Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 97466 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97466 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
I blinked as the spell I’d been under broke. “Yeah? That sounds amazing. Show me.”
Brant and I tromped off down the beach, planning out shots, and by the time we got back, it was time for Oscar and the rest of the wedding party to get dressed for the main event. I tried not to read anything into the way he didn’t meet my eyes on the beach, or in Roman’s suite, or even during the gorgeous sunset ceremony, but it was difficult not to notice… and not to feel a little hurt by it.
Maybe he’s thinking about things, I told myself. Maybe he’s recognizing the truth of what you’ve been trying to tell him.
But at the reception, when the drinks were flowing and music floated across the soft summer air toward the ocean, I finally glimpsed what was going on in Oscar’s brain.
When it was time for the best man speech, Oscar stood. The twinkle lights hanging around the large white event canopy on the lawn gave his skin a luminous glow that reminded me of watching him at the beach that afternoon.
His knife clinked against the clear glass of his water goblet until the crowd quieted. He looked around the dinner tables filled with guests and smiled. Something about his demeanor wasn’t quite as assured and confident as usual, though I knew he’d given toasts like this a million times.
He swallowed and began. “I had a whole speech prepared. Some of you may not know this, but I’ve given best man speeches a time or two before.”
Several men chuckled under their breath while Roman’s eyes danced with humor. “Always hire the most experienced man for the job,” he called out. “That’s just good business.”
Oscar laughed, which relaxed his entire body. I felt my own breath release.
“True, Roman. True.” He looked around at the expectant faces, several of them pink from slight sunburns from earlier in the day, but his gaze skipped over me. “Every time I’m invited to be the best man, my first thought is how incredibly honored I am. My second thought is usually: what the hell am I going to say that I haven’t already said? Despite the many times I’ve asked, not one groom has said it would be okay for me to reuse a best man speech. Shame that. I’ve given some real doozies over the years.”
He paused as the crowd laughed. “Thankfully, a recent conversation with a dear friend helped give me a new angle on love and marriage.” He looked down at his champagne flute for a moment, his expression turning somber.
“Sometimes we don’t know why things work—they just do. If you’d told me that my serious, responsible friend Roman would hijack a horse-drawn carriage on Park Avenue just to pick up the hottie behind the reins…” The crowd laughed again. “I would have asked you how many drinks you’d had tonight. But sometimes the unexpected happens. Sometimes you need to roll with it.”
His eyes skipped to mine for the briefest flash of a moment, and my heart skidded in my chest.
“Sometimes you need to keep trying, keep putting yourself out there. Because some people are simply meant to fall in love, and you never know when the lightning bolt will strike. And maybe, just maybe, magic will happen when you least expect it. I’m thrilled that the magic happened for Roman and Scotty and that we’re all here tonight to help them celebrate it. To the happy couple!”
The crowd cheered and toasted. Glasses clinked, and laughter swelled as Oscar made a funny face at Roman before being enveloped in Roman’s big bear hug.
That night, when the reception finally began winding down, Oscar held out his hand to me, and I took it. We walked back to the room without saying a word. No more metaphors, no more jokes, no more heartfelt discussions. By unspoken agreement, we both seemed to recognize that we’d talked enough, thought enough, and wanted to spend the rest of the weekend in each other’s beds and bodies.
When we came together in the dim light of my hotel room, Oscar’s movements were slow and sultry. I couldn’t tell if they were muted by the free-flowing wine and cocktails at the reception or if there was something about this sweet summer night that had taken the restless edge off him. I might have even dared to hope that I was right earlier. That maybe my clumsy attempt at a metaphor had gotten through to him. Whatever it was, I wanted to bathe in the feeling, sip every ounce of need from his skin, and do my very best not to use a single cell in my brain to worry about any of it.
Afterward, we settled with our heads on a single pillow, and I felt closer to Oscar than I’d ever felt to another human being. The night had cooled enough to slide open the terrace door and listen to the low, rhythmic tumble of the waves in the distance.