Page 9 of Chasing Clouds

“Better to know now, rather than later.” I kiss the corner of her mouth, lingering for just a second longer than necessary. Her lips part and she turns her head as I pull back, brushing her mouth over mine. In another place, another lifetime, I might take the leap to walk out of this room with her, but what she doesn’t know and I do is that we come from two different worlds. We don’t fit, and with that thought, I take a step back and drop her arm.

Standing in the dark, nothing else to be said, I tuck my hands into my pockets and we stare at the darkened shapes of the other. A small noise comes from Camille, but instead of speaking, she abruptly turns around and slips quietly out of the room.

I DIDN’T SLEEP at all last night. I spent half of it tossing and turning due to the anger I feel for the situation this girl is in, and the other half chastising myself for thinking about how good she felt in my arms, a girl who isn’t mine and never will be. I didn’t tell anyone—I wouldn’t since it’s her business—but now, I’m sitting in this little church next to Nate and his friends, and every single muscle in me is coiled so tight I feel as if I’m about to spring open and burst.

I know in the background there is music playing, and I should be checking out the bridesmaids as they walk down the aisle—after all, bridesmaids are about as easy as they come—but instead my eyes are glued to the very smug face of that asshole from last night.

Sure, he’s playing his part. He’s smiling at the guests and winking at family members, but it isn’t until I watch his eyes shift toward one particular bridesmaid that I see the real him. I’m certain that other than the girl the look was intended for, no one but me saw the lustful expression cross his features or the deep blush burn through her cheeks.

The organ stops, and all around me, people shift to look at the closed doors. The groom and the girl lock eyes one more time and he smirks while shoving his hands into his pockets to adjust his pants.

What an asshole!

An unidentifiable fury pulses through me, and if I were anywhere else but here, there’s a good possibility I would rip his face off and teach him a few things. Guys like him don’t deserve this life, and they certainly don’t deserve girls like the one who’s about to walk through that doorway.

The string quartet sitting in the upper balcony begins to play, and the rear doors whoosh open.

Collectively, everyone stands, and there’s a delighted gasp from the guests. I turn to see her and am momentarily astounded. Damn. I thought she was beautiful before, but this image of her in a white dress . . . it’s indescribable.

Seconds tick by, but she doesn’t move. She’s gripping her bouquet like it’s a lifeline, and behind the short veil over her face, her eyes are darting all around the church. Eventually, her father approaches her and urges her on. What I wouldn’t give to know what she’s thinking right now.

With her eyes trained on the altar—or him, I’m not even sure—she walks by, the pounding of my heart keeping beat with her evenly paced steps. The expensive smell of her perfume lingers as she passes.

Jesus, what’s wrong with me? I don’t know this girl, or really anything about her, but I’m completely pissed off at this entire situation and one hundred percent affected by her, more so than I even realized. Maybe it’s a case of wanting-what-I-can’t-have syndrome, or maybe it’s the protective nature I’ve always had for my family and friends; I just don’t know.

They reach the end of the aisle, the music stops, and the minister begins speaking, but I can’t hear a single word. Everyone sits and my hands ball into fists as they rest on my thighs. Tension must be radiating off me because out of the corner of my eye, I see Nate looking my way. He bumps me with his shoulder, trying to grab my attention, but I shake my head, because I can’t take my eyes off her.

Unexplained heat rises and radiates from my back. I feel like I’m going insane, and then through the screaming in my brain, the minister’s voice comes across clear as a bell.

“If any of you has reason why these two should not be married, speak now or forever hold your peace.”

I stop breathing and my mind starts jumping. Do I, or don’t I?

No, wait—what am I thinking? I can’t object to this wedding. Granted, I don’t believe in weddings, but what am I going to do, take his place? Fuck no. Besides, she doesn’t even know me. Objecting would just cause drama, and I abhor drama. The press would have a field day with this, and the team’s PR department would have my ass.

Then I watch as her shoulders sag and her head drops. Defeat. This isn’t the reaction of someone who’s excited to be getting married—hell, she can’t even maintain the fake act she paraded around last night. She should be all smiles, and instead, she looks like she just accepted a prison sentence. My heart squeezes and I let out a slow breath, knowing I’ve just made up my mind. I can’t let her do this, consequences be damned.

“I do,” I hear myself saying.

The entire crowd turns toward the back of the church in search of the speaker, in search of me, shock etched on every single face.

“What. Are. You. Doing,” Nate growls under his breath, but I don’t respond to him. I can’t.

I rise slowly and he pulls on my jacket sleeve, but I step out into the aisle and begin making my way toward her. The glares being directed my way prickle over every inch of my skin, but I don’t care, because the only eyes that matter now are hers. They’re wide, stunned, and light blue, and she’s trying so hard to place who I am.

“This has to be a joke,” the asshole standing next to her stammers.

My eyes skip from Camille to him and narrow. There’s only one thing I know for sure about how today is ending, and it’s that she will not be married to him.

“I can assure you it’s not.”

His face reddens, but I don’t care. I look back at Camille and give her a small smile, hoping to break some of the tension.

Camille’s eyes widen even farther, and then she jerks her arm away so he’s no longer touching her.

“Sir, what objections do you have to this marriage?” the minister asks.

My brain stalls. I hadn’t thought about that, and Camille raises her eyebrows in question. She wants to hear what I have to say, and the words just slip off my tongue.