“I look like a church secretary. A very nervous church secretary who’s afraid someone’s going to ask her to play the piano. I don’t know how to play the piano, Max.”
His mouth twitched. “Is that so? But you do know how to look beautiful.”
“Max,” I whispered. I wanted nothing more for him to throw me back on that bed and finish what we hadn’t started last night. “Maybe I should fake food poisoning. Or there’s an emergency at the hardware store.. Do you think they’d believe me if I said there was a critical shortage of screws?”
Max crossed to me, his hands settling on my hips. “You’re spiraling.”
“I’m realistic. There’s a difference.” I looked up at him. “Your cousin is going to walk down that aisle with a split lip that you gave him. Your ex-girlfriend is marrying said cousin. Your entire family is going to be staring at us. And I insulted the bride about her plastic surgery in front of half the wedding party.”
“You were magnificent.”
“I was drunk and reckless.”
“Frankie.” He waited until I met his eyes. “We’re going to walk in there together. You’re going to hold your head up. And if anyone says one word out of line, you tell me.”
“So, you can punch them too?”
“If necessary.”
I let out a shaky laugh. “You can’t solve all your problems by hitting people, Max.”
“Watch me.” But there was a hint of amusement in his voice now. He pressed a kiss to my temple. “Come on. Let’s go watch my cousin get married with the evidence of my right hook on display.”
The lodge’s chapel was filled with the elite of the county, all of them whispering as we walked down the aisle to our seats. I could feel every eye tracking our progress, could practically hear the gossip being filed away for later.
And there, at the front, standing beside the minister, was Leo.
His bottom lip was swollen, split down the middle with a dark red line that someone had tried — and failed — to cover with lipstick. Under the chapel lights, it looked angry and obvious. He kept his mouth pressed in a thin line, probably trying to minimize the damage, but every time he moved, I could see him wince.
I felt Max’s hand tighten on mine.
“Oh my God,” I whispered. “His lip. It’s worse than it was last night.”
“Mmm.” Max sounded deeply satisfied.
“People are staring.”
“Let them.”
We took our seats beside Max’s mother, who gave me a warm smile that did nothing to ease the knot in my stomach. On my other side, Max sat like a wall of muscle. His hand found my thigh and splayed wide. A possessive, clear message to everyone watching.
The whispers grew louder.
“Did you see Leo’s face—”
“—I heard it was Max—”
“—punched him yesterday—”
“—over that girl from the hardware store—”
I tried to ignore it. Tried to focus on the flower arrangements, the stained glass windows, anything but the fact that I was sitting in a chapel watching the aftermath of my fake boyfriend defending my honor with his fists.
When the music started and Tiffany appeared at the back of the chapel, the whispers finally stopped. She looked perfect, of course. Ice-blonde hair swept up, a dress that probably could probably fund a small country for a year, and a smile that was pure bridal radiance until she glanced at Leo’s lip. Her gaze cut to Max and me with that signature look of disdain.
Max’s thumb stroked a slow, deliberate circle on my thigh. He didn’t even glance at Tiffany. He was looking at me.
The ceremony began. The minister droned on about love and commitment and forever. Words I didn’t think were in either the bride’s or groom’s vocabulary. Leo repeated his vows carefully, clearly trying not to move his split lip more than necessary. Every word looked like it hurt. Tiffany’s voice was crystal clear, her smile never wavering.
