chapter twenty-three
Goodness, gracious, I’m getting married, y’all.”
Sydney laughed at Morgan’s incredulous expression, like it had finally hit her right before she was about to walk down the aisle. Raven flanked her on the other side, looking gorgeous in the sleek buttercream dress with her dark hair pinned up high. Thank God Morgan had chosen a sophisticated color palette that emphasized her Southern roots and elegant simplicity.
Plus, Sydney could actually wear the dress again.
“You look beautiful,” she whispered, fussing with Morgan’s train.
“You do, kitten.” Morgan’s father gripped her elbow, his full mane of white hair, blue eyes, and crisp tuxedo giving him a dignified air. Sydney had fallen in love with Morgan’s parents and wished her mother would stick around. Diane would’ve loved her, with her classic breeding, sly humor, and obvious love for her daughter and Cal. Sydney imagined the two women chattering late into the evening while they watched their children walk off hand in hand.
“Showtime,” Raven announced, turning toward the heavy wooden doors. The music poured into the foyer of the church, and Raven headed down the aisle.
Sydney bent down to whisper in Becca’s ear. “Ready sweetheart? It’s your cue.”
“Ready, Mama.”
Excitement lit her gold-green eyes, and seeming perfectly poised, she began slowly walking down the aisle, scattering blush-pink rose petals. Her dress was the same color as the roses, and with the baby’s breath braided through her hair, she looked stunning. There was a tittering in the crowd as everyone watched her, and Sydney puffed up with pride. Two weddings in under a year. Becca was practically an expert.
She studied Tristan’s expression as he watched Becca walk down the aisle. Her whole being pulsed with joy as the two people she loved most joined at the altar. He motioned for Becca to stand all the way to the right. She nodded and gave him a thumbs-up, which threw the guests into laughter, then moved to her place.
Her turn.
She walked with slow, steady strides to join her daughter. Dalton and Tristan stood beside Cal, dual best men, devastating in their sleek black tuxedos. Smiling at her husband, she turned toward the main event, and the crowd stood as “The Wedding March” began to play.
Morgan floated down the aisle, her gaze trained on the man she loved, her face wreathed in a joyous smile. Wide blue eyes shone behind the weblike lace of her veil. The Vera Wang gown was a classic, with a full skirt and a high neck encrusted with an array of pearls, emphasizing the graceful length of her neck and her delicate bone structure. Her shoes shimmered in a peekaboo toe in pure glass.
Damn. She wore actual glass slippers, just like the princess Cal called her.
She reached Cal, and her father gave the bride away, blinking back tears. Cal hugged the man, then took his bride, joining their hands together.
Her lower lip trembled. Oh no. Not this early. She would not cry. No, no, no . . .
Tristan met her gaze across the room. Whiskey-gold eyes pierced into hers, a gleam of understanding and desire closing the distance and squeezing her heart.
Then he winked.
She pressed her lips tight to keep from laughing. The gesture was so unlike him; she knew he’d done it for her. She certainly didn’t want to be blubbering the first five minutes and ruin all her makeup for photos.
God, she loved him.
The ceremony unfolded, wrapping the guests in memories of love and hope for the future. When they were announced man and wife, Cal picked Morgan up high in the air and spun her around, laughing with such open joy the guests burst into wild applause.
They lined up outside in the receiving line, greeting guests and posing for pictures in the gorgeous June sunshine. Tristan entangled his fingers with hers and Becca’s, standing as a unit through the wedding formalities of pictures, toasts, and getting to the reception. Becca was still freaking out at being able to ride in a limo, and Morgan treated her like her own, making sure Becca had a glass of apple cider when they drank on the way to the country club.
They pulled up to the Harrington Club, a five-star resort on a stunning golf course with rolling green acres. After a few more pictures, Sydney made a beeline for the waiters and began pulling madly from the trays.
“You bringing those to Morgan?” Tristan asked, his hand resting on her waist.
She paused in the act of taking her first bite and groaned. “I’m evil. Hell no, I wasn’t thinking about Morgan. I’m starving.”
He grinned. “Eat first, then feed her. You’ll be no good to her if you pass out from starvation.”
“I’m a terrible mother. I forgot about Becca.”
He took the bite-size bacon-wrapped scallop and popped it into her mouth. She half closed her eyes in delight. “She’s fine. I got her situated in the bridal party room with a tray of chicken fingers and mozzarella sticks. She may never leave.”
“You rock.” She took the next few minutes enjoying bruschetta, shrimp and grits, various cheeses and vegetables, and mini spring rolls. “Okay. Now I can take care of Morgan.”
“I think Cal has her covered.”
She turned. Cal stood in the corner with his bride, feeding her slowly and pressing kisses to her mouth in between bites. It was an image from a movie poster, so tender and real everyone around them stilled to watch. The photographer jumped into action, snapping pictures with a mad glee, but they didn’t notice. They gazed at each other, lost in the world they’d created for themselves.
Raw yearning gripped her. Her breath whooshed out, and for a few precious moments, she ached with bone-jarring jealousy. Their obvious love for each other beat in their auras, and Sydney almost fell to her knees in a mixture of grief and want.
It had been three months since her own wedding day, and she was no closer to Tristan falling in love with her than when they’d begun. Oh, the coldness had finally drifted away. He looked after her and Becca with a sweet concern that brought tears to her eyes. But he still held back.
Every night, he took her in his arms and wrung excruciating pleasure from her body. He reminded her of his possession, of his claim, yet after the orgasm settled and he fell asleep in her arms, she was left with an aching emptiness that was slowly devouring her.
“Baby? You okay?”
She shook off her thoughts and forced a smile. “Sure.”
Becca raced across the carpet, her mini train trailing behind. “I’m back. Did I miss anything?”
Tristan swung her up in his arms, and they stood together in a tight circle. “Nope. Is your belly full now?”
“So full.” A tiny frown creased her brow. “We’ve done the ceremony and pictures and ate and did a toast. What’s next? Cake?”
Sydney laughed, and Tristan pressed a kiss on top of his daughter’s head. “Something much more important and a heck of a lot more fun.”
“What, Daddy?”
He leaned close to whisper in her ear. “We party, sweetheart.”
Tristan glanced around. Coast was clear. He darted to the side door and escaped outside. He sucked in deep breaths of fresh air. His shirt was stuck uncomfortably to his skin, his tie was too tight, and his shiny stiff shoes hurt like a bitch. Pressing himself against the far wall, away from the smokers, he relaxed for a few seconds and hoped no one would find him. He refused to become a spectacle in this Grease thing Morgan had lined up. No one could make him do it, either. How could such a classy Southern woman stoop to such a level as to force a musical rendition on her guests?
The door banged open. Dalton came out, spotted him, and darted over. “Thank God. I’m not doing that shit, man. The DJ is looking for a Kenickie, and Morgan’s already pissed ’cause they can’t find Cal to be Danny.”
“Well, don’t lead them out here to me,” Tristan hissed. “You always sucked at hiding. Did anyone see you?”
“Nah, I checked for tails.”
“Did you bring beer?”
“Yeah, here.” He shoved an extra bottle into Tristan’s hands. The cold brew felt like heaven in his palm, and he pressed it against his forehead. “I’m so fucking tired. I hate dancing. And why are there so many relatives I don’t recognize? They keep telling me how big I got.”
“Yeah, Dad never kept up with his side of the family. They haven’t seen us since we were ten.”
The door squeaked, then flew open, and Cal trudged out, looking like his usual grumpy self. “I’m not doing it. Fuck Danny. Fuck Grease. There are certain levels of humiliation you can’t go past, even on your wedding day.”
“Did anyone see you come out here?” Tristan asked. “I found this spot first, and I’m not anyone’s sacrifice.”
“No, I had someone plant a clue I was in the bathroom, then I raced out here.”
“Good job,” Dalton said.
Cal glared at them, then took a swig of beer. “Some best men you are.”
“We had to save ourselves. Morgan is scary,” Dalton said. “Who’s playing Danny now?”
“Her father. Uncle Bob is Kenickie, and some twelve-year-old is Sonny.”
Tristan lifted a brow. “Umm, if Morgan gets mad about your nonparticipation, will you get a wedding night?”
Cal rubbed his head. His hair fell in disarray across his brow. “Don’t know. I think I have enough moves to get her to forget.”
Tristan snorted. “You hope.”
“I’m not putting on a fake leather jacket and lip-synching ‘Summer Nights.’ There are people I know out there. Men I work with. I won’t be welcome on a construction site for the rest of my life.”
Tristan met Dalton’s gaze and burst into laughter. “Sorry, man, that sucks. We’ll tell them you got sick and needed some air.”
Cal gave a brusque nod. “Now you’re talking.”
They stood against the wall, drinking beer, looking at the night sky. A sense of peace settled over him. “You happy?” he asked Cal.
His brother turned and grinned. “Hell yeah. Are you?”
Tristan nodded. “Yeah. I am.”
“Things seem to be working out with Sydney. Have you been able to forgive her? Move on?”
He shifted his feet. Thought about the question. Had he? Since the night he’d chased her into bed, their relationship had shifted. They were closer, the physical union sparking a deeper emotional bond he hadn’t been prepared for. When he felt as if he was slipping too far, caught deep in her jade-green eyes, he managed to yank himself back from the precipice. So far, he’d been able to control it. They were being real with each other. No words of love or false promises. Things were just about perfect.
Except for the sadness in his wife’s eyes.
He caught her now and then, staring out the window, a melancholy aura hanging heavily around her figure. Sometimes she’d look into his face, and he’d spot a glimmer of pain that tore at his heart, but when he looked harder, it disappeared.
He shook off his thoughts and tried to answer the question.
Tristan was surprised at his honest response. “Yeah, we’ve been able to move forward. We’re finally giving Becca something real.”
Cal nodded. “Good for you, Tris. It’s always been obvious how in love you two are. I’m glad you both finally admitted it.”
Tristan held up his hand. “No, we’re not in love. That’s a place I’m never going again.”
His brothers stared at him. “What are you talking about? You married her. Have a daughter. You’re sleeping together, right?” Cal asked.
“Yeah.”
Dalton gave a laugh. “Dude, you’re kidding yourself. You love her. She loves you. What’s the big deal? You’re already married. It’s usually the opposite way—men terrified of committing forever.”
His gut clenched. Loving Sydney put their relationship on a whole other level—one he never intended to reach. The word only brought confusion and too much damn vulnerability. “Love is how things get fucked-up,” he said brusquely. “Much better to keep things the way they are.”
Cal snorted. “Yeah, good luck with that. Sydney loves you. No rationalization is going to make that fact disappear.”
“The longer you deny your own feelings, the worse things will get,” Dalton warned. “Believe me, I figured that out from experience. Just man up and admit you love your wife.”
“And if I don’t?” he challenged.
“Then either you’re scared shitless you’ll get hurt or you haven’t really forgiven her,” Cal said.
Dalton nodded. “And either one needs to be dealt with, or things can begin falling apart. Don’t let that happen, man. You and Sydney deserve to be happy.”
He opened his mouth to deny both charges, but it was too late.
The door banged open.
Three pissed-off females stood framed in the doorway. They all wore pink satin jackets over their dresses and bright pink sneakers. Fake cigarettes dangled from their fingers. Gazes narrowed in feminine temper, they stepped outside like a gang about to kick some ass.
Ah, shit.
Morgan stuck out her lower lip and blew her lace veil off her face. Blue eyes glinted in warning. “Charming, if you’re not inside to finish up this dance in two minutes, tonight will not be what you expected.”
Cal’s mouth dropped open. “I told you I didn’t want to do this! Isn’t it my wedding, too?”
Raven practically snarled, looking mean in her pink satin. “Morgan has been dreaming about a Grease song for years. You’re telling me you can’t take a few minutes from your life to make her happy on your wedding day?”
Tristan blinked. Damn, she was good. Dalton was in big trouble.
Sydney joined in, her index finger jabbing through the air. “Have you been trying to hide the groom from us?” she asked suspiciously.
Tristan threw his hands up. “No! I came out for a quick break, and they followed me!”
“Traitor,” Cal and Dalton growled.
“Well, I don’t care. All of you get inside, put on the leather jackets, and let’s do this. Becca is jumping up and down with excitement, and Uncle Bob needs to take his medication, so he can’t dance any longer,” Sydney snapped out.
Suddenly Morgan’s face fell. Her lower lip trembled. “You don’t want to do this with me?” she asked pitifully.
And just like that, Cal crumbled.
“Aww, princess, don’t get upset. I’ll put on the jacket. Okay? But I’m not dancing. I’ll stand there, and you can dance around me.”
She smiled brilliantly. “Perfect. Thanks, Charming. Love you.”
He sighed. “Love you, too.” Cutting his brothers a furious glance, he trudged inside.
Sydney tapped her pink-clad toe and jerked her thumb. “Let’s go, T-birds.”
Tristan paused, lowering his head to whisper in her ear. “Get ready for payback later, Pink Lady.”
She grinned. “I’ll look forward to it.”
He followed his brothers toward the dance of hell, pushing their conversation from his mind. Cal and Dalton were wrong. His marriage was perfect exactly the way it was.
No need to bring love into the equation and mess it all up.