He claps me on the back again. “I was going to ask you to grab a beer after this, but I think you have other plans. I’ll talk to you later, okay?”
“Sounds good.”
He hugs me goodbye before he heads out. My eyes go back to the rehearsal.
I scan the crowd until I spot Fern. Fuck, she looks good. I’m not sure I’ll be able to keep my hands off her for the rehearsal dinner.
The rehearsal wraps up, and everyone goes back to the hotel and toward the dining room, where dinner is set up. I follow behind the wedding party and take a spot inside the doors.
Fern enters and smiles as she greets the staff. I watch as she talks quietly with the hotel coordinator. Everyone is taking their seats, and when I look back at the tables, my jaw clenches so hard that I think I might crack a tooth.
Fern doesn’t even have a seat.
These fucking assholes. How can they treat my girl like this?
I glare around the crowd, wishing that I could whisk Fern away from all of these shitty, selfish people.
Valerie and Paul sit at the head of the table like royalty while everyone else falls into conversation around them. Family members laugh as they drink wine and make small talk, not appreciating any of the effort Fern has put into arranging all this.
I watch as Fern ends her conversation with the hotel coordinator and approaches the table.
“Does anyone need anything before dinner starts?” she asks politely.
Silence.
Then Valerie waves her hand dismissively. “No, just make sure the timeline stays on schedule tomorrow.”
“I will,” Fern says. “I was thinking that if we move the first dance slightly later?—”
Paul cuts her off without even looking at her. “Stick to the schedule,” he barks.
I’m already moving before I can think twice about it, my hands curling into fists as I stalk toward the head of the table. Fern glances at me, and her eyes widen at the murderous look on my face. She shakes her head at me, asking me to back down. I slow, veering off to lean against the wall closer to her.
“If we want sunset photos, we’ll need to step outside around?—”
A woman, one of the aunts, I think, talks over her. “Did anyone else try the bread?”
Fern stops mid-sentence. No one notices. No one listens.
I stare at the table.
How the hell are these people related to her? Because the woman standing ten feet away from them is the smartest, kindest person in this room, and they treat her like background noise.
My chest burns with anger.
Across the table, an older relative tells a loud story about golf. Fern quietly moves toward the wall. No one thanks her. No one acknowledges her.
My phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out, but instead of checking messages, I open a browser and type five words.
Houses in Wolf Valley, Oregon.
Listings pop up immediately. Small houses, cabins, and a few properties outside town with land. I scroll through them slowly.
Fern mentioned an apartment above a bakery. She said the town was small and friendly, and that everyone knew each other. It sounds perfect. If she’s there, it’ll be home.
The rest of the dinner is painful. I have to stop myself from beating the shit out of a few people, but each time I look at Fern, she shakes her head at me, looking less and less happy. I fucking hate it.
After another hour, it’s over, and I relax as I stalk Fern around the edge of the room. She stops and says a few words to the hotel manager, laughing at what she says. Then she thanks the staff and picks up her clipboard.
