“She still loves me, you know.” Mitch’s voice comes out of the shadows behind me.
I pause. I truly hate the fucking clinch of my gut at his words but reject the idea immediately. There’s no way she loves him. And yet didn’t I ask myself if she still did before coming here? My mind flashes back to earlier. To his name she mumbled in her sleep the other night and to the look on her face when she saw him across the reception room earlier. Did I read her expression wrong? Was the disgust I thought I saw in it really something else?
Fuck him and his lies that are trying to make me doubt her.
“You always were a bullshitter, Layton.” I turn around, take in the cigarette in one hand and the glass of brandy in the other.
And this is what a happily married man does at his own wedding? Drinks and smokes . . . alone?
I take a step toward him as I concentrate on how to play him and not let him know he’s got to me with his statement.
“She left. Couldn’t handle everything.”
He takes a drag on his cigarette and I immediately know he said or did something to upset her. Every part of me wants to go find her, make sure she’s okay, but I know she’s tough. Besides, there’s something I’ve wanted to do ever since Ryder told me over six years ago that Saylor was dating him. Let him know just what I think of him.
“Is it stressful being in the same room with the one woman you’re supposed to love but don’t wholeheartedly, and the one you still love who doesn’t love you back? Is that why you’ve resorted to a smoke? A little nervous, are you, Mitchy-boy?”
I lean my hip against the rail beside me, refusing to back down when he steps closer. The pansy never intimidated me in high school, and this bullshit show right now from him sure as shit doesn’t either.
“Fuck you.” His voice is low. Angered. Full of spite.
“No thanks. I hear you’re a selfish lay.” A twist of my lips. A raise of my eyebrows.
“I bet that’s all she is to you, too.”
I don’t take the bait although I’d love to step into him, cock a fist back and let it fly. Put him in his place for the prick he was way back when and the bigger one he is today. “Wouldn’t you like to know, Layton?” My voice is aloof. My chuckle condescending. My eyes reflecting his own words, fuck you, back to him.
The flash of hurt in his eyes is brief but obvious and tells me what I already know. He still loves her. There’s a quick pang in my gut as jealousy fires within because he doesn’t deserve the privilege of loving her.
“You won’t stay. You’ll break her heart again just like you’re doing to whatshername.”
Whatshername? Saylor’s comment from the other night ghosts through my mind. The truth I let her believe regarding Jenna and the rumors that are nowhere near true. How she’s believed in me enough to let it go even though I never answered. And I’m sure a part of it is because it’s been so easy to shut the outside world out while we’ve been here.
“I think you forget that you don’t get to have a say in what Saylor does or doesn’t do. What Saylor and I as a couple do or don’t do . . . that’s no longer any of your goddamn business. You gave up that right the moment you let her walk away without a fight. You sure as hell couldn’t satisfy your fiancée, let’s hope you can your new wife. But by the looks of things, you’re spending more time worrying about your ex on your wedding night than you are your wife. Your future’s not looking too bright.”
And with that, I unclench my fists and stop wasting my breath on someone who doesn’t deserve it.
I need to go find Saylor. It’s become an urgency. And I hate that Mitch’s first comment is stuck in my craw. Hate that for a man who’s always sure of everything, I suddenly feel insecure when it comes to Saylor. And insecurity kills all that is beautiful.
And Saylor is my beautiful.
I use what I know to calm the unease over why she bailed from the reception. Remind myself that over the past few days I’ve tasted her kiss, felt her body react, and seen the unspoken depth in her eyes reflecting how she feels about me.
There’s no way she still loves Mitch.
I hurry out of the reception area, hating the question I need to ask but knowing I have to. Just like she needs to ask me about what happened between Jenna and me and I need to tell her. Clear the air so we can both move forward with our pasts exposed.
I walk the grounds in a panic. Try to figure out where she might have gone and why she hasn’t returned. The thunder rumbles overhead giving an ominous warning of what’s to come.