Chapter fourteen
A Few Hours Later
Therehearsalischaosfrom the first minute.
Castles look romantic in photographs. In reality they’re stone labyrinths designed centuries before anyone imagined modern events with seating charts, a room full of control freaks, and two twelve-year-old twins who refuse to walk down an aisle without spinning.
By the time the wedding planner claps her hands for the third time and asks everyone to start over, half the wedding party is laughing and the other half is trying to remember where they’re supposed to stand.
I should be enjoying this. Instead, my attention keeps drifting to the same place.
Skylar.
She’s halfway down the aisle with Sera and Soleil, crouched slightly so she can straighten Soleil’s sash while whispering something to make both girls giggle. The candlelight from the chapel sconces catches the violet streak in her hair and throws soft gold across her cheekbones.
She looks calm. Focused.
Beautiful in a way making it difficult to notice anyone else. Which is inconvenient because this room is full of people who know us very well.
The pub crawl ended hours ago. Julian insisted we head back early enough to appear respectable for the rehearsal, which meant a long walk through Old Town with the five of us pretending the afternoon hadn’t included more beer than was strictly necessary.
Even with a delightful day spent with my closest guy friends, my mind kept drifting back to the castle.
I missed Sky. I couldn’t stop daydreaming about making love to her this morning. Wondering if we could slip in some time together before dinner.
I told myself I was being ridiculous. We’ll have all night. Tomorrow, after the wedding, all bets are off. Hell. If I have my say, she and I will have the rest of our lives.
Anyway, apparently two hours apart was enough to make me lose my mind.
When we got back to the castle I tried her door. Locked. I sent a text. No response.
I figured she was busy with Marisol. Told myself it meant nothing. Then rehearsal started and she’s barely looked at me. Every time we get close, she finds a reason to turn away. A flower adjustment. A quiet word with Marisol. A hand on one of the girls’ shoulders guiding them back into place.
At first I thought I was imagining it.
Until it was clear I wasn’t.
Sky and I are paired for the ceremony. From my place near the front, I watch her practice walking up the aisle carrying a bouquet placeholder. The second we’re close enough to touch, her face freezes in cool composure.
I’m standing near the altar, awkwardly pretending to listen while the planner explains once again where the bridal party should stand. The next hour is a whole lot of walk here. Pause here. Turn toward the officiant here. Our hands brush once when the planner repositions us and Sky pulls hers back as if she’s touched a hot stove.
No smile. No secret glances. None of the heat lingers from the countless times I’ve been inside her over the past forty-eight hours.
Only distance.
By the sixth practice run, everyone is over it. Sera twirls instead of walking. Soleil sings a Taylor Swift song. Marisol sighs and Julian eyes roll so overtly, we all stifle laughs.
Sky remains calm and focused and gently guides both girls back into place.
“Walk,” the planner points.
“Wearewalking,” Soleil insists.
Marisol throws her hands up. “You’re dancing.”
Everyone breaks into laughter again. Sky finally glances up and, for a second, our eyes meet. Barely long enough to register before she turns back to the girls.
My stomach roils. Nope. I’m not imagining it. Something is way off.
