The path curved around and immediately we saw a large group of guests mingling around the lush lawns of the winery in front of the chapel. Becoming daunted, Britta stopped in her tracks.
“Hawk...” she started, and I could hear the fear in her voice. “I don’t think I can do this.”
I lowered my mouth to her ear. “Brit, I know you’re more than capable of doing anything. Especially this. We have a plan. Let’s stick to it. Yes?”
She nodded slowly. “Yes.”
“Now put on that dazzling smile you give me every day and show these fuckwits who they’re messing with.”
Britta reached to the side and took my hand in hers.
Today was undoubtedly going to be a test. A test to not punch Roman in his smirking mouth.
Confidently, we walked past the groups mingling on the lawn as the chapel bell sounded. I gave a gentle, reassuring squeeze to Britta’s hand as we approached the entrance. I knew she must have felt the impulse to run, but since she hadn’t, I could only assume she had her fears under control.
Up the few steps, we crossed the threshold, our eyes taking a moment to adjust. Inside, people were quickly finishing their conversations knowing proceedings were due to start. The first three rows are already filled on both sides with family and close friends of the bride and groom.
When we first entered, those people were chatting with their backs to the door. Within moments, however, silent word had spread like wildfire, and those very people had now swiveled in their pews to surreptitiously observe Britta’s entrance. There were plenty of curious frowns. Plenty of gossipy whispers.
“You’re better than them,” I said against her ear. The women ahead watched our interaction. They eyed me up and down, and then did the same to Britta. Feeling their scrutiny, she tucked herself closer to me as I steered her to a back pew. A woman in her late fifties, wearing a lavender lace dress and matching fascinator, approached, but it wasn’t until she opened her mouth that I recognized who she was.
“Britta Valentino,” she began in a nervous, plum-in-her-mouth voice. “I didn’t think you would come.”
Judging by the look in her eyes, I’d say she wished we hadn’t. Roman was her son, and no doubt she had her own opinion with regards to the breakup. Janice was the type of person who had an opinion on just about everything. And worse still, she believed those opinions to be nothing but right. She hadn’t been shy about sharing her thoughts on Britta when she and her nobody son started dating. But Britta endeavored to get her future mom-in-law on her side and tolerated the bullshit with a smile.
“I was invited. Roman was rather persistent in having me here.”
She nodded, her tell-tale eyes squinting slightly, assessing the truth in Britta’s words. “I know...” she paused. “Look, what happened between you and Roman is none of my business, but I’m sure there was no malice in it.”
“Have you ever had your fiancé and best friend sneak around on you before, Janice?” I asked, only to receive an elbow to the ribs by Britta. It seemed Roman becoming an asshole was a given since his mother was queen of them.
Janice had the nerve to look mortified. “No,” she practically spat. “No, they haven’t.”
“Then I guess it’s hard to have empathy when it hasn’t happened to you. Two people you trust most in the world, sneaking off and—”
Another nudge.
“Janice... I’m sorry. I don’t harbor any ill feelings toward Roman and Rebekah. If I did, I wouldn’t be here. I only wish them well.
“We all do. Perhaps it was just meant to be this way,” Janice remarked, in an attempt to save face.
Britta, wearing what only I knew to be a fake smile, agreed with the wicked witch.
“Excuse me, ladies and gentlemen,” the minister called from the pulpit. “Please take your seats, the ceremony is about to begin.”
Britta smiled at me, and I pulled her in close, her hand covering mine.
Failing to move on instruction, Janice’s eyes followed Britta’s movements. More specifically her hand. And then when she saw it, her beady eyes turned as wide as saucers.
“You’re engaged?” she asked, passing a surprised look between us.
“Ah...”
“Yes,” I said before Britta’s good conscience got the better of her.
“Yes,” she concurred.
Janice turned to me, eyed the tattoos on my hands and those on my neck. She was debating whether to say what was on her mind. “Engaged... to you?”
I could understand why she asked. Roman and I weren’t exactly mirror images. For starters, he had a shriveled dick. I was a man. But that didn’t change the judgment in her tone.
I shrugged my shoulders indifferently and winked. “What can I say? Apparently, she likes my cock.”
More than two gasps were audible.
Beside me, Britta practically choked on her saliva. Janice looked a mix between mortified and aroused, and the woman in the pew in the front sitting with her husband was eyeing me off like I was a piece of meat for tenderizing.