Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 86495 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 432(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86495 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 432(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
He hustled down the aisle, apologizing for his delayed flight, only pausing to kiss his mom on the cheek before walking up the stairs to take his spot opposite me at the altar.
My date, Darren, had been filling his spot, and there was an awkward shuffle as they changed places. Talk about trading up. I stared, slack-jawed. For one brief moment, my imagination warped the situation, and it almost felt as if he and I were the bride and groom, up there about to get married.
My heart raced with anticipation. My other organs, enjoying the fairytale, all joined in too. I was sweating and breathing hard and it took an embarrassing length of time to regain my grasp on reality. He wasn’t the groom; he was the best man. I wasn’t the bride; I was the maid of honor. I had a date and he was not Aiden. Not even close.
Aiden’s brother, James, ribbed him for his tardiness then tilted his chin in my direction.
“We’ll make formal introductions later, but that’s Maddie, your partner.”
His partner!
Aiden’s eyes flitted to me and I fainted. Or at least I got close to it.
My knees did jiggle like they were threatening to give out. I locked them and aimed a pipsqueak wave Aiden’s way.
He nodded but didn’t smile, and then he turned his gaze to the officiant as if ready to have the attention off him.
Of course, there was no getting my attention off him. I strained my eyes trying to simultaneously get one of them to focus on the pastor and one to stay trained on Aiden.
I couldn’t help it.
He was…in short, unexpectedly hot.
I assumed he’d be a lookalike of my sister’s groom—brothers do tend to look similar—but no. No no no. Aiden and James were not alike. To compare them is to compare stale moldy bread to fresh-out-of-the-oven butter rolls. Sure, technically, they’re related. But barely.
Don’t get me wrong, James is fine. Cute, even, but in a clean-cut, lawyer kind of way. He likes wearing polos and pressed khaki shorts. He’s the sort of guy who, even in his twenties, could pass for 58.
It’s like whatever bucket of hot genes James missed out on got dumped all over Aiden.
Stop staring, I chided myself half-heartedly.
It was no use. I liked his features. I liked the way they combined in a way that captured my attention. I wanted to pick them apart and study them under a microscope because he shouldn’t have been as hot as he was. He wasn’t perfect, not exactly. It was just that he had these green eyes that were so pale you couldn’t ignore them, especially set off against his tan skin and dark brows. His black hair wasn’t perfect like James’; it was a little disheveled and in need of a trim. His shirt was wrinkled—probably from the flight—and he was wearing jeans when everyone else was dressed in slacks and ties.
I was so busy breaking him down into bite-sized chunks that I was slow to catch on to the fact that the rehearsal had ended and we were now supposed to be following the bride and groom down the aisle so we could practice our departure from the altar.
Aiden walked up to the center of the aisle and crooked his elbow for me to take. I did—after a long, awkward Oh right, that’s my cue pause.
I forced a laugh, and he narrowed his eyes like he was wondering what planet I’d originated from.
“Hi, I’m Maddie,” I volunteered, introducing myself for the second time as we started to walk.
With his tall frame, he could have taken us down the aisle lickety-split, but he purposely slowed down as if not wanting to rush me.
“I’m Jolie’s sister,” I continued.
“I can tell.”
Right.
That day, far more than any other, my sister and I could have passed as twins. My mother had booked us hair and makeup appointments at Sweet Magnolia, a swanky salon. My long blonde locks were curled and teased and poofed up like they were trying to reach the roof of the church. My makeup started off as tasteful and delicate, consisting of soft browns that set off my eyes, but with the false lashes and thirty coats of lipstick, the end result left my face feeling stiff and frozen, like I’d escaped from a wax museum. In the salon, after we were done, I joked with my mom that I was going to add black cat-eye liner and glitter, and she about had a heart attack.
“Please, Madison. Be sweet to me,” she said, hands clasped in prayer. “Just for one day.”
So there I was, all poofy and pink in my monstrosity of a dress.
It was another gift from my mother. She’d had it custom made for me, so my outfit coordinated with hers and my sister’s.
I could barely move in it, what with all the tight layers of tulle and silk.