Page 30

Once again, Jake is gone when I wake up, and once again I stay in bed for nearly an hour, dreading what I have to do. Carmen has set a tight schedule for the day, starting with a ladies’ brunch, pictures, her “getting ready” champagne toast, more pictures with the wedding party outside the church, the ceremony, pictures, and the reception.

Fortunately, by the time I join the other bridesmaids for brunch, the rehearsal-dinner antics seem to have faded in the group’s memories. The latest scandal is one of the groomsmen groping Carmen’s cousin Kim in the elevator the night before.

I don’t join in the bridesmaids’ shrill laughter, but the distraction puts me at ease. For the rest of the morning, I focus on helping Carmen get ready and making sure none of the other ladies drink too much before the ceremony.

The bridesmaid dresses are tolerable, as bridesmaid dresses go — three sheer layers of lavender fabric that hitjust above the knee. I pin my hair up in loose ringlets and pull on my strappy heels.

The wedding party piles into a white stretch limo to ride to the church, and I sit as far away from Derek as I can manage. When we merge onto the highway, I sneak a peek at Derek’s hand and feel a burst of smugness when I see that it’s covered in white gauze.

I might not approve of Jake’s methods, but the results are damn satisfying.

The afternoon is a blur of group photos, “I dos,” and holding up Carmen’s dress while she pees. I don’t see Jake at the wedding ceremony, but I know he’s probably somewhere in the church.

By the time we get back to the hotel for the reception, my feet hurt, my back aches, and I’m exhausted from all the smiling. I run up to the room and splash cold water on my face, staring at my reflection in the mirror.

You can do this.

I’ve been looking forward to Carmen’s wedding for months, but now I’m counting the minutes until it’s over.

Begrudgingly, I fix my hair and cram my swollen feet back into the heels. As I rummage in my makeup bag for a spare bobby pin, my fingers brush the little velvet box fitted into the side pocket.

I haven’t opened it in nearly six years, but I brought it to the wedding on a whim.

Fingers shaking, I slip the box out and open it up. Inside is the delicate gold bracelet with the little sun charm that Jake gave me for my sixteenth birthday.

Chewing on the inside of my cheek, I drape it over my wrist and fiddle with the clasp. It’s simple enough that it complements my lavender dress. I decide to go for it.

Flinging the door open, I nearly smack right into Jake. His eyebrows lift in surprise when he sees me, and I don’t miss the way those blue eyes linger on the line of my collarbones before traveling down to my exposed legs.

His mouth stretches into a wide grin. “You look . . .” He clears his throat and shakes his head, but then his eyes snag on the bracelet.

He reaches for my hand so fast I don’t have time to pull away. His warm fingers encircle my wrist, tugging it toward him for closer inspection.

His thumb brushes the little sun charm, and Jake goes very still. “Is that . . .”

I nod, my throat suddenly very dry.

He shakes his head. “I can’t believe you still have it.”

“OfcourseI still have it.” Even after what happened between me and Jake, the bracelet is still one of my most treasured possessions.

Jake’s throat bobs as he turns the bracelet around on my wrist, shaking his head in disbelief. “It looks good on you. And you . . .” He clears his throat. “You look amazing.”

I smile, heart thudding. “You clean up pretty nice yourself.”

That’s an understatement. Jake looks as though he just stepped off the cover ofGQ. His button-up shirt hugs his muscular frame perfectly, and his slacks could have been made for him. My pulse jumps as I imagine undoing all those buttons, unbuckling his belt, and —

I swallow thickly and tuck that thought into the far back corner of my brain.

Jake’s grin turns wolfish, and my face prickles with heat when I realize he caught me checking him out.

“Shall we?” he asks, offering me his arm.

Relief, gratitude, and nervousness flood my system as I link my arm through his, and the heat seeping through his jacket makes it hard to think about anything except his hand on my arm and the light brush of his hip against mine as we make our way down the hall.

That clean, spicy scent surrounds me, and I feel as though I might burst with pride waltzing into the reception with Jake by my side — Jake, the man who didn’t hesitate to fight for me at the club or at that awful rehearsal dinner.

By the time we reach the grand ballroom, I find myself standing a little taller. Walking into the room with Jake, it feels as though I have some kind of armor against the other shifters’ ridicule and judgement.