Sweet Cheeks (29 page)

The kiss ends but so does the angst I was feeling. Once again, Hayes has calmed me. And when I open my eyes and look over his shoulder, I freeze when I meet Mitch’s gaze.

He’s standing off to the far end of the banquet room, if you can call it that. The reception is being held in a round room with half the room enclosed like a normal hall while the other is an open-aired covered patio that overlooks the ocean beyond. He’s standing where the open-air portion meets the walled portion, sneaking a peek at the reception before the DJ announces the wedding party.

The connection causes my breath to burn in my lungs and words to escape me, and yet I can’t look away from Mitch. His gaze shows hurt. Reflects anger. But there’s something else there . . . wounded pride or possibly
longing
?

I reject the thought immediately. Hate that I’d think so much of myself to believe Mitch just married Sarah—like minutes ago—and is standing there taking a glimpse of his reception while the camera woman is snapping shots of his new bride behind him . . . and is wishing it were me.

“He still loves you.”

Hayes’s murmur startles me and yet I don’t move. Don’t want to process the thought. Just want to pretend like I didn’t just see it too.

I break my gaze from Mitch and look to Hayes with a forced smile on my face. My stomach churns over how horrible it would be to be Sarah if she just saw that exchange between us. Because while seeing him scrapes up the melancholy I should have felt over our break up, the affection he possibly feels for me isn’t reciprocated.

Not like how I feel when I look at Hayes. My smile is always genuine and the emotion I feel is real. Not forced. “No, he doesn’t.” Something fleets through Hayes’s eyes. I want to say disbelief or relief—either of them causes parts of me to stand to attention and wonder why they are there. But before I can ask, the DJ taps the mic to get everyone’s attention.

And while the wedding party is introduced, while the cheers go up and the music pumps through the speakers, and as Mitch and Sarah immediately take to the dance floor for their first dance, I can’t help but wonder exactly how I feel.

The moment I traveled all this way for is finally here, and yet everything I came here to prove doesn’t seem to feel so relevant anymore. The meal unfolds, the typical wedding events transpire, and the whole time I’m preoccupied with the why behind this change of opinion.
My pride? My bakery
?

It all comes back to Hayes. He’s the reason for all of this—the resolution of my past. The validation that Mitch wasn’t the right choice for me as a husband. The overwhelming surge of emotions he’s made me feel with his hands and his words when I didn’t realize I could be made to feel that way to begin with. And more than anything the realization that it’s okay to want more in all aspects of my life.

I feel like I’m starting a new chapter in my life. A different one where I have needs and wants and dreams and passion. While I may want to share that with someone in the future, I also know what makes me happy and that’s just as important as making your partner happy.

I
watch Mitch and Sarah take their seat at the head table.
Hear mutterings of my name followed by the word tramp
. I listen to their speeches professing their love to each other.

I have to stop myself from snickering at their lovey-dovey terms. The gentle nudges from Hayes tell me he feels the same way too. Wasn’t it not too long ago that Mitch was professing the same love for me?

A murmur overheard at the table behind me about how I’m a gold digger. How I dumped Mitch and moved right on to Hayes just because he had more fame and fortune
.

I eat the meal I had meticulously chosen to suit Mitch’s preference of seafood and my like of steak.

Polite conversation with the members of our table. We’re all the misfits who don’t fit with any of the other guests. And yet their eyes narrow when I speak. Lips pull tight. Judging me through the rumors. And then of course they break out in a smile when Hayes turns his attention on them
.

The clinking of forks against crystal to demand kisses of the newlyweds.

Sneers of disdain and the roll of eyes when I laugh out loud at one of the many things Hayes murmurs against my ear to bring me back to him. To calm me down. Because even though I was invited, in
their
eyes, I’m not allowed to enjoy myself.

And there’s so much irony in the thought it’s ridiculous. Do these people not realize that if I hadn’t walked away, they wouldn’t be here at all celebrating Mitch and Sarah’s happy union? I walked. Mitch moved on and is happy. Sarah’s happy. I think I’m missing something here.
Like how they need to move on too
.

Hayes and I are in a world of our own though. He knows no one although they all seem to feel like they know him and want to say hi. I know a lot of people and yet they want to act like they don’t know me and make themselves suddenly seem busy whenever I catch their eye.

I feel like a pariah. The bits and pieces of comments I overhear confound me:
Whore. Homewrecker. It figures. It all makes sense now. How dare she
? But I ignore them. Have no choice but to. I knew people would be surprised I was here. I figured there’d be some unwelcome animosity—the charity case who rejected Mitch, and in turn them, and their more elite life status.

I hide the pang their comments cause me. I continue to smile despite the burn of tears in my throat. I accept the kisses to my temple with appreciation when Hayes offers them. I laugh out loud when he says something funny at our table of misfits to let those judging me know I’m no worse for wear when all I really want to do is head back to the villa to escape.

And I wonder why they came all this way to enjoy a wedding and are preoccupied with my presence instead.

I walked in here tonight expecting some vitriol, and yet what I didn’t expect was how all of this was going to affect Hayes. How he bristles every time he catches a snippet from table ten when there is a lull in our conversation. How I can feel the tensing of his fingers on my thighs when he catches the two women with the god-awful dresses blatantly staring at me before laughing out loud to let me know I’m the topic of their discussion. The clench of his jaw at the heads being shaken back and forth as if I’m a sad sight to be had.

And despite this, his training is a godsend. His acting skills are perfectly timed when he smiles animatedly and waves a hello at the god-awful-dressed women letting them know he’s heard them. Or how he declines an autograph for the daughter of table ten because
it’s Mitch and Sarah’s day and we’re here to celebrate them
.

But we’ve had fun. We’ve been playing the “What’s Next?” game where I guess what’s going to happen next during the reception to see how much I remember of my own timeline.

And each time I’m right, we have to take a sip of our drinks. It’s our way to relax. To make this event something different for us than it is for everyone else.

We’re laughing over watching the servers begin to prepare for the cutting of the cake—which I accurately predicted would happen next—when I look away from Hayes and meet the eyes of Sarah and Mitch standing before us as they make the rounds to all the tables and guests.

“Saylor.” Mitch is quiet. Serious. Sarah fidgets beside him with a smile plastered on her face, uncertain how to act when facing her husband’s ex-fiancée. And I understand how she feels because I feel the same discord.

I know a million eyes are on us right now. The whole room waiting for a catfight from the ex-fiancée, so I do the exact opposite of what they expect.

I stand. “Hello, Mitch.” Extend my hand to my replacement. “So lovely to meet you, Sarah. You look absolutely stunning.
That dress
? It’s gorgeous. Thank you so much for inviting us.”

Silence stretches for the shortest of moments. As if Sarah fears what taking my hand will say to the guests. But manners get the best of her and she reaches out and takes it. Her grip is soft. Timid.

“Thank you so much for coming. It was very important to me for you to be here.”

“Oh.” I think I do a good job of hiding my surprise. I glance over to Mitch and while his smile is there, the rest of his expression is the perfect picture of angst and irritation.

“You see,” she says, lowering her voice and leaning in toward me, “you two broke it off rather suddenly. Lucky for me that happened because then he found me. But I think there are some unresolved issues between the two of you that need to be dealt with. And they need to be dealt with so when Mitch and I leave this reception tonight, he’ll finally be over you.
Finished
. I love this man with all I have, and frankly, I’m sick of the ghost of you following us around.”

I struggle to stutter out a response. My eyes are wide and my mind reels at how much I underestimated Sarah by thinking she was spineless and compliant. I guess it’s only at her discretion.
Like when it comes to planning her own wedding
.

For some reason, I get the feeling Sarah is just as manipulative as Uptight Ursula.

“Oh.” It seems to be my go-to response while I blink rapidly and look back and forth from Sarah to Mitch to see him just as unhappy with this situation as I am. Talk about being put on the spot. “Um.” I shift my feet, lift my chin, and make sure my shoulders are squared. I want everyone watching to know I am not the least bit intimidated. “Couldn’t we have done this at a different time other than your wedding? I don’t want to take away—”

“I had planned on doing it at the rehearsal dinner. There was a reason you were invited to it, after all, but it seems you were . . .” she clears her throat, finds the words to continue, “. . .
otherwise occupied
last night.” Her smile is tight and her eyes flicker over to Hayes to reinforce her implication. And I know it’s just a lucky guess on her part what we were doing to miss the rehearsal dinner, but I’m sure I blush a little at the assumed accusation.

“Hayes Whitley. The one who otherwise occupied her.” Hayes extends a hand to Sarah, and I love that he just put her in her place without the blink of his eyes or an inflection in his tone. “It was a lovely ceremony. Great choices all around on the wedding details. You must have had an incredible wedding planner.”

I cough to cover my snort at his politely phrased insult.

The muscle in Mitch’s jaw ticks. I’m not sure if it’s because of what Hayes said about occupying me, or the fact that Hayes just called out his new wife to see if she’s going to bite on taking credit for the planning . . .
she didn’t do
.

She stares at Hayes. Ice-blue eyes gauging how to take the comment. As sincere or snide.

“It’s about that time, ladies and gents. Will she or won’t she? Will he or won’t he? Yes. It’s cake smashing . . . er . . . cutting time for Mrs. and Mr. Layton.”

The room erupts into a nervous chatter of sorts, almost as if they’re uncertain how this little talk between the four of us is going. When his mother starts clapping, the other guests follow suit to encourage Sarah and Mitch to move to the cake table.

And away from me.

Sarah’s smile is forced, her gaze unwavering. “Please talk to him. For my sake,” she urges quietly before she hooks her arm in Mitch’s, smile now turning genuine, and heads to the cake table.

“Well, what do you know? Seems Golf Boy married his mother,” Hayes murmurs under his breath. And this time I do snort aloud because he just hit the nail on the head.

And before I can process any of the last five minutes, Hayes casually laces his fingers with mine and tugs on my hand to follow suit with how he has now sat down.

“Can’t say I blame her,” he muses casually as one of our table members stops by to pick up their drink and head over to watch them cut the cake.

“Why?” I ask, even though I already know what he means. I’d want the same undivided attention from my spouse, but I’m not sure I’d go as far as she has to get it.

“You’re a hard one to get over, Saylor Rodgers.”

Hayes’s comment is on constant repeat in my head long after we eat cake. We’re sitting politely at our table, waiting for the proper amount of time before we bail on the rest of the reception. If we leave too soon, guests will assume our exchange with Mitch and Sarah rattled me. And so we’re kind of stuck, with comments becoming a little less obscure the longer the alcohol has flowed.