Page 6 of The Grump I Slept With
Weddings, divorces—including my own parents—and everything in between. But whenever I saw the way Lena and Weston looked at each other, with all that warmth and adoration, I found myself actually believing love worked out for some people.
Not me. I wasn’t interested in that. But for them…yeah, it was the real deal. So of course the ceremony was gorgeous. The only thing that ruined it was thatwoman!
Click, click, click.
I couldn’t keep my eyes off her the entire time Lena and Weston were reciting their vows, frustration bubbling in my blood. And now I had to watch her dart around the tent, getting in everyone’s faces with that camera. Thank God for cocktail hour. I needed a drink.
Many multiple drinks.
And a miniature sausage roll to wash it down. I nabbed one from a passing tray.
“Smile,” I heard just as I was in the middle of stuffing that sausage roll into my mouth.
Click, click, click.
“You again,” I grumbled under my breath as that infuriating woman stepped out of the crowd, camera held up to her face. She was dressed differently than she’d been on the road—now wearing a tight floral dress that clung temptingly to her curves, her blonde hair pulled back in a clip, loose waves hanging over her shoulders.
“Me again,” she said, an eyebrow arching up her forehead. “Why didn’t you just say you were coming here? We could have carpooled.”
“I would have rather walked,” I snarled. My gaze flicked up and down; I couldn’t help it. Those damn curves were magnetic. I hadn’t been able to get a good look at her during the ceremony, with the way she was flitting all over, snapping photos. But now I could make out the roundness of her hips, the dip of her waist, and the fine definition in her arms.
She was fit—click, click, click—not that that made one ounce of difference! Because she was still the world’s most irritating woman. I wrenched my eyes away, grinding the bits of sausage in my mouth to a pulp.
“Hey, Mr. Grump, over here.”
“What do you think you’re doing?” I snapped, unable to ignore her. Now I knew why Weston had been so amused earlier. Hemust have recognized her from my description. Well, har har. Everyone was laughing now.
“Catching a grump smiling in the wild pays big bucks,” she said, giving me a smug grin. “Missed it that time. Wanna try again?”
“I don’t want to be featured on your flaming camera roll!” I sipped my drink, relishing the burn of the alcohol as I tried not to shatter my glass.
“Relax, Mr. Sheep Whisperer.” I couldn’t stand the amusement that flickered across her face. “Lena asked me to get particular shots.”
“Hey, Isla!” someone called, and she looked over her shoulder briefly before glancing back at me.
“I’ll let Lena know being on camera is causing youmuchdistress.” She turned and headed off into the crowd. For one tiny moment, I actually felt bad about disappointing Lena.
Then I heard that infernalclick, click, clickagain.
Screw the photos! Weston could Photoshop my damn head onto them if he wanted. I wasn’t about to pose forthatwoman. I whirled around, grabbing another cocktail, going out of my way to ignore her, but every time I turned around, there she was, catching me in another unflattering moment!
Was this how Alistair felt being hounded by the paparazzi?
I wanted to scream, and I might have, had the dinner bell not sounded. Thank Christ. I surged across the tent to my table, desperately in need of a break. I took my assigned seat.
“Unca Locke!” Kenna called from across the table where Alistair had seated her. She immediately climbed to her feet, wavingto get my attention with all the seriousness a three-and-a-half-year-old could muster.
“Hi, sweetheart,” I said.
“You sit with me?”
“Uncle Locke has to sit in his seat. See?” Alistair said, lifting up the card on her plate. “Everyone has a plate with their name.”
Kenna stared at her card, perplexed. She looked at her dad. “This is me?”
He nodded. She was so damn adorable, with Alistair’s dark hair, soft curls and blue eyes. “How about I come sit next to you during dessert?”
“Kay,” Kenna said, plopping down in her chair to further inspect her name card. Speaking of seatmates, my eyes dropped to the name card on the plate next to mine.
