d question his jealousy, and it could spiral out of control. A scene could erupt, ruining Gina’s big day and possibly leaving blood on her dress, and I’d feel terrible for being the cause.
They take their seats, and I return to snapping photos. Everyone seems to realize what I’m doing and strikes little poses. Betsy Johnson and her two sisters even pose likeCharlie’s Angels, making me laugh. She may be a busybody, but she has a great sense of humor.
As the ceremony approaches, Ford walks in, and I manage to capture a few shots before he notices me. His beard is freshly trimmed to a perfect quarter-inch shadow that accentuates the sharp line of his jaw, and his usually wild chestnut hair has been expertly cut and styled with just enough product to tame it without looking artificial.
I’ve never seen him in a suit before—charcoal gray with subtle blue threads that catch the light when he moves, tailored to hug his broad shoulders and narrow waist. The crisp white shirt underneath makes his eyes shine somehow, and he’s undeniably the most handsome man here.
He catches my eye across the crowded church, and I take a couple more photos, hiding behind my camera lens before pretending to focus on the rest of the crowd. My finger trembles slightly on the shutter button. It doesn’t stop him from approaching me, his confident stride parting the guests like water, and my body aches for him—a physical pull that makes my skin flush hot beneath my dress.
But then I remember he told Asher I was just a fling. He wanted nothing more. Worse still, I know he slept with Kenzie, perfect Kenzie with her flawless skin and practiced laugh that somehow sounds genuine to everyone but me.
Why do I always find myself drawn to men who want or have been with Kenzie Marks?
“You look nice, Harper,” Ford says, breaking my thoughts.
“Thank you. You look nice too,” I reply. “I should get the rest of the pictures I need before the ceremony starts.”
His hand wraps around my elbow. “Can we talk later?”
“What about?”
“We haven’t talked since the morning after—since the bachelor party.”
“You’ve been avoiding me, so I figured it was just a night.”
He licks his lips and shakes his head. “I was giving you space, but that might have been the worst thing to do. Space is the last thing we need right now.”
“Maybe it’s for the best, Ford. It was a great night, but that’s all it was, right? Just a night?”
For some reason, he looks hurt. “If that’s what you want, I can’t really fight it, can I?”
“Why would you want to? I was just a fling—a way to get back at Asher for whatever reason.”
He frowns and leads me into the entryway, away from prying ears. “Harper, what are you talking about?”
“It doesn’t matter,” I say, focusing on the ground.
“It does to me.”
“Harper, we’re ready,” Mom calls. “The music’s about to start.”
