Fail completely.
Eventually, the lights dim slightly and someone taps a microphone and the wedding party gets summoned for speeches. A collective groan moves through the room because everyone knows wedding speeches exist on a terrifying spectrum ranging from charming to active psychological warfare. Rosie climbs onto a chair to reach the microphone. Immediately, the room quiets.
She starts with a joke about Riley spending most of his twenties “emotionally committed only to hockey and bad decisions.”
The room erupts.
Even Riley doubles over laughing.
Rosie grins wickedly before continuing and she talks about growing up with Riley. About how he spent years pretending not to care about anything too deeply. About how meeting Liora changed him.
Then her voice softens. And suddenly the entire room softens with it when she talks about finding each other in a city full of ghosts.
About loneliness.
About bravery.
About love making people less afraid.
It hits me unexpectedly hard and beside me, Colton’s hand slides over mine beneath the table and our fingers intertwine.
I glance around instinctively.
But nobody’s watching us.
Why should they? Married couples hold hands all the time.
Normal. Right?
Yeah, completely normal. So normal, in fact, that my pulse definitely should not be climbing into medically concerning territory.
Rosie’s voice catches near the end of her speech and she blinks rapidly.
The room collectively pretends not to notice and once she’s finished live music fills the room. Colton is hauling me onto the dance floor before I can manufacture a convincing objection.
Typical.
His huge hand settles against the small of my back and suddenly I’m aware of exactly one thing: Him.
Dangerous.
Very, very dangerous.
He leans down, mouth brushing the shell of my ear. “Let’s make everyone jealous.”
“Ambitious. This crowd survives exclusively on schadenfreude and passive aggression.”
He laughs and spins me before I can recover.
And just like that the room dissolves into motion. Sequins blur. Music swells. Someone whoops from across the ballroom. And somehow, impossibly, I forget.
Forget that this is fake.
Forget that the hand on my waist is part of a performance.
Forget that Colton and I are just two idiots pretending to be married.
His cheek brushes mine.
