Page 94 of Big Stick Energy
It made us drowsy, though, so we went upstairs and fell into bed together. I woke up spooned around her, which gave me big ideas, which I promptly shared with her in the suite’s luxurious shower. Then we ordered room service and didn’t leave our hotel floor until I came downstairs in my tux to escort wedding guests to their seats.
It’s hard to believe we have to check out of that room and drive back to New York tomorrow. I’m not ready.
I’m gazing out the window, thinking about this, when my father pokes me in the arm. “That Tessa person says we’re about to start. You should take a seat.”
“Right. Okay.” A glance at my watch tells me the wedding is supposed to start in one minute. I step past my dad and look out the front doors just in time to see Darcy finally step inside the vestibule.
Tessa reaches her first. “Way to be late!”
“Sorry,” she says, sounding breathless. Then she turns to catch my gaze and smiles.
That smile stops me in my tracks. Not to mention her dress. It’s green—the same color as my favorite bikini—and it hugs her curves in all the right places. The neckline shows just enough skin to make my mouth go dry, and her hair is swept up so I can see the freckles on her shoulders that I’ve been mapping with my tongue.
“Wow,” I breathe. “You look…” I trail off, because there aren’t adequate words.Elegant? Perfect? Way out of my league?I gather myself and take her arm. “Looks like we’re sitting in the back. All the good seats are taken.”
“Anywhere,” she whispers. “Just as long as I get to sit next to you.”
We end up in a crowded row near the back, pressed side by side. This is it. The grand finale of the Wedding Experience.
I take Darcy’s hand in mine and stroke a thumb across her palm. There has to be some way I can see more of her after this weekend, right? I’m heading out west for some preseason training soon. But then I’ll be back. We only live a few blocks from each other.
We can make this work.
Chapter 34
Like Oliver Twist
Darcy
A hush falls over the chapel as Theo and the officiant wait before an altar adorned in cheerful hydrangea bouquets. We all turn to watch the door, and the wedding party begins a processional down the aisle.
Weddings are so orderly. Everyone walking two by two in time with the music. Like Noah’s Ark, but in better fabrics. Each man in a gray tux, and each woman in a shade of hydrangea blue. Isn’t all this perfect synchronization a lie, though? Am I the only one in this room who knows how fucking messy life really is after the “I dos”?
As the wedding party lines up on each side of the altar, I take a long look at Theo—this near stranger in a pristine tux, with a blue boutonniere and a perfectly shaved face. I never really wanted to come to this wedding, but I feel weirdly protective toward my brother today. His expression is so hopeful. Somehow, he’s managed to completely overlook the tragedy of our parents and believe that marriage is still a good idea. I can see it in hiseyes, which, now that I think about it, are disturbingly like my own.
Oh, buddy.What were you thinking?
The music changes again to the wedding march, and we all rise for the grand entrance of the bride.
The chapel doors open again, and there she is.
Maribel appears on Mr. Tremaine’s arm, her dress a simple design in ivory silk that moves like water. She’s carrying a gorgeous bouquet of white roses and lavender.
But it’s not the dress or the flowers that make my throat tighten. It’s the way she locks gazes with Theo. Her whole face transforms, like someone just handed her the best surprise of her life. And Theo—my stoic brother—presses a hand to his chest, like he’s trying to keep his heart from bursting right out of his body.
Maribel moves toward him on the steady, inevitable pulse of the music. Eleven years ago, sheburiedher first love. That could have broken anyone. But nope. Now she’s walking down this aisle in front of all these people, betting everything on the possibility of forever.
I watch her take each careful step toward my brother with absolute certainty on her face, and my cynical little heart is about to crack in two.
God, maybe there’s something to this whole marriage thing after all.
Maybe.
At the front of the room, Mr. Tremaine kisses her on the cheek and seats himself beside Patty Tremaine, who’s managing to keep her smile. And then Maribel and Theo are facing each other as the officiant begins the ceremony.
The opening bits wash over me—something about love and commitment and blah-blah-blah the sacred bonds of matrimony. There’s a song and a poem. But then the officiant says, “Theo and Maribel have written their own vows,” and suddenly I’m paying attention again. Because this is where weddings get real. Where people either phone it in with Pinterest quotes or bare their souls in front of everyone they know.
Theo goes first, pulling a folded piece of paper from his jacket pocket with shaking hands.
