The Buy-In (Graham Brothers #1)(63)

If he’s giving me marriage blessings, I should really take them.

“How’s married life?” Val asks, licking frosting off her arm.

“Shut up, you.” I take a bite of cake. It’s delicious, of course, but I refuse to let the sugar soften my mood.

Winnie sets down her fork and leans across the table with a piercing look in her eyes. “I’m only going to say this once. Probably. You are allowed to enjoy this, you know. You are allowed to have happiness. To want things. To have things you want.”

“I know.”

“Do you?” Winnie asks. “Because from where I’m sitting, I’ve watched you live for other people for years now, forgetting that you’re part of the equation. You like Pat.”

“She looooooves him,” Val says.

I start to argue, but Winnie’s on a roll. “You have feelings for Pat. Maybe you told yourself you’re doing it for Jo, but that doesn’t mean you can’t be doing it for yourself too.”

The cake is suddenly tasteless in my mouth. I take a sip of water before I answer. “Weren’t you the one who said I should be wary of mixed motives?”

“Eh. When are motives ever pure anyway? You married Pat, so you might as well own it. Enjoy it.”

Val waggles her eyebrows. “And we do mean enjoy.”

Grumbling, I scrape my finger along the plate, getting the last bits of icing.

“Speaking of enjoyment, does that man have the superpower of sucking joy out of a ten-foot radius?” Winnie asks. She’s pointing to James, who is standing in the corner, sipping a beer and looking like he’s at a funeral.

“I’m guessing he disapproves,” I say. “Or it might just be his default setting.”

“Unless you want to turn into the female version of him, you should go dance,” Val says. “It’s your wedding day.”

“Fake wedding day. And I’m fine right here. As long as Big Mo keeps bringing me cake.”

“It’s not fake,” Winnie says. “You signed the papers. Legally, you are married to the hot man wearing the ankle monitor. It’s very real.”

“Not where it counts,” I mutter. “It’s just about Jo, about custody. Legal stuff. Pat’s doing me a massive favor. That’s all.”

Val makes a loud buzzer sound at all my excuses, the things I’ve been telling myself over and over since I texted Pat my yes.

“You’re just scared because the feelings are real,” Winnie says.

“I’m not scared.”

Val flaps her arms and makes chicken sounds. “Are too.”

“Am not!”

Mari interrupts us by clapping her hands over the table. “Children, please! No fighting on this day of celebration.” She turns to me, her dark eyes warm and crinkled at the corners as she smiles, stretching out a hand. “Mija, it’s time for your first dance.”

My eyes meet Pat’s across the room. I expect pleading, his hands pressed together hopefully, and a teasing grin. Instead, his arms hang at his sides. The smile he had while doing the twist with Eula Martin is gone. He looks … nervous.

Does he think I’ll say no to dancing with him?

Probably so. After all, you’ve been avoiding him since the moment the ceremony ended, dummy. And for the three days leading up to the wedding. Not exactly inspiring confidence.

It’s the vulnerability in Pat’s eyes which makes me slide out of the booth and cross the room. I stop a foot away, and we just stand there as Ben Howard’s “Only Love” starts to play.

“It’s our song,” I say. “Our old song.”

“We can pick a new one if you want,” Pat says.

At the look on his face, my heart sinks, a slow descent into the dark and silty bottom of a lake. I’m suddenly aware of how selfish I’ve been. I know Pat would have chosen a big wedding, and even with three days to plan, he would have made it happen. He told me as much, but he didn’t need to. A giant wedding would be so very … Pat.

Yet he went along with my insistence to strip it all down to only the bare basics. I didn’t even want this reception, but Mari insisted. Maybe Eeyore is a perfect name for me today, because I’ve been raining all over everything. Especially Pat.

“May I have this dance?” I ask, holding out my hand. “I’ve only ever liked dancing with you.”

Pat rewards me with the full force of his blinding smile and wastes no time dragging me against him. A cheer rises around us, and I don’t even care, because I’m protected here, my cheek against Pat’s chest, his arms around my waist, mine tangled in the hair at the nape of his neck. Here, it’s just us.

This is not a slow song, but my feet find their rhythm as Pat leads us. My body always tuned right into his, as though we both run on some special frequency. Everything and everyone else is simply static.

“I need to cut it,” Pat says.

“What?” I’m tempted to pull back and look at him, but I feel like it would break this spell. Plus, he smells delicious.

“My hair,” he says. “It’s getting to be mullet-level long.”

My fingertips toy with the ends, and Pat shivers at my touch. I smile. “I heard mullets are back in style.”

Pat scoffs. “They were never in style.”