Take Your Time (Boston Love #4)(82)
I glance at my best friend. Reaching out, I squeeze her hand. She squeezes back in silence, love shining in her eyes. I know, in a few moments, Team Phee-Lilah may be coming to an end… but I can’t summon even an iota of sadness about it. When someone you love is so unbearably, incandescently happy, all you can do is shine with them.
“I’m ready,” Phoebe whispers, straightening her shoulders and smiling wide. “Let’s get this show on the road.”
My heart pounds erratically inside my chest as we enter the main room and make our way up the spiral walkway around the tank, past a blue wall of tropical fish, turtles, and rays. Halfway to the top, we find the groomsmen. They’re all stunningly handsome in their gray suits and blue ties, but my eyes cut straight to Luca. Our gazes lock instantly.
I suck in a breath as I close the distance between us and take my place at his side. My fingers clench the stems of my bouquet so hard the tips turn white. Behind me, I hear Chrissy giving Winston, her son, a last-minute pep talk before he bears the rings down the aisle accompanied by Phoebe’s Pomeranian, Boo, who’s wearing a navy bow-tie on his collar for the occasion. Upstairs, the string quartet starts playing, a sure sign that things are about to start.
I know I should look away from Luca, but I can’t. Our eyes are having one of those wordless conversations we’re so adept at.
You look beautiful, he doesn’t say.
Not bad yourself in that suit, I don’t tease.
Forgiven me yet? he doesn’t ask.
I wish it were that simple, I don’t admit.
Never been a fan of simple, babe. His eyes glitter. Nothing extraordinary ever comes easy.
My gaze snaps away as the music swells. Nate is already gone. Up ahead, Winnie starts walking, the ring box in one small hand, Boo’s blue leash in the other. Gemma and Chase wait a few beats before they follow him, linking arms and walking in slow, steady steps up the spiral. They look stunning together.
Luca’s arm appears in my peripheral. I glance up at him as I slide my fingers around his forearm, then give a slight nod to let him know I’m ready. And then we’re off — two redheads, arms intertwined, the facade of a couple on our way to celebrate someone else’s happily ever after.
It feels more like a death march than a wedding procession.
Luca is standing barely an inch from me, but he feels a million miles away. I know there’s no one else to blame but myself.
You really fucked this up, didn’t you, Lila?
Eyes stinging, I stumble a bit as we step onto the aisle, buffeted on all sides by chairs full of smiling faces. Luca is so attuned to me, he feels me trip almost before I do, and steadies me so instantly, I doubt anyone watching even notices.
My fingers grip his arm tighter as we walk down the aisle, up onto the platform. Before we part, he squeezes my hand. I haul in a deep breath as we file into our places, directly opposite each other. His eyes never shift from mine, not even when the quartet crescendos and Phoebe appears, looking statuesque and stunning alongside her brother. They don’t move away when Parker hands her off to Nate and takes his seat beside Zoe in the front row. They don’t waver as the minister begins the ceremony.
I watch my best friend marry the man of her dreams; I see the look of pure love on their faces as they exchange gold bands and say words that will bind them for life. And I know, in my heart, that I’ve made a mistake.
That Luca was right.
Mimi wouldn’t want me to live like this — afraid to experience that kind of love. She loved love. She exuded it from every pore. Using her as a crutch to avoid ever getting attached, or hurt, or heartbroken…
It’s a cop out.
“I now pronounce you husband and wife,” the minister is saying suddenly. “You may kiss the bride.”
Nate sweeps Phoebe into his arms and kisses her. Her bouquet-bearing hand shoots straight up into the sky — a victorious, floral fist-pump of celebration. Standing there, with everyone around me clapping and cheering for the happy couple, my eyes lock on Luca’s across the din, as they once did in a crowded gym last December, the first night we met. For a single moment, with his eyes burning into mine, I let it in.
The hope.
That one day, this won’t seem so terribly complicated. That one day, I won’t be afraid of this thing between us. That he’ll give me time to figure it out, before moving on to a girl who doesn’t have issues.
I’m not sure what he sees in my eyes, at that moment, but the look he sends back at me steals the breath right out of my lungs.
He’s hopeful, too.
I’m standing on the harbor deck, a glass of champagne in my hand, taking a break from the dance floor where the rest of the bridesmaids are cutting a rug. The groomsmen are clustered by the bar, far too macho to dance. As for me — I may be a hot mess, but I refuse to do the Macarena. It’s a matter of principle.
Despite Phoebe’s fears of precipitation, the night is perfect for a wedding. Balmy but not humid, with a warm southern breeze blowing off the water. The surface glows gold and pink, reflecting the gorgeous sunset like a mirror.
My eyes drift across the gyrating guests to the far side of the dance floor, where Luca is standing with a beautiful, petite blonde in a knee-length pink dress. Zoe. As I watch, she throws her arms around him in a massive hug, and he lifts her clear off her feet with a broad smile lighting up his face.