Page 94 of Match Me if You Can
“It’s not an imposition,” I say—lie. “There are so many of us Ambroses around that two more people at a wedding is nothing.”
“Still,” he says, and swear to fuck, it’s like he’s looking into my soul when he finishes, “It’s nice to get a glimpse of what made Ace Ambrose, Ace Ambrose.”
It takes everything in me not to wince.
Even though Vi had seen to it that my parents retreated to their separate corners, there’s no way this man can think they’re anything close to June and Ward Cleaver.
“Son,” he says quietly. “Look at me.”
I brace.
Here it is.
We didn’t even make it through the wedding and they’re already calling this shit off.
Christ.
Ally is going to kill me.
Still, I force my eyes to Hugo’s.
“I grew up in a home a lot like yours.”
I rock back slightly on my heels, not expecting that in the least.
“So, I know what it’s like to struggle to find your way, to mess up and keep trudging forward, trying to figure out how to build something that’s not like what your parents have. Same as I know how easy it is to do that building once you find the right woman to stand beside you.” He glances over at Evelyn, and like she feels his stare, she looks up from her conversation with Violet, the obvious love in her eyes burning me somewhere deep inside. “And how easy it is to be the right man for them because you live and breathe just to make them smile.”
My chest is tight.
My words stick in my throat.
But he doesn’t need me to speak, apparently. A good thing since I don’t know what the fuck I’d say. What the fuck I’m thinking or feeling or wanting.
No. I know what I want.
Looking over at Violet—having touched her, kissed her, talked to her, learned about her—it’s beyond fucking clear what I want.
Whether or not I can have it, whether or not I can keep it…that’s a completely different story.
“Shitty childhoods can define us,” he says. “They can fuck up our futures—and often do. But I respect a man a hell of a lot when he can work through that shit and become someone better. For yourself and for the future you’re building with her.” A nod at Vi and my stomach clenches.
“I don’t know that I can be the man she needs,” I blurt.
“You thinking that tells me that you already are the man she needs.”
I still, lungs convulsing, hope and disbelief warring.
Hugo claps a hand on my shoulder. “Now,” he says. “We can talk more tomorrow. Tonight, we need to get our women to bed.”
THIRTY-ONE
Violet
“That’s okay, Evelyn,” I say into my phone, which is pressed to my ear because I’m assessing the latest crisis in what has been a Day of Crises. Yup with a capital D. And C.
“I don’t want to draw focus away from the bride,” Evelyn says in her sweetly soft voice as I study the disaster that’s the cake. “It’s our fault we took a wrong turn so if we’re too late we can turn around or just come to the reception—”
I focus.
