The Wedding Contract

Chapter 15





The rehearsal is basically a dry run of the wedding. The coordinator isn’t too annoying. She’s actually very helpful, otherwise I’d get stuck doing her job. It’s not until Sophie is on her dad’s arm, ready to walk down the aisle, that I notice Nick and I want the same space.

I bump his shoulder and push him into a pew. “Move, Ferro. You’re blocking my shot.” Missing the prized picture of the bride coming down the aisle is an unforgivable offense. Apparently, Nick has a decent eye because he made a beeline for this location at the same time as me. He didn’t follow or look around—Nick knew where he wanted to be for that shot.

Nick shoulders me back and I practically step on Sophie as she passes. Sophie smiles and gives me a deadly look that says she will kill me if I trip her on her wedding day. Nick pushes his hair away from his eyes. It’s warm and his dark hair is damp and sticking to his skin along with his dress shirt. The sudden thought of sliding my slippery body against his flashes through my mind; I chase it away with a mental broom. Thoughts like that are poisonous, but they keep popping up. The way he moves, something in the depths of his eyes, that arrogant smirk—it just makes me think it’s a mask. The man I’m seeing behind that is the real Nick. This is, well, it’s a fa?ade and there’s nothing I’d like to do more than tear it away and see the mess beneath. I can relate to an honest mess—perfection, not so much.


Speaking of which, my mother takes this moment to publically scold me. “Skylar, let the professional take this shot. You’re in his way.” Mom is sitting on a pew right in front of me. I suck in a breath and try to steady myself.

Nick’s gaze flicks to the side and takes in my reaction. Great. Now he has more ammo. Launch my Mom on me, turn me batshit crazy, and I’ll mess up. That’s the biggest chink in my armor and he sees it like sunlight on a bear’s bottom. I change my expression and laugh, like she’s joking, but Nick’s already seen. So has everyone else. Good old Mom just changed everyone’s opinion of me in a few seconds.

Nick grabs my elbow. I look up at him, suspicious. “This isn’t the only spot we both want. There are three more, at least. Let’s flip for them.”

I nod, because it seems like the fairest, fastest thing to do.

“Aisle shot. Ready?” I nod. “Heads or tails?”

“Heads,” I answer as Nick fishes a coin from his pocket. The rest of the wedding planning continues around us. We back into a corner, half listening, while we sort out who gets which spot.

Nick flips the coin, catches it in his palm, and then flips it over onto the back of his hand. “Sorry, it’s tails. I get the aisle.” I don’t say anything. Nick holds the coin and says, “Ring shot, we both want the front center aisle, right?” I nod. “Call it in the air.”

“Heads.” I always say heads.

Nick catches it, flips the coin over, and my stomach sinks. “That’s two for me. And there’s one last shot that I’m sure we both want the same shooting location.”

“The kiss.” The kiss at the end of the ceremony is everything. It’s the picture the couple hangs over their mantle for the next million years.

Nick nods and flips the coin. “Call it.”

I stick with my previous choice. “Heads.”

Nick catches and flips the coin. My stomach sinks. “Wow, you have really bad luck. What are the odds of losing all three?”

I roll my eyes, not wanting to answer before I walk away but I can’t help myself. “It won’t matter where I stand. I’ll still get a better shot than you.” Well, that’s what I say out loud, my face serene and my smile placid. Inside my head, I’m screaming, throwing a tantrum like a two-year-old, but with more expletives.

Nick uses a smooth voice. “I like this side of you.” I don’t look back at him and instead keep my eyes focused on Sophie. “I hope it’s there when you lose. That confidence borders on defiance. I already have plans for us and that’ll make it all the more pleasant. See you around, Wendybird.”

When I turn to look back at him, Nick has his arms folded over his chest and a single brow raised. He smirks at me, like he knows he’s already won. “Don’t call me that.” I shoot him the bird and keep walking.

My mother gasps, horrified, as I pass her, but only one voice is laughing.