We head in the elevator, ride down to the ground floor. My stomach’s still twisted in fucking knots. Though whether that’s because of the rings or Julia, I don’t have a clue.
We walk out, head right and run toward the patio. I can see a couple of Stacy’s bridesmaids headed that way as well. Their pale purple taffeta dresses blow around in the hot desert wind as we get outside. I should be doing normal bachelor best man shit, scoping out their asses, trying to figure out which one’ll be open to fucking in the veranda after the ceremony. But I’m just not into it.
Because they’re not Julia. She’s not standing there at the entrance to the patio, wearing a pretty yellow dress, her hair done up and the rings in her hands and—
Actually, that is exactly what’s happening. All of it. I run up to her, every muscle in my body awake and alert. She looks up at me. A strand of her hair floats across her mouth. I want to pull it away, slow and sexy like, and ask—
“Do you guys want to get married today or what?” Julia says breathlessly, looking over my shoulder at Mike. “If so, I got what you need. And for the right price, it can be yours.”
She holds out her hand, the golden rings glinting in the fading sunlight. She smiles at me, but her eyes dart away fast. She doesn’t want to act like she sees me; probably doesn’t want to make things more awkward than I left them. I take the rings from her, wanting to sound collected, like I’ve got my shit together.
Instead, “I thought I was going to pass out.” I clear my throat. Idiot. “Where were these bad boys?” I sound much better, cool, unruffled. Like it’s every day that I leave my best friend’s wedding rings in . . . the strip club?
“The café at the Venetian. We got some killer croissants at some point between bird-napping and the fountain.”
“We washed our hands before we ate, right?”
That’s not a joke; my stomach just rippled at the thought.
Julia shrugs. “Let’s hope we remember. Or maybe, let’s hope we don’t.”
“There you are!” Stacy runs at us, looking admittedly stunning in her strapless wedding dress. Her veil floats behind her, and I think I can actually see cartoon hearts in Mike’s eyes. Stacy hugs Julia, then looks at me. “I didn’t know where you were! What is this?”
“We, ah, that is, I,” I stammer, trying to think of a way to spin this. Mike’s no fucking help, still sitting there in a Vegas fairy tale staring at his perfect soon-to-be wife.
“You saved the wedding, didn’t you?” Stacy asks Julia, taking the rings. “You’re my hero, lady. Great job, Nate.” She winks at me, clearly not mad, and hands them back. “Hold onto these for the next fifteen minutes. Can you do it?”
“Yes,” I say, feeling chastened. She’s got a right to tease.
“You. You’re going to be in the wedding,” she says, pulling at Julia and practically dragging her behind. Julia almost trips on the bridal train.
Good, because I wasn’t sure how else this was going to be fucking ridiculous.
“Do I get a choice?” Julia asks, throwing a glance over her shoulder at me. Does she want a rescue? Or maybe she wants to make sure I’m following.
I don’t want that idea to please me as much as it does.
“Only thing is you have to be on the groom’s side. Tyler just came down with a raging case of stomach sickness. Last I heard, he was throwing up everything he ever ate.” Stacy sighs. “I was going to get Uncle Aaron to stand in his place, but he’d insist on keeping his Uzi strapped to his back. I’d prefer someone without ammunition.”
“Tyler’s sick? What happened?” I ask, alarmed.
Stacy laughs, airily waving her hand. “His sugar mamma took him to get oysters. Apparently one of them disagreed with him.”
Julia Stevens and her friends: the source of all my frustration and happiness on this trip.
As the afternoon slides into evening, we get into our positions and walk up the aisle. A singer is crooning at the microphone, there are rose petals scattered at our feet as we walk up to the rabbi, then move to the side.
Soon, we’re standing next to each other, Julia right up beside me. I can smell her perfume, and it’s intoxicating. Everyone settles down and waits. A moment later, Stacy walks up the aisle on her father’s arm, beaming at everyone.
And all I want to do is reach out, just put a hand through the air, and touch Julia. I want to feel the strap of her dress, the smooth skin underneath.
But I can’t. Because this is someone else’s wedding. And I can’t say a fucking thing.
25
Julia
A couple of things flit through my mind as I watch Stacy walk down the aisle.
First: I hope Meredith’s okay. Because I warned her not to order seafood in the desert, and she never listens to me.