Page 48 of The Wrong Groom

“Of course,” he says smoothly, his tone laced with a false cordiality that grates on my nerves. “Enjoy your day.”

With that, he brushes past me, his shoulder barely missing mine. It takes every ounce of my self-control not to respond, not to step in his path or get in his face. My fists curl instinctively at my sides, but I force myself to let it go—for Alexis’s sake, and for Peyton, who doesn’t need to see her father start a fight on the beach.

As we walk away, though, I glance over my shoulder and meet his gaze as he looks back in our direction. Slowly, deliberately, I lay my hand on Alexis’s back.

Now that she can’t see him, he’s less careful about schooling his expression. His eyes darken, and I can see the resentment stewing within him.

Resent it all you want, I think. The wave of possessiveness that rushes through me is sudden and fierce. She’s mine.

Chapter 16

Alexis

Gabriel’s hand rests at the small of my back as we leave Travis behind. There’s a tight set to his jaw, a slight scowl on his face that almost makes me think that he’s… jealous.

I must be imagining that. It wouldn’t make any sense for him to be jealous that I was once engaged to another man. Hell, he probably wishes I had married Travis. Then we wouldn’t be in this situation, bound together by a marriage neither of us asked for.

Still, there’s something off about the way he holds me. His touch feels firmer, more intentional, like he’s staking a claim. The tension radiating from him is palpable.

Gabriel isn’t one to let his emotions show. I glance up at him, trying to read his expression, but his gaze is fixed ahead, his features carved from stone.

But something is off.

I’m not sure if I should say anything. If I would make this storm worse by acknowledging it.

Before I can decide, Peyton lets out an excited gasp. “Daddy! Look! Seagulls!”

Gabriel’s head snaps toward her, his entire demeanor softening in an instant. The tension in his jaw ebbs away. “Of course there are seagulls, Bug. We’re at the beach.”

“Can I chase them? Please?”

Gabriel chuckles. Whatever was bothering him, it seems like only Peyton could’ve made him forget about it. “Go ahead, but don’t scare them too much,” he says.

Peyton doesn’t wait for another word. She bolts toward the flock of seagulls pecking at the sand, her laughter ringing out as they scatter into the sky in a flurry of squawks and feathers.

Eventually, the gulls are gone, and Peyton grows bored of watching them fly away. The three of us reconvene to find a spot on the sand, a quiet area near the cliffs that border the beach. I help Gabriel set up our chairs while Peyton rushes off to the edge of the water.

“You mind if I join her?” Gabriel asks.

“Go for it,” I reply, settling into my chair. “I’m good here.”

I watch as Gabriel turns and approaches Peyton, who is splashing in the surf, giggling each time a wave laps at her ankles. When Gabriel reaches her, he crouches down to her level. She throws her arms around his neck, and he sweeps her up effortlessly, spinning her once before setting her down just as a wave washes over their feet.

Something inside me tightens as I watch them together. Gabriel—harsh, stoic Gabriel, with his sharp words and careful facade—is so unguarded, so sweet with his daughter. It’s as if she’s the only person in the world who can unlock the warmth in him.

Melanie probably used to be able to do that too, I think to myself, my feet shifting in the sand. I feel a now-familiar flicker of discomfort, the one I’ve come to associate with thoughts of Gabriel’s first wife. I can’t help but feel like an interloper whenever I’m confronted with the reality that she was once here, in my place. That this family was once whole, and now isn’t anymore.

I shouldn’t feel this way, I remind myself. He’s Peyton’s father, and I’m her stepmother now. But watching them, this effortless connection they share, makes me feel like an outsider in a world I don’t know how to be part of.

I lean back in my chair, breathing in the ocean air with my eyes closed for a moment. When I open them again, Peyton is feeling more adventurous. She pulls at his hand, tugging her father toward the deeper part of the surf. Gabriel takes small steps as he follows her, letting her lead the way.

I think about our interaction earlier with the ice cream vendor. Gabriel was so patient with Peyton, so encouraging. He never told her to fix her lisp, only to speak despite it. He accepted her the way she is. I can’t help but think about how powerful that type of parenting must be, how well-adjusted Peyton will become.

I take a sip of my iced tea, trying to soothe the sudden twist in my stomach. Everything about Gabriel’s parenting is the exact opposite of how my parents handled my early childhood. I remember their reactions to my stutter. Their approach was never about building my confidence. It was only ever about trying to fix me.

They always made it feel like a personal failing of mine, cringing every time I opened my mouth to speak or even outright telling me to keep it shut. I felt like they could never love me unless I overcame the stutter, something that seemed so daunting, almost impossible. My only option was to stay quiet. To never speak, in case I opened myself up to ridicule.

In private, I worked hard to get rid of the stutter. I practiced endlessly, repeating words in front of the mirror, slowing down my speech. But even when I made progress, even when I thought I had it under control, I would slip. Whenever I was upset, or stressed, I couldn’t stop myself from stumbling over my words. I still can’t. It’s like my body remembers the stutter, no matter how hard I try to make my mind leave it behind.