Page 94 of The Wrong Groom

“Thank you,” I whisper.

“For what?”

“For being here for me.” I pause, grimacing. “And… for not being mad.”

“Why the hell would I be mad?” He sounds almost amused.

“Lots of reasons,” I say in a small voice. “I mean… Travis⁠—”

“I already told you, you didn’t do anything wrong. It’s not your fault he’s a creep.”

“Well, I also interrupted your meeting.”

He stops the motion of his hand on my back, meeting my gaze squarely. “You really think I give a shit about that?”

“I don’t know.” I think of the other men I’ve known, men in positions like Gabriel’s at the top of a large company. If I had walked in on a meeting of my father’s, he would’ve been apoplectic.

He sighs, then shifts his weight to hold me closer. “You could’ve interrupted me a hundred times today, and I still would’ve wanted you here.”

“I just didn’t want to make things harder for you.”

“You never do.” He shakes his head emphatically. “You never could.”

My eyes sting with unshed tears. I’m already too embarrassed to let those fall, so I blink rapidly to fend them off.

“In that case… thank you for everything you’ve done for me.” I press my face into his shirt.

“I haven’t done anything.”

“Yes, you have,” I tell him. “You’ve changed my life for the better.”

“All I’ve done is try to make this situation more comfortable for you,” he says softly. “I don’t want to be a part of your life that you regret.”

I lean back, meeting his gaze, and shake my head vehemently. “No matter what happens, no matter how this turns out, nothing could make me regret this.”

Something passes through his eyes. For a moment, he looks like he wants to say something, but then he presses his lips into a line and simply holds me tighter. His silence speaks volumes, though, about his own fears and uncertainties.

“You mean that?” he asks after a long pause, his voice almost hesitant.

“Of course I do.”

He reaches up to brush a strand of hair from my face, his touch feather-light. “You don’t know how much that means to me.”

I tilt my head, studying his expression. “You’ve done more for me than I can put into words,” I whisper. “You’ve made me feel… safe. Wanted.”

His hand lingers at my cheek, his thumb brushing over my skin. After a moment’s pause, he says, “You once told me that you live in honor of your sister’s memory. That you want to be someone she would be proud of.”

I nod and open my mouth to reply, but he rests his thumb on my top lip. He’s not silencing me, exactly, just letting me know he’s not finished, his eyes asking me to wait. To let him get all the words out.

“You don’t just have to live for her,” he tells me. “You can live for yourself too.”

My eyes sting as tears begin to gather again. I just managed to fight off the last wave of emotion, and now I’m on the verge of breaking again. His words strike something deep inside me, a part of myself I’ve tried to ignore for so long. Live for myself? The concept feels foreign, almost indulgent, like something I don’t deserve.

“I don’t know how,” I admit, my throat tight. “I’ve never known how.”

“You don’t have to figure it out all at once.” He quirks a little smile, the kind I know he doesn’t let many people see. “I just want you to know that your sister would be proud of you. That I’m proud of you.”

I let out a shaky breath, my chest tightening as his words wash over me. I laugh, although it’s really more of a sob, as I bury my face in his chest against the warm fabric of his shirt. His arms come around me, pulling me tighter, offering me the kind of comfort I never realized I needed so badly.