Page 23 of The Wrong Groom

“Do you two have a car arranged?” my mother puts in, her hands clasped together. “If not, we can⁠—”

“That’s alright,” Gabriel says, holding up a hand to dismiss the offer. “I’ve already called a driver. He’ll be picking us up outside in fifteen minutes.”

“What about your daughter?” she asks. My heart squeezes at the reminder of Peyton—a child I don’t know, whose home I will now be sharing.

“Her nanny took her home a few hours ago,” Gabriel says, offering a tight-lipped smile. “This is well past her bedtime.”

My parents chuckle good-naturedly, and my mother says, “Of course.”

The idea of sharing a car back to Gabriel’s house—just the two of us—is nerve-wracking, but at this point, I’m desperate to get out of these shoes and drop this smile. I glance down at my feet, trying to subtly shift my weight to ease the ache. Gabriel catches the movement and gives me a sympathetic look.

“Let’s get you home,” he murmurs, just loud enough for me to hear. The words sound unexpectedly intimate, and my stomach twists with a mix of relief and nerves.

As we say our final goodbyes to my parents, my mother pulls me into a warm hug, and my father gives me a pat on the shoulder. It’s the most outward affection I can remember from either of them in a long time, and it catches me off guard.

As Gabriel and I step outside, the cool night air is a welcome change from the heat of the party. At the curb out front of the building, there’s a black Mercedes waiting. Gabriel opens the car door for me, a small gesture that feels strangely comforting.

Then Gabriel climbs into the back seat beside me and closes the door. The driver puts up the plastic partition between us and the front, giving us a sense of privacy. As we settle in, the hum of the engine fills the silence, and the city lights flash past the windows, casting a fleeting glow across Gabriel’s face.

My mother already arranged for my belongings to be moved to Gabriel’s house, but I’ve never been there myself. The idea of walking in and trying to make myself feel at home is terrifying. I find myself gritting my teeth just thinking about it.

But it’s not like I have an option. For the next three years, I’ll be living in that house. It’s the closest thing I have to a home now, and I’ve never even been there.

I shift slightly, trying to get comfortable, but it’s impossible. Now that we’re alone, sealed off from the rest of the world, I’m painfully aware of him once again—his presence, the smell of his aftershave. I have a fleeting, ridiculous thought. What would it be like to lean into him? To rest my head against his shoulder, climb onto his lap…

Gabriel breaks the silence, jarring me from my inappropriate thoughts. He clears his throat and says, “I apologize, I’ll have to return to work in a few days’ time. Things don’t slow down at Thorne Enterprises, not even for a wedding.”

“That’s okay,” I say reflexively. “I wasn’t expecting a honeymoon.”

He gives me a look that I can’t parse, but there’s a hint of something in his eyes. Regret, maybe. Frustration. As if he wishes I’d said anything else.

“It really isn’t,” he says.

“Isn’t what?”

“Isn’t okay.” His eyes remain fixed on the plastic partition, his jaw tight. “You should have been expecting a honeymoon. You should be off to the Maldives or Tuscany… somewhere beautiful.”

I’m taken aback, unsure how to respond. “That’s… that’s for other people,” I stammer. “You know…”

“None of this is how your wedding should’ve been,” Gabriel continues, his eyes hard. “It should’ve been the happiest day of your life.”

I glance at him. The hurt in his voice is palpable. He looks haunted. I suddenly think, not for the first time, of his first wife. Of the woman who, presumably, he loved.

Her absence hangs between us, unspoken but heavy. I know very little about her, only bits and pieces that I’ve heard from other people. Gabriel has never even mentioned her in my presence, but I can tell that she hasn’t been far from his mind throughout this entire shit fest.

The words slip out before I can stop them. “Was your first marriage the happiest day of your life?”

He inhales sharply, as if my question has stung him. His body goes tense, and a mask falls over his face.

Shit. You’ve done it now, I think to myself miserably. You’ve been married for less than a day, and you’ve already stepped in it. Great job, Alexis.

“I’m sorry,” I say quickly, stumbling over my words. “I… I d-didn’t mean to, um. T-to overstep. I⁠—”

He sighs, cutting me off. For a moment, I think he’s about to snap at me, but instead he relaxes, leaning back heavily in his seat. The coldness fades from his face, leaving him looking weary.

“I don’t tend to talk about that,” he tells me, the words a bit stilted.

I nod, my heart sinking into my horribly uncomfortable shoes. I’m happy to let the subject drop, but I still can’t help but berate myself mentally. Come on, Alexis, what the hell are you thinking? How could you ask him that?