Her happiness is the most important thing, and not just to me; the world simply isn’t the same when Tessa Young isn’t happy. I would know, I spent an entire year draining the life from her while simultaneously making her shine. It’s fucked-up and makes no sense to the outside world, but I have never, and will never, give a shit about the outside world when it comes to that woman.
“Five minutes, guys,” Ken’s voice sounds from the other side of the door. This room is small and smells like old leather and mothballs, but this is Landon’s wedding day. I’ll wait until after the reception to complain about it.
Maybe I’ll just take my complaints straight to Ken. I suspect he’s the one paying for this shit anyway, given the state of the bride’s parents and all.
“You ready, you crazy bastard?” I ask Landon one last time.
“No, but I will be when I see her.”
Chapter seventy-eight
TESSA
Where’s Robert?” Karen looks around the small wedding party. “Tessa? Do you know where he ran off to?” she asks, panic in her voice.
Robert had taken on the task of entertaining the toddler while the women were getting their hair curled and faces painted on. Now that the wedding is starting, he’s taken his role back on, but he’s nowhere to be found, and Karen can’t hold Abby while helping with the first part of the wedding.
“Let me call him again.” I glance around the crowd, searching for him. Abby thrashes in Karen’s arms, and she looks panicked once again.
“Oh, wait! There he is . . .”
But I don’t hear the rest of Karen’s sentence. I’m completely distracted by the sound of Hardin’s voice. He’s walking out from the long hallway to my left, his mouth moving in that slow way it always has, as he talks to Landon.
His hair is longer than it looked in the pictures I’ve seen of him recently. I can’t help that I’ve been reading every single one of his interviews, every article about him, whether it’s true or false, and maybe, just maybe, I’ve emailed a few heated complaints to bloggers who have printed terrible things about him and his story. Our story.
The sight of the metal ring in his lip surprises me, even though I knew it had reappeared. I had forgotten how good it looks on him in person. I’m taken, absolutely consumed, by seeing him again, thrown back into a world where I fought hard in and lost nearly every battle that was thrown my way, only to leave without the one thing that I was fighting for: him.
“We need someone to walk with Tessa; her boyfriend didn’t show up,” someone says. At the mention of my name, Hardin’s focus snaps forward; his eyes search for half a second before he finds me. I break the connection first, looking down at my high heels barely peeking out from underneath my floor-length dress.
“Who’s walking with the maid of honor?” the bride’s sister asks everyone nearby. “There’s too much going on,” she says with a huff as she walks past me. I’ve done more than she has for this wedding, but her stress level would make you believe otherwise.
“I am,” Hardin says, raising his hand.
He looks so put together, so devastatingly handsome in a black tuxedo with no tie. Black ink shows just above the clean white collar, and I feel a soft touch on my arm. I blink a few times, trying not to focus on the way we barely spoke last night and how we didn’t practice walking together like we should have. I nod, clearing my throat and tearing my eyes away from Hardin.
“All right, then, let’s go,” the sister says imperiously. “Groom to the altar, please.” She claps her hands and Landon rushes past, gently squeezing my hand en route.
Breathe in. Breathe out. It’s only for a few minutes, less than that really. It’s not that difficult of a concept. We are friends. I can do this.
For Landon’s wedding, of course. Momentarily, I battle within myself to not think about walking down the aisle with him for our own special day.
Hardin stands next to me without a word, and the music begins. He’s staring at me—I know that he is—but I can’t bring myself to glance up at him. With these shoes, I’m near his height, and he’s standing so closely that I can smell the soft cologne clinging to his tux.
The small church has been transformed into a beautiful yet simple venue, and the guests have quietly filled almost every row. Beautiful flowers, so brightly colored that they may as well be neon, cover the old wooden pews, and white cloth is draped from row to row.
“It’s a little too bright, don’t you think? I think simple red and white lilies would have done the trick,” Hardin surprises me by saying. His arm loops through mine as the snooty sister waves for the two of us to begin our descent down the aisle.
“Yeah, lilies would have been gorgeous. This is nice, too, for them,” I fumble.
“Your doctor boyfriend cleans up nicely,” Hardin taunts me. I look over to find him smiling, only teasing behind his green eyes. His jawline is even more defined than before, and his eyes are deeper, not as guarded as they always were.
“He’s in med school, not a doctor yet. And yes, he cleans up nicely. You know he’s not my boyfriend, so hush.” Over the last two years I have had this same conversation with Hardin again and again. Robert has been a constant friend in my life, nothing more. We tried dating once, about a year after I found Hardin’s manuscript in my New York apartment, but it just didn’t work. You shouldn’t date someone if your heart is owned by someone else. It doesn’t work, trust me.