Four Weddings and a Break Up (19 page)

S
eth Flaherty getting jilted
at the altar was the talk of the town. No one had seen Liz Sheldon since the ceremony—it looked like she had fled Cape Hope. Everyone was trying to guess the guy she’d fallen in love with. Ginny had heard everything from the mailman to the dog walker.

She and Wes kept “dating,” and she even was still playing on the baseball team. They had won the last two games, and from what Wes told her, Seth grew surlier with each passing day. Seth had also stopped shaving and being so put together.

Everyone was getting ready for the upcoming July 4 weekend. And her family was getting ready for Deb’s wedding. Ginny went out and bought that gold dress from Vintage—a sexy little number that was perfect for a nighttime wedding. She and Wes had hung out some more. Everything seemed fine until Saturday morning.

The phone ringing woke Ginny up the morning of her cousin Deb’s wedding. She answered it with a groggy, “Hello?”

“Ginny?”

“Julie?” Ginny sat up and glanced at the clock. “Why are you calling me at 4:30 a.m.? Is something wrong? Is Mom okay? Are you?”

“I’m fine. Mom’s fine. It’s about Deb.”

“What’s wrong? Is she hurt? Is Steve hurt?”

“Nothing like that.” Julie paused. “It’s the wedding. You remember the thin redhead when we all went to Atlantic City for Deb’s bachelorette party?”

“Not really.”

“That girl was Deb’s maid of honor. She got an awful case of food poisoning and is in the hospital and—”

“Is she going to be okay?”

“She’ll be fine. Deb was going to cancel, but her friend said there was no way Deb should do that. So Deb’s not cancelling—”

“Julie, it’s not like you to be so flustered.”

“I know. I know. Anyway, so now I’m the maid of honor.”

“Good thing you’re the same size.”

“Deb needs another bridesmaid.” Julie paused. “You.”

Oh, no. “No. Absolutely not. I am not wearing
that
dress.”

W
es arrived
at The Worth Hotel, where the wedding and reception was to be held for Ginny’s cousin, an hour before the actual ceremony started.

Ginny’s mom was in the lobby, surrounded by a group of people, and waved to him. “Wes! Over here, sweetie.”

Wes froze as the crowd parted.

Her mom looked like Little Bo Peep. On crack.

A wide hoop skirt with voluminous folds, in a light blue, with ruffles and ruffles and more ruffles. The dress was hands down the ugliest thing Wes had ever seen in his life.

“Oh, Wes, don’t you look handsome.” Faith placed a hand on his arm, leading away from the crowd. Her skirts made a crinkling sound. “Now, since Ginny is a bridesmaid, she’s still getting ready. But she’s already checked into the room—there was just no way I was going to allow her to drive home tonight after she’s been drinking.”

“So I can’t see Ginny yet?”

Faith smiled. “No, not yet. Why don’t you have some cocktails and then find a seat—the ceremony’s on the sand; thankfully the sun’s held up. But trust me, Wes, when you do see Ginny . . . she’ll take your breath away.”

T
he music started
from the lone flautist. Wes turned in his seat to watch the procession. He had already prepared himself, after seeing Ginny’s mom in her costume and then seeing the groom, in breeches and stockings, had pretty much sealed the deal that this wedding was going to be a once in a lifetime experience of craziness.

Thank god he’d taken Faith up on her suggestion and had a beer before coming down to the beach.

It was a beautiful time to get married—in the late afternoon when the sky was a bright blue with few clouds. The ocean breeze ruffled his hair, and it wasn’t too hot, thankfully. Still, Wes was glad he’d chosen a lightweight linen suit.

When the first bridesmaid appeared at the top of the boardwalk that led down to the beach, Wes shook his head. If Faith had reminded him of Little Bo Peep on crack, then the bridesmaids looked like pink cupcakes on LSD. Bright pink, almost neon in color, the dress drooped off the shoulders, and there was white sticking out from the middle of the chest—Wes had no idea what that was.

Three bridesmaids appeared after the first, and Wes watched as each reached the end of the aisle, took an usher’s arm, and then made her way to the archway with bright pink roses and ivy entwined throughout the white wrought iron.

Then he glanced back. And Ginny was there. Her hair in tight ringlets, pulled half-back, wispy tendrils framing her face. The pink dress was so ugly, but she took his breath away. As she walked down the aisle, holding a small bouquet of pink roses, her eyes met his, and she smiled sheepishly.

He couldn’t look away from her, not even paying attention to what the bride wore or the rest of the ceremony.

He only had eyes for her.

A
fter Steve
and Deb became husband and wife, the guests made their way back to the Worth Hotel while the wedding party stayed behind to take some pictures. The corset boning kept digging into her—the fact that she fit into the dress had been a miracle unto itself, but since Deb’s friend had been around the same size as Ginny, it’d proven almost kismet. The actual material of the dress was rather itchy, especially the white lacy fabric that had been placed in the middle of her cleavage. Her breasts were barely contained in the thin silk. At any moment, Ginny feared they would pop free.

They took pictures and then hurried up to the hotel to change into something lighter for the reception. Ginny was very thankful—and not just because she really loved that gold dress.

After getting out of that horrible bridesmaid dress—really, what had Deb been thinking in the first place?—Ginny reentered the 21st century in her short gold number. She removed the bobby pins from her hair, letting the strands fall in soft waves to her shoulders. She reapplied her lip gloss, slipped on a pair of strappy gold sandals she had already owned, and headed out.

Wes was waiting for her outside the reception hall. “Wow. Ginny.”

“Wow, yourself,” she said. He looked so handsome in a light khaki suit with a blue tie. “I have to walk in with the rest of the bridal party. Deb and Steve are doing a sweetheart’s table but letting the wedding party sit with their dates at certain tables.”

Wes gave an affected sigh. “I guess that means you’re sitting with me.”

“You sure now? I don’t want to trouble you or anything.”

He laughed. “I’m at table fourteen. I think your mom is at my table.”

“Yes, and so is Julie.” Julie had also whispered how Mom had brought a date along with her. Grant.

“Ginny!” She turned to see Deb waving her over. “I’d better go. I’ll see you inside.”

When she reached Deb’s side and saw the other bridesmaids, Steve, and ushers, Ginny helped her sister fix the train on Deb’s white dress.

“Julie . . . you told Ginny about the dance, right?”

Ginny met her sister’s gaze. “What dance?”

“When each of us go in,” Julie said brightly, “we’re doing a little dance. Like to have fun. I get to walk like an Egyptian.”

“And what am I supposed to do?”

“Why, you have the best one!” Deb smiled. “You get to do the booty dance.”

Ginny closed her eyes.
God, are you there? It’s me, Ginny. Please do
not
make me do the booty dance
. She opened them and sighed. Apparently, this wasn’t some messed up dream, and there was no last-minute intervention.

“I’m doing the booty dance? As in shaking my ass?”

“Yup.” Deb smoothed back a strand of blonde hair, tucking it behind her ear. “I was inspired by that night in Atlantic City, when Julie told you to shake your ass just a little, and you did. So, when you go out there, Gin, shake your ass—”

“A lot,” Julie said with a laugh.

Humiliation, thy name is family.

One day when Ginny got married, she’d have Deb booty-shaking across the dance floor and Julie dancing the Macarena. But until then, family was family. And the music was playing. Her name was announced. There was nothing to it.

Ginny shook her ass.

A lot.

H
ours later
, they still couldn’t stop laughing about Ginny’s booty shaking, Julie’s Egyptian Walking, or how Steve did the snake up to Deb doing The Twist.

Wes’ eyes watered as Faith stood up, imitating a combination of Ginny and Julie on the dance floor. Ginny burst out laughing.

“Och, lass, you’re killing me,” Grant said. Grant and he had talked about business, and Wes was going to introduce him to his brothers. It would be good to have a gardener/landscaper on hand for their business instead of hiring out as they normally did. Grant seemed like a good man, and he told some of the dirtiest jokes that Wes had ever heard. Grant had his arm around Faith’s chair.

Faith sat back down, sipping her wine. “Well, there’s a reason why none of us were dancers. You just saw it.”

“I cannot believe I shook my booty.”

“I thought I was good at the Egyptian thing,” Julie grumbled.

Wes played diplomat. “You both were great. Better than the Rockettes. I especially liked the part where you all lined up and did your own version of the can-can. Ginny, did you ever find your shoe?”

“No.”

Ginny’s shoe had gone flying up in the air on one notoriously high kick. Wes was pretty sure it was in the chandelier.

“They were old anyway.” She had taken off her other shoe soon thereafter and placed it on the floor in between their chairs.

“You’re like Cinderella,” Julie said, then giggled. “But with no turning back into a pumpkin!”

Ginny giggled, too.

There had also been a lot of drinking at their table. The wedding cake had been cut, and everyone had dug into their slices. And the night was still young.

S
he looks
like she’s going to be sick,” her mom muttered when Julie fled the ballroom a couple of hours later. “I’m going after her. Grant, meet me back home?”

“Of course, lass.” Grant stood, giving Faith a small kiss. “Until then.”

“Want me to come with you?” Ginny asked. “And how serious is it with you and Grant?”

“No, that’s not necessary. You enjoy the rest of the night.” Her mom gathered her purse. “It’s serious with Grant. And as for how he is, let’s just say . . . he’s really, really good in the sack.”

Ginny groaned, and Wes suppressed a chuckle.

“Well, dear, you did ask. And, remember, Wes, no glove, no love.”

She really needed to get an electric collar for her mom, so that each time her mom said something a little too frank or embarrassing, Ginny could just press the button and
zap
, her mom would shut up and move on.

Wes shook his head and let out a laugh after her mom and Grant left. “Your mom is something else.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Do you want to get out of here? We can go for a walk on the beach.”

Ginny nodded her head and they stood, then headed out, hand in hand.

The moon was shining bright, stars twinkling in the sky. The smell of fireworks was still in the air from one of the displays for the weekend. It was somewhat breezy, and the thin straps of her dress left a lot of flesh exposed. When she shivered, Wes slipped off his coat and put it around her shoulders. Her free hand swung the lone shoe back and forth, and they paused on the boardwalk so Wes could take off his loafers and roll up the legs of his pants.

Barefooted, they walked down to the cool sand. Off in the distance, the sounds of the rides and carnival games carried over the breeze. Trolleys passed on the street behind them, jangling out a melody. The foamy waves crashed upon the shore, reaching up to the sand, hitting their feet. She jumped back. The water had cooled considerably.

For all intents and purposes, it felt like they were the only two people in the world. On this beach. Here.

“You know . . .” Wes said slowly. “I never did get that dance with you.”

She turned to look at him. “We danced.”

“Not anything slow.”

“Yes, we did.” She frowned at him. “You slapped my ass, if I recall correctly, and my mom giggled.”

“Sometimes, it’s really hard to play along. The things I do . . . the suffering I endure.”

“Yeah, yeah.” She resisted rolling her eyes and faced the ocean. “I feel for you. I really do.”

A surprised squeal escaped her lips when he stepped behind her, wrapping his arms around her middle, bringing her back flush against his chest. Her breath escaped her. She stared down at his hands; he must have dropped his shoes a few seconds ago.

“What are you doing?” Her heart was beating so fast. Her thoughts were growing muddled. “There’s no one around.”

“I know that.” He turned her in his arms, the water coming up to lap at both of their feet.

She was growing used to the temperature. The coldness of the water was providing a much needed relief to the heat rising inside her.

“Ginny. Just dance with me.”

“There’s no music.”

One of his eyebrows arched. “There’s not? There’s the wind. The surf. The cars and carousel. All together it creates a song, don’t you think?”

She’d never known he could be so fanciful. It was just one dance. A dance wouldn’t do anything. And it was nice to have his arms around her, to feel safe and liked and respected.

“Don’t step on my feet,” she warned.

He snorted. “You’ve got me confused with the wrong type of guy. I know how to dance.”

Wes drew her closer, her breasts pressing against his chest. One arm held out in the pose for a waltz, her hand clasped in his. The other arm wrapped around her waist, holding her tight. She placed her other hand on his shoulder, feeling the strong bunch of corded muscle under her palm.

She had danced with him before. Fast. Slow. Somewhere in between. With so many people at Deb’s wedding, there had been a barrier—a safety net that had created space to stop them from falling to the hard ground. But here on the beach, alone, with no one but them, there was no net. She was free-falling to the ground, dancing on her feet as she went.

She rested her head on his chest; his heart leapt and his body tightened. They moved on the beach, their wet footprints creating the one . . . two . . . three . . . and four steps of the waltz, the surf playing along like the orchestra. Their steps slowed and slowed until the dance had become a slow sway of their bodies. Both of his arms encircled her waist, hers now around his neck. She tilted her head up, found herself captured by his stormy gray eyes.

He wanted her.

There was no question about that. There never had been a question about that. Their feet came to a stop. His heart was beating fast, matching hers.

She couldn’t look away.

He didn’t look away.

She wanted him.

No running away or playing the pretend card would deny that truth. In the darkness of night, she was being revealed, a shell being pried open in hopes of finding a pearl. But there was no elusive treasure inside her. He wouldn’t find anything but brokenness. No, that wasn’t true. Maybe at one time she had thought that, but not any longer. She was a survivor and stronger than before. Pieces she was slowly putting together, even though the lines of fissure would never heal fully. And that was okay. There was something beautiful about imperfections.

She didn’t move away. How could she?

Slowly—oh, how every movement of his slowed down to precious increments—his head lowered to hers. She leaned upward, raising herself on her toes, and felt his lips brush hers. He kissed her lightly again, almost reverently, and so sweetly. The tenderness of how his mouth touched hers, how his lips moved over hers, had her eyes fluttering shut.

She wrapped tighter around him, losing herself to this different type of dance with him. He didn’t demand, he didn’t rush, it was like he was learning the shape of her mouth. Memorizing it. Branding it into his skin.

He was tracing her lips now with the tip of his tongue, followed by mini-kisses. This tender assault was prying her open faster than anything else could. She ran her fingers through his hair, wrapped strands around her fingers as she learned him, too.

He paused when her lips whispered against his, memorizing the shape of him. Had she ever known how full his lower lip was? How perfectly symmetrical his mouth was? She captured the salt and sugar from his lips, erasing those coverings, until she had gotten to the male essence of him.

This close-mouthed kissing made her learn . . . brand . . . how his lips were. She could spend an eternity, just at his mouth, sipping and tasting, and being tasted in return. His hands came up to her head, cradling her face as he tipped her up more. Her lips parted, her breath rushing in and out. Her whole body became liquid heat as his erection prodded against her stomach.

His mouth was hot upon hers, his kisses slow, long, seductive temptations. One hand went down to her neck, his fingers gently caressing a path to her shoulder. There he toyed with the strap of her dress even as his tongue delved inside. She moaned and rubbed against him.

When his tongue retreated, she followed, tasting him. Her hands came up to his face, the stubble on his jaw creating a delicious friction. He continued to tease her in return, toying . . . and she remembered something that had made him lose control that one night. She took his lower lip in hers and bit down on it lightly.

He let out a groan, and he cupped her breast over the gold material, his finger rubbing over her nipple. Her knees weakened, and then before she knew it, they were both kneeling on the sand. Their arms wrapped around each other, their mouths fusing together.

She was getting more and more lost, gladly. It had been so long. Constant denials. Trying to pretend that pretend was all they had. Trying to delude herself that the rules would remain in place. Trying to pretend that she didn’t want to be with him in this way again.

She leaned against him, and they fell softly to the sand. Their legs entangled, and he rolled her onto her back, pressing his body fully on top of hers. He kissed her even as the waves crashed back onto the shore, the water soaking her dress, her hair.

He lifted his head and pressed hot, open-mouthed kisses on her face down her neck, to the curves of her breasts.

She arched upward.
Yes
.
Please
.

“Ginny.” His voice was dark, harsh.

She forced her eyes to open, looked up at him. He was like the god of the underworld, come to the surface to capture the goddess’s daughter who haunted his dreams.

“I want you.”

She moaned in surrender.

“I want you. But I want to see you. All of you.”

She leaned up on her elbows, her hair dripping against her back. “All of me?”

He leaned forward, capturing her mouth with his. “Ginny. Let me.”

He wanted her naked. He wanted to
see
her naked. To see
all
of her. Including her scar. And when he saw that hideous thing, things would change.

“You’re going. You’re not staying,” she said softly.

“Yes. But we have tonight. We have this.”

Was that enough?

Maybe at one time it would have been enough. A couple of weeks ago she had been content to playing pretend if that was all she could have with him. But not any longer. She was falling for him, and she didn’t want to be hurt and broken when he left. Keeping a part of herself from him was the safe thing. He wanted her, in a sexual way, but he didn’t want any other part of her.

And she deserved better than that.

She deserved the real thing. No more pretend. No more rules. No more selling herself short.

“Wes, do you even like me?”

“Of course I like you.” He held her chin, gently, and met her eyes. “How could you even ask me that? I want you.”

She was scared still. She was so scared he was going to reject her in the end. He was leaving. Who was she kidding? It wasn’t like he was going to want to date her for real. It wasn’t like he was falling for her. It wasn’t like that he was going to turn around and say that he was going to stay.

“I don’t think that’s enough,” she said honestly. She wanted something more than just lust.

“Ginny.”

He was going to leave anyway. How could she pretend for the rest of the time? She couldn’t remain aloof from him. She wanted something different from what they had, and he didn’t want to date her for real. She was suddenly so tired. So defeated. So sick of getting the short end of the stick.

She looked away. “Ducks.”

“Ducks?” His hand dropped away, and he seemed so stunned that he pushed off her.

She took the opportunity to scramble to her feet. “I’m not feeling well. I’m going upstairs to the room. I’ll see you later.”

T
he drink wasn’t helping
. Not one damn bit. Everything seemed to be going fine, and then she uttered that damn safe word. Why was she still holding back from him?

Wes had told her things about his childhood, and he didn’t know her darkest, deepest secrets. She didn’t even think he liked her.

He stood, striding toward the elevator, and got in. Punching the number into the floor where her room was, he waited as the elevator ascended, his anger growing with every floor until he was ready to explode.

How could she think that? He liked her. No, it went beyond liking. He was falling for her.

He found himself thinking about her at the oddest moments of the day, remembering her smile, or how he’d made her laugh. He was so sick of this damn pretending. And he only had himself to blame for that.
Not your brightest moment, Wes
.

The doors opened, and he headed to her hotel room. He was done hiding, denying what he wanted, and he didn’t know what would happen in the future. But right now, he wanted Ginny for real. And that’s all he needed to know.

He raised his fist and knocked on her door.

She opened it warily. “Wes?”

“I have to talk to you.”

“You’re drunk.”

“Not even close.” He stared into her dark brown gaze. “Let me in, Ginny.”

She hesitated.

“Ginny.”

There must have been something in his tone that hinted at the desperation he was feeling. She nodded her head and unlocked the door. He followed her to the bed and then he lit into her.

“You don’t think I like you? That’s so ridiculous. I like you.” He couldn’t tell her he was falling for her; it was too soon, and given the way she was looking at him, he wasn’t sure if she would believe him. “I tell you things. You know stuff about me, Ginny—stuff no one else knows. And I feel like I don’t know anything about you!”

“But you said you’re leaving.”

“I am, but . . .” Wes grabbed her by her upper arms. “But that doesn’t mean I’m gone forever. There are these things called planes. And another thing called dating.”

She pressed her lips together. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying what I said to you on the beach. I want to see all of you, Ginny. You don’t have to run from me. I want to see the good. The bad. The beautiful. The ugly. I don’t want pretend any longer. I know we agreed that this was only going to be fake, but it’s not fake for me. I can’t lie about that any longer. Ginny. I just want to be with you for real.”

“You do?” Her voice was a soft wonder.

“Yeah. I do.” He swallowed thickly. “But it’s not all about what I want, Ginny. It’s about what you want, too. And I feel that you’re holding yourself back from me. So tell me what you want.”

“I want . . .” She gathered herself together. “This is harder than I thought it would be. I need some space.”

He let her go and backed away.

“I told myself, when we were on the beach, that I wasn’t going to accept half-measures any longer.” Her eyes met his. “That I wanted the real thing with you, too. I don’t know
everything
about you, Wes. I know
some
things. But I also know what type of man you are. You’re good and kind. I like you a lot. I just don’t want to get hurt.”