Chapter Twelve
“Are you ready for this?”
Kensington stared at Nash’s outstretched hand. He was dressed in a black suit with a white shirt and a gray tie—appropriate for the occasion, but making her have inappropriate thoughts. His tan skin, combined with the dark colors, gave him a dangerous edge she found unsettling. The openness in his greenish-gray eyes, more gray than green today, drew her in even as she pulled against the current.
His hand, strong and corded, was like forbidden fruit. She knew she shouldn’t partake—especially after the way his fingers had created a blaze of attraction by simply brushing her arm the day before—but she was cornered.She’dconvincedhimphysical contact was necessary to make their phony marriage appear real and had argued her point quite poorly, if she did say so herself. Still, Nash agreed, so she couldn’t have blundered it up too badly.
Small bits of physical contact now, when no one was around to see her hesitate, were a good way to prepare for later.
Therefore, she had to take his offered hand.
“As ready as I’ll ever be.” She held her breath, and slipped her hand into his, unintentionally caressing his palm as she did so. The contact tickled and sent a wave of chills across her bare arms. When it subsided, she allowed her lungs to release and willed the butterflies in her stomach to behave like the ladies she knew them to be and not like a swarm of giggling teenagers.
“You look nice,” said Nash. They exited through the garage, and she ducked into the waiting limousine first.
Her eyes went down to the knee-length, fitted black lace dress. “Thank you.” Her eyes unfocused as she stared at the scalloped hemline. “One of the exercises we did in our pre-death grieving lessons was to choose our clothing for the funeral. We all helped Dad select a suit, and he waited while we tried on dresses. Lunette picked a pair of black pants and a flowing black blouse—she said she wanted to be different, but I suspect she wanted to be different from me.” A soft tingle behind her eyes let her know that tears were near. She sniffed them back. There would be plenty of time to cry during the service—no sense starting now.
“I’m sorry for what you’re going through right now. I’ll do what I can to make this easier on you.” Nash patted her knee.
She fought the urge to lean into him and just let her worries rest on his very capable shoulder. “Thanks.”
The rest of the ride to the church passed in silence. Nash stared out the window and Kenzi stared at her hands wrung together in her lap. They were too awkward with one another—no one would ever believe they were actually married. She vowed to school herself. Touching and being touched would be easier if her body didn’t react to his each time they came within personal boundaries.
Her nerve endings were numb, the world colored gray, and her feelings dampened by grief. Nash provided a spike in blood pressure and a speeding pulse that let her know she was still alive.
The limo pulled up to the front doors of the church and Nash exited first, offering his hand once again. “At least Aunt Pamela knows how to pick a gentleman,” she muttered. The guys she’d chosen on her own hadn’t half the chivalry as Nash, and one of them was British royalty. She perched an oversized pair of dark glasses on her nose before getting out.
Once she was standing steady in her three-inch “conservative” heels, Nash threaded his fingers through hers. She cast her eyes up the gothic structure made from cold granite blocks and the sharp-tipped spires, and shivered. If ever there was a place to discuss the effects of death, this was it. “I never liked this church,” she told Nash as they made their way up the circular steps to the shrouded entry.
“Why not?” His voice was low, probably a reaction to the way the vestibule opened up into the nave and sound traveled like sin. He tipped his head back to take in the ornate columns and frescos painted on the ceiling.
“It’s beautiful, but I feel like I don’t belong. We weren’t raised Catholic, but Dad insisted on having a Catholic funeral. I guess his mom was faithful in the church, and he wanted her to be happy when he saw her on the other side.”
“Do you think it’ll work?” He lifted one side of his mouth in a roguish grin that had the butterflies all a giggle.
“I hope so—for his sake. I only have this memory of his mom, and it was during Lent. I think she’d given up sugar or something, because she wasn’t at all pleasant—let alone grandmotherly.” She’d died before Raquel was born, so Kenzi was the only one who remembered her.
His body bounced with a chuckle—inappropriate for the situation but lifting her spirits all the same. His thumb brushed the back of her hand, lifting them even more.
“This isn’t so bad.” She lifted their hands between them. “I think we’re getting the hang of it.”
Before he could respond, Kenzi was attack-hugged from the other side. “Oh, sweetie, I’m so sorry about your daddy,” gushed her first cousin, Miranda.
Nash’s fingers loosened, giving her the chance to let go and return the hug. Instead, she tightened her grip and pulled him closer to her, releasing Miranda as quickly as possible.
Keeping herself together would be so much easier if she wasn’t surrounded by people who expected her to fall apart at any second. Their kindness was like a drill against a dam of emotions. Nash’s understanding was different somehow. Not that she couldn’t fall apart on him if she wanted to, but somehow she was able to draw from his strength, and she needed that strength if she was going to deal with her extended family of busybodies and Nosy Nellies. “Thank you.”
Miranda’s teenaged brothers, Jeb and Kyle, were right behind her with the hugs. “Mama is bringing in Grandma Treekle.”
Kenzi pointed toward the front of the chancel. “There’s a spot saved for her wheelchair.”
Miranda fluttered her hand over her bosom. “Y’all are so thoughtful, even when your world’s falling apart.” Her eyes darted to Nash, begging for an introduction.
Kenzi stepped to the side to include him in the conversation. “Pardon my lack of manners. Miranda, this is my husband, Nash Westport.” The words were sticky, like she was talking through a spoonful of honey and peanut butter. “Nash, these are my cousins.” She gave each of their names and Nash shook hands, never letting go of his hold on her, which she was extremely grateful for.
Miranda smacked Kenzi’s shoulder. “I’m more than a little put out with you for not inviting me to the wedding, Kensington.”
Kenzi sidestepped closer to Nash, feeling the heat of his body on her bare upper arm. “With Dad’s ailing health, an elopement was really the only option.”
