Page 8 of Better Off Wed
Just because I knew it would annoy him, I gripped Gideon’s arm and pressed myself up against it. And, fine, it wasn’tjustto annoy him. His biceps were magnificent, and the clench of his hand against mine was delicious.
Then the doors to the church burst open, and an old, balding man stood in the entryway, breathing hard. He had stringy brown hair clinging to the sides of his head, and he wore a short-sleeved button-down with wet patches under his arms, evidence of the sweltering July sun still beating down on the town outside. The congregation turned to stare. His eyes widened slightly at the sight of everyone looking at him.
Marigold pounded out a dramatic chord on the organ, and the man straightened. “Mr. Titty,” he said between pants, whenthe organ had quieted down. “Mr. Titty struck again. Got the front of the church.”
I got so far as to ask “Who’s Mr—” before the force of a very small, round man barreling down off the dais knocked me off my stiletto heels. It was only Gideon’s arm wrapping around my waist that stopped me from falling to the base of the stairs and being trampled by all the elderly people rushing to get outside in their orthopedic shoes. I clung to the front of his suit, got my feet back under me, and looked over my shoulder as the doors swung shut behind the last guest. Silence fell like a sack of bricks. My pulse was beating hard, and my breath sounded too loud in the empty church.
I lifted my gaze to Gideon’s, watching the way the high, flickering chandelier’s lights kissed his unblemished right side. His stubble had been shaped to highlight his jaw and cheekbone, and I knew that he must have been incredibly handsome before the event that scarred him. Then he turned his head to meet my gaze, and the other side of his face came into view.
He was still handsome, just…different. And really, I wasn’t one to judge. My problems were internal, but they still shaped my life the way I imagined Gideon’s marks had shaped his.
He watched me scan the scars, and his gaze went hard. Again. I wanted to scream, explain that I wasn’t judging him, I just—they were part of him! I was captivated. But I already knew he wouldn’t believe me.
I gulped. His arm was still around my waist, my own hands pressed up against his chest. Just like the first time, my world narrowed to the space between us. The points of contact between his hard body and my much softer one. This was the closest I’d been to a man—to anyone—since Henry. I’d forgottenhow good it felt to be in someone’s arms. Forgotten how blank my mind could go when I felt comfortable and at peace. When I felt safe.
It was a brain malfunction to feel safe with a man who so clearly didn’t want this. I should’ve been guarded and hesitant. I should’ve pulled away. Gideon’s pale eyes were flinty, but his touch was warm. He held me softly, his palm flat against the back of my hip, his fingertips grazing the curve of my waist.
That warm-butter feeling spread lower, dripping along the insides of my thighs. I swallowed, index fingers tracing the edge of his collar while my other fingers remained curled in his lapels, body leaning toward his.
There wassomethinghere. The way he’d looked at me…the flashes I saw in his gaze… Hewasattracted to me, at least a little. Wasn’t he? A one out of ten wasn’t a zero. Maybe?—
“You’re wrinkling my suit jacket.”
I jerked back. “Oh. Sorry.”
He used his big, rough hands to yank at the lapels to try to smooth them out. Without looking at me, he said, “This is our best opportunity to slip out of here before the reception.”
“You don’t want to go to your own wedding reception?”
He gave me a flat look.
I blinked at him, then at the empty church. I was at a loss, trying to come to terms with the dawning horror of being very attracted to a man who was definitely not attracted to me. A man who was now my husband. I gulped, eyes landing on the big wooden doors at the other end of the aisle. “Who’s Mr. Titty?”
GIDEON
She did the one thing that people had been afraid to do since the fire: She looked at me and didn’t hide it.
There was no furtive glance that bounced away the minute I noticed. No pity. No barely-hidden disgust. No pretending the scarred area didn’t exist, avoiding it so completely that it only made me feel more self-conscious about the marks on my skin.
No. Sadie saw me, all of me, and I suddenly felt human again after living five long years as a ghost.
THREE
SADIE
Mr. Titty was a graffiti artist with a penchant for drawing bosoms. His latest tag was bright blue against the carved wood of the church doors, two gigantic globes with teeny tiny nipples, one on each door. His name was signed in stylized font on the bottom of the right-hand door, with some blue overspray staining the bottom hinges and the surrounding brown brick. All of us—the reverend, me, Gideon, and all the guests—stood on the grass in front of the church to admire his latest work.
“Reminds me of myself about fifty years ago,” said a woman with the most gigantic breasts I’d ever seen, her voice wistful and pleased. She had hair dyed fire engine red, and her breasts were lifted and smooshed together, displayed prominently above the low neckline of her navy dress.
“Fifty years is a long time,” another older woman grumbled, earning a glare from the well-endowed redhead.
“Jealous, Betsy?”
“Of what?” the other woman sneered, turning her nose up. “Your only accomplishment was growing those huge knockers.”
“This is a travesty,” yelled the reverend. “Mr. Titty must be stopped!”
“Hear, hear!” someone called out.
