Page 63 of The Wedding Situation Romance

“Listen to me,” she says. “As a therapist, this is what I want you to do. Stay calm. Remember why you’re there. Have fun with it. I mean, shit, it’s a destination wedding on someone else’s dime. And it’s not even his dime, so he can’t hold it against you later. Just…enjoy it for what it is.”

“And as far as the proximity trope goes?” I ask.

“Again. As a therapist, I advise you keep your wits about you. Don’t give in to anything you don’t actually want. Don’t let this be aWhat Happens in Vegas…scenario. The Myrtle Edition,” she says.

“As a friend?” I ask, looking in the mirror.

“As a friend…same advice. Only do what you want. And definitely…do what you want.”

I take another breath and let it out. Her advice both helps and makes matters worse. But if there’s anything I can be, it’s level-headed and composed. And she is very right about one thing. It’s not every day I get to go to a wedding like this. And I am going to enjoy it, damn it.

After I shower and shave, do my hair and my makeup, and slip into a dress that I may or may not have bought in the airport when we landed (because it literally screamed beachy wedding), I spritz on some perfume, something that smells like hibiscus and coconut and sunshine in a bottle. Then I take a deep breath and open the door.

I am expecting the sunlight to pour in, the steam to pour out, and the panoramic view to ease my nerves and remind me that I am still in heaven. What I am not expecting is for Reid to still be here, standing in the kitchenette, sipping a glass of whiskey, wearing tan slacks, dark brown leather shoes, and a white button down, rolled up at the elbows exposing his unrealistically toned forearms.

I am also not expecting his intense eyes to be brighter than the ocean itself as he lifts his chiseled jaw to look at me from across the room.

His lips part and I have no idea what to make of the expression on his face.

“Where would I go without my date?” he asks. Then his eyes trail over me and up again.

“What?” I ask, waiting for the comments.

“Your dress…” he says, and I roll my eyes.

“Don’t worry. My boobs aren’t going anywhere. But if you prefer I wore a turtleneck to dinner, I’ll go change,” I say.

“No, I didn’t mean that. I just…”

I am teasing him, of course. Being snarky comes naturally when I am talking to him. But if I didn’t know any better, I’d say Reid is…stuttering. Of his game.

“How strong is that drink?” I ask.

He looks down at it and sets it aside.

“Are you ready to go?” he asks, standing up straight.

“If you have no objections to my dress–”

“None at all,” he says quickly, and I am a bit dumbfounded.

Is Lawyer Reid…speechless?

I walk to the door, and he follows close behind. And I can’t help but smile.

The welcome dinner, as Reid said, is in the garden around a tiki bar. It’s blocked off to the public for the night, and the cocktails are free. Tiki lamps burn and the night air is warm and salty and amazing.

It’s a very different vibe than the other weddings, though I am not surprised. Every man here works in law in one area or another. And the women fit the bill too. As I glance around at all the designer dresses, I can’t help but wonder if I am a bit understated. I doubt any of them bought their dresses at theairport. And I’m sure their perfumes didn’t come in a buy one get one special either.

But as if Reid can read my thoughts, he places a hand on mine, the one clamped to the crook of his elbow.

“You look stunning,” he tells me, and I’m not entirely sure what to make of the compliment. It’s the first time he’s said anything like that to me.

“I feel like everyone is staring,” I whisper back to him as a server walks by and takes our empty cocktail glasses to replace them with new ones.

“They are,” he says and I look up at him. “Because they agree with me.”

With that, my cheeks flush.