I waved my hand in the air. “Available whenever you need it. All part of the date package,” I said.
“We’re not on a date,” he said.
I sighed. “Right. Just friends.” Then, determined to give the man some peace, I shut my mouth.
The reception was at some old mansion on a hill. A wall of windows overlooked a long, sloping field. The sun sank into the horizon with an obligingly magnificent show of color. Candles flickered everywhere, the flower arrangements were opulent and waiters circulated with trays of cocktails and hors d’oeuvres. Pretty much exactly what I’d want for my own wedding, should that happy day ever occur.
Ian knew a lot of the guests, of course, and was doing his best to be sociable. But his shoulders were tight, and he wasn’t smiling or talking much. One couldn’t blame him. Even outside his ex-wife’s wedding, he didn’t smile or talk that much. Well. Ian certainly had other qualities. Like possibly the biggest heart in all of New England, if not the Eastern Seaboard. How many men would do what he was doing now?
There was much speculation, of course. Here he was, not only at Laura’s wedding, but at her wedding to a woman, to the other woman, for that matter. As Ian exchanged stiff pleasantries with people from his old life, I put my eavesdropping skills to use. There were plenty of “That poor slob, how could he not know?” comments. If Ian overheard any, he didn’t say a word.
Some people were happy to see him. He got a few hugs, a few cheek pats. Laura’s aunt, a portly woman who clutched a fox terrier in her arms, pinned us in one corner. “Kato here keeps pooping in the dining room, don’t you, snooky-bear? Ian, can you take a look at him?”
“Uh … sure, Dolores,” Ian said.
Now perhaps was a good time to hit the ladies’ room, as my gown and Dr. Rey’s Shapewear required some forethought.
“Back in a flash,” I said, giving his arm a squeeze. He gave me a stiff nod, then turned back to Kato, who bared his tiny teeth and snarled adorably.
Five minutes later, as I was in the stall, wrestling Dr. Rey’s Shapewear back over my thighs, I heard Ian’s name again. And this time, the person wasn’t quite so kind in her assessment.
“Can you believe Ian showed up? I mean, what the fuck is he doing here? Trying to make Laura and Dev feel guilty?”
“No clue,” said another voice. “I always thought he was a cold fish.”
I wasn’t about to let that go unchallenged.
“He’s here because Laura asked him to come,” I said, coming out and staring at the two women. “It meant a lot to her.”
“Is that what you think? And who are you?” the first one asked, not at all nicely.
“Yes, it is what I think … what I know, actually. And hello, I’m Callie Grey, Ian’s date,” I said, glad that here, at least, Ian wouldn’t contradict me. “So nice to meet you.”
How I wished Ian would let me pretend to be his girlfriend to show people that he’d moved on … even if he hadn’t. But no, when I rejoined him a minute later, he relentlessly introduced me as his friend, didn’t hold my hand, didn’t smile at me, didn’t indulge in any body language that said he was crazy about me. Which I thought was really too bad, because let’s be honest. I was definitely feeling things. Any man who could do what he’d done in the foyer of that church … well. Not to mention how smokin’ he looked in that tux.
We made it through dinner well enough, though of course we were seated with the snotty pair from the bathroom. If Ian was quiet, I made up for it by being my usual chatty self. He seemed to grow more and more still, tension making him almost brittle as he doubtlessly counted the seconds ‘til we could leave gracefully.
The best woman gave an endless speech, riddled with inside jokes and references. When that was finally over and we’d all dutifully sipped champagne, Ian and I looked at each other. “Want to go?” I whispered.
He nodded.
Then Laura stood up and took the microphone.
Ruh-roh.
“Thank you all for coming tonight,” she said. “It means so much to Devin and me to have you sharing our happy day.” She paused, and Ian seemed to freeze, as if sensing what was coming. “But,” Laura continued, “there’s one very special person here who put aside a lot—a lot—to come tonight—”
Oh, God. Poor Ian, I thought, my stomach contracting in horror.
“—and I just wanted to say how overwhelmed and grateful I am, Ian—” her voice grew husky “—that you found it in your heart to be here. You are so special. Thank you so, so much. I’ll never forget this.”
Every one of the roughly two hundred guests swung around to get a look at Ian, who sat as if carved from granite. His face was grim, and I knew that this was just about the worst thing that could happen to him … all that attention, all that emotional diarrhea, aimed right at him. A swarm of fascinated whispers rose from the guests.
Well, I couldn’t just let him sit there. I leaned over, a sweet smile on my face, and kissed him on the cheek. “You’re right, Laura,” I called, settling my head on his shoulder. “He’s a prince!”
There was an “aw” from the guests, a few chuckles. The nasty bathroom woman sneered, but up at the head table, Laura beamed. “Yes, he is,” she agreed. “Well, I guess that’s it from me! I hope everyone dances and eats cake and has a great time! Thank you!”
The roar of conversation resumed, and I looked up at Ian. “You okay, buddy?” I whispered.
He fixed me with those blue, blue eyes. “Yes. Thank you.” For what, I wasn’t sure. In fact, he might have been mad. Hard to tell.
“Careful, now,” said the bitchy bathroom woman. “He might turn you into a lesbian, too.” Her companion gave a snort.
I just smiled at her, snuggled a little closer to my guy. “I’m not worried,” I said, tossing her a little wink. Then I looked up at Ian. “Want to dance?”
“Love to,” he answered. He grabbed my hand and practically dragged me onto the dance floor.
There weren’t too many people out there yet, but Ian didn’t seem to mind. The band was just starting their second song … “If I Ain’t Got You” by Alicia Keyes, and the singer was pretty damn good. Ian slid his arm around my waist, and we assumed the position.
The wave of lust I’d been riding since I saw him in his tux seemed to swell.
“So how are you, Ian?” I asked. My voice sounded embarrassingly sex kitten, and I cleared my throat.
He tilted his head to one side. “Better now,” he said, and those girl parts of mine started yowling like ruttish cats. “Thanks for rescuing me.”
“Oh,” I said, blushing. “It was … I … it was nothing.”
“It was something.” His eyes crinkled slightly, and I fought off a swoon.
He smelled so good … that clean, fresh smell of rain in the spring, and the heat from his body seemed to pull me closer. My hand was so, so happy, being held lightly in his, and when his cheek brushed mine, the faint rasp of razor stubble against my skin, my knees almost buckled.
“This is a nice place,” I said.
“Yes,” Ian agreed, and his voice scraped some tender place inside me.
“So, Ian,” I breathed, fighting off the urge to pull a Bowie and just climb on. “Everyone’s watching us. You could definitely kiss me now. End all that speculation.”
He pulled