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I feel like a stranger at my own wedding. I just want this night to end.
There must be five hundred people here. I recognize many of them—the big-name stars all dressed in black tie and dazzling jewel-accented gowns like they’re at the Golden Globes.
But I only know a handful of our guests. My starstruck mother, who’s been hobnobbing with the rich and famous and deserted me, a few of Ned’s co-workers with whom I’ve exchanged a few pleasantries, and his IMAGE partner, Gabriel Lucas, our best man, who gave me away and witnessed our marriage vows.
My new husband is nowhere in sight. After we kissed at the altar, he took off like a shot, and except for a quick spin on the dance floor to a tacky song written by one of his clients, welcoming us as husband and wife, he hasn’t stopped working the star-studded room. Exchanging air kisses and man hugs as if everyone here is his best friend. He’s likely making deals hand over fist. I’ve lost track of him.
Sipping a glass of Cristal champagne that I snagged from a passing server, I take in my surroundings. The venue—the chandelier-lit ballroom of the Four Seasons hotel—is stunning, though I had little to do with planning the event. Ned hired an event planner, a friend of his late mother, who did everything, from designing the table and flower arrangements to creating the soup-to-nuts menu and our elaborate ten-tier wedding cake. She was very controlling, very intimidating. Despite my design background, I stayed low-key and pretty much agreed to everything. Ned didn’t want to hear about it. His instructions to the planner: you have carte blanche, just make it happen and People magazine-worthy. After learning that a honeymoon in Italy was not happening, I suggested a small destination wedding in Cabo because it would be a chance to get away together for a few days, but his work schedule was too jam-packed to travel to this not-too-faraway, romantic Mexican destination. Plus, the Four Seasons gave him a deal he couldn’t turn down.
As I stand alone in the vast space, regret consumes me. This morning of all days we had the “kid conversation.” I initiated it and told Ned I wanted three kids and he blew a gasket. He only wants one and is in no hurry. Then told me he’s planning to have a vasectomy afterward and stalked off. End of discussion.
Maybe I should have called off the wedding, but it’s too late now.
One of my favorite songs, Ed Sheeran’s “Perfect,” begins to play and I feel lonelier than ever. All I want to do is put on my pajamas, crawl into bed, and get under the covers. As I drain the last of my champagne, a warm breath dusts the nape of my neck.
A voice whispers in my ear, “Hey, can the best man get a dance in with his partner’s new wife?”
I set the flute down on a cocktail table and spin around.
Gabriel Lucas. Ned’s business partner.
Gabe.
He gives me a lopsided, dimpled smile and I soak him in, my eyes roaming from his handsome roguish face to his dancing feet. He’s dressed in an elegant tux but on his feet are red sneakers. My gaze returns to his face and my eyes lock with his intense blue ones. They stay fixed on me, and I feel dizzy. The way he’s always made me feel.
“You look beautiful, Ava.”
I feel a flush of embarrassment. Or maybe it’s something else. Awkwardly, I glance down at my ivory Vera Wang gown, a strapless column of silk organza that falls just above my matching stilettos. My heart flutters and goose bumps pop along my bare arms.
“Th-thanks,” I splutter. Did my husband pay me that compliment earlier? My mind and body abuzz, I don’t remember. All I know is he hasn’t paid one iota of attention to me since the reception’s inception. My husband…the word feels so alien on my tongue I can’t embrace it, let alone say it.
The song continues to play, the emcee inviting everyone to join him and the ten-piece band. Couples pour onto the dance floor.
Gabe’s rapt eyes don’t stray from me. “Well, Ava…can I have this dance?”
My eyes search the room. I find Ned, his back to me, engrossed in an animated conversation with someone who looks like Brad Pitt. My martini-loving mother is nowhere to be found. Maybe she went to the ladies’ room. Or conked out somewhere.
A slow smile spreads on my lips. I simply nod.
Wordlessly, a beaming Gabe takes my hand and leads me to the dance floor. My fingers lace with his as if they’re sewn together. Heart-pounding guilt threatens to tear them apart. He gives me no time to second-guess myself when he smoothly, confidently, takes me into his arms and sways me to the music. His arms loop around my narrow waist and mine, like a reflex, circle his broad shoulders. In my six-inch heels, we’re almost the same height, our eyes level. Our bodies touch and I feel my soft breasts grazing his hard chest, his heart beating against mine. A current of electricity passes between us, the sparks tangible. He draws me closer to him and I close my eyes and rest my head against his pecs, his nose buried in my upswept hair. Not before long, I’m oblivious to everything and everyone around us. It’s just me and him. Dancing like we are one.
“Thank you, everyone,” bellows the emcee as the song ends, snapping me out of my trance. “Now, please return to your tables as dinner is about to be served.”
Gabe and I stop dead in our tracks. Both of us speechless, paralyzed. Gabe doesn’t let go of me. His nose is still in my hair; I can hear him inhale me.
Finally, he breaks the charged silence and breathes in my ear, “I have a room upstairs. Let’s get out of here.”
Gabe is nothing like Ned. He is slow, methodical, caring. So sensual. He puts my needs first, affirming me as he tenderly kisses every visible inch of my skin. That I am beautiful to him, and constantly asking if everything is okay. I answer him with moans that get louder as desire rises in my core. Being with him is so, so wrong, yet it feels so right. So visceral. I want him as much as I know he wants me. The truth is, we’ve always felt this way but have suppressed our feelings. Goose bumps skate down my arms as he unzips my dress inch by slow inch and helps me out of it. His mouth lingers on mine, our lips touching, our tongues doing their own slow dance, one that makes me melt into a puddle of need. The need for him to be deep inside me.
He knows it, too, and I watch as he disrobes out of his tux, gathers me into his arms, and carries me to the bed. He splays his long, taut body on top of mine, whispers sweet nothings, and tells me again how beautiful I am. How much he wants me.
I moan his name against his mouth, and he pushes into me slowly, reverently, his long, determined strokes taking me over the edge. So different from Ned, who only wants my body as a receptacle for his feral needs. His hooded blue eyes never straying from mine, Gabe is so in the moment, so present. The first man who’s ever made me feel cherished. Feel so loved.
We come together. There is no shame to our ecstasy.
“I love you, Ava.” Gabe’s voice is so soft it’s almost a prayer. “I always have. I wish I never had to give you away.”
“Please don’t say that,” I whisper. His words hurt too much.
