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“Yes,” I breathe, forgetting for a moment it’s not really me that’s the bride.
I glance over at Gabriel, his eyes on me, expression serious. “Yeah, I can see it.”
He takes my hand again, bringing it up to his lips to press a soft kiss to my inner wrist. The action sends a wave of goosebumps across my skin, my body swaying toward him.
Wait, no. This is for pretend. I’m not the one getting married. I’m not Serena. Now she would look stunning here in this room, up at the altar with her willowy figure and timeless beauty.
“Would you two like a moment to discuss your final decision in private?” Frances asks.
“Yes,” I nod, stepping away and crossing my arms over my chest.
She exits, leaving us alone. Gabriel mimics my position, leaning one shoulder against the wall. “You like the place?”
“I love it,” I admit. “But it’s not me getting married here,” I force myself to say. “Do you think Serena will like it?”
He shrugs. “You know as much as I do about her. Probably more.”
“Why don’t you try to get to know her? She’s going to be your wife.”
Do I sound as disappointed aloud as I do in my head?
“I’m not interested in her,” he says, looking steadily at me. “I’m interested in someone else.”
My breath catches, caught up in his gaze for just a moment before I remember the situation.
It doesn’t matter if he’s interested. He’s not available.
“Gabriel…”
“She couldn’t even bother to show up today to choose a place to get married. She’s obviously really invested in this.”
I don’t know what to say, how to spin this. Being forced to marry someone… I can’t imagine it. “I- I’m sure it’ll work out.”
He rolls his eyes, annoyed with my inane comment as he pushes off the wall, pacing the area in front of me. “What am I going to do?”
I bite my lip, considering it. Though it feels sacrilegious to even suggest, I ask, “Have you asked your dad how long the marriage has to be for? Could you get divorced somewhere down the line?”
“I don’t know,” he admits. “I’m afraid to bring it up in case he says it isn’t an option. And I don’t want him to think I’m already plotting a way to get out of it. He’d find some way to hold that against me.”
I wince. Giving up that part of your life for potentially forever? Is it even worth it? “Maybe you could take up a hobby?” I say it jokingly, hoping it’ll lighten the mood.
The corners of his lips twitch. “A lifetime hobby, huh? Think I could knit the world record for the longest scarf? Start gardening and grow the biggest pumpkin?”
“Maybe solve world hunger,” I offer. “Or better yet, world peace.”
He laughs, the sound tinged with desperation, enough to have me automatically reaching out for him, hugging him tightly, my only thought to comfort him, soothe him.
He brings his arms around my lower back, the same way he did last time I hugged him, and bends his head to rest in the crook of my neck. We stand like that for a solid minute, but at some point, it’s not about lending strength anymore.
I cautiously stroke my hand through his dark locks, coarser than I imagined they’d be considering how much money he has to spend on haircare if he wanted. His arms unwrap from around me, settling his hands on my waist, squeezing gently.
I don’t want to let him go, don’t want to face reality as he brings me even closer into his body, moving his head till it’s directly in front of me, a hairbreadth away.
He pauses, giving me the chance to retreat, to tell him I don’t want this.
But I do.
His mouth descends on mine, soft at first, tasting me, exploring. I revel in the connection, continuing to run my fingers through his hair, encouraging him, discovering how much I’ve been holding back, denying my feelings for him. Because the truth is, I’m interested in him too.