“Stop sniffing and open it.”
“Where did you get this, Reese?” Lips trembling, he opens the box and pulls out the handmade handkerchief with the letters RB embroidered on the corner. “I remember this.”
I take it from his hand and wipe the tears forming in his eyes. “I know she would have wanted you to have this. And it’s actually quite useful since I know you’re going to be crying all day.”
He wraps me up in his arms, his shoulders shaking.
“It’s the best gift you’ve ever given me. Thank you.”
“Here,” I say and tuck it into his front jacket pocket. “That way you can see it in your photos too.”
He moves to leave, the wedding coordinator signaling for us that the wedding is about to start. “See you in the church.”
“I better.”
I rush back into the suite, dabbing under my raccoon eyes to remove the runny mascara, and apply another layer of lip gloss when a shadow spills over my shoulder.
“What flavor are you wearing today?” Tristen’s voice quivers with excitement.
I press my lips together, spreading the smooth gloss evenly as I eye him in the mirror.
“Why don’t you find out for yourself?”
There’s zero hesitation as he practically spins me around and scoops me up onto my tiptoes, his mouth hot on mine. The wind is knocked out of me at the electricity that still pulses through us each time we kiss.
“I have to head back to the guys, but I wanted to sneak in and see you.”
“You mean kiss me.”
“I did both. It was a productive visit,” he says, as charming as ever.
I brush my fingers through his beard, loving the coarse texture. “Agreed. Save me a dance?”
“I’ll save all of them for you.”
He catches my laugh on his lips, grinning through the kiss. I love how easy it is to be myself with him.
“Seriously. You’re going to get me in trouble. I have to go.”
“I’m not doing anything.”
“Stop being so kissable.”
He kisses me one last time before rushing out the door before the wedding coordinator can find him.
“You two are sooo cute,” Nia says, making kissy noises.
“I don’t even like him,” Lola mocks, then leans her head back and laughs. “I totally called it.”
“He grew on me... what can I say?”
When Maya strolls around the corner in her weddingdress, the whole room bursts into a mixture of sighs and tears. My poor mascara doesn’t stand a chance.
Her white gown crisscrosses over her chest and flares out at her hips, the bottom half sparkling like diamonds. Lace-capped sleeves cover her shoulders to her fingertips, matching the lace of her long train.
The bridal party is rushed from one spot to another, taking pictures every five seconds like we’re being chased by the paparazzi when it’s actually just Orlando, one of Maya’s many cousins. Through the blur of activities Maya is the picture of calm, nothing but smiles, even when a button pops off the back of her dress.
Lola jumps to the rescue, sewing it back on as we walk to the front of the church.
