Page 8 of Accidental Groom

Jesus Christ.

“You don’t know what you’re asking me for,” I say carefully, taking a step toward her.

“I do.”

“What’s your plan with this? Call it a patch job until George grows a conscience and comes home?”

She swallows hard, her gaze drifting around the room. “He left the country. If he wanted to be here, he would. I’m not expecting it.”

I drag a hand down my face, sighing into it. “What happens when he comes back, then? I know my son, Elena. He’s not going to run forever.”

She shrugs, but the motion is too tight, like she feels like she has to come up with an answer or risk being thrown out. “We getdivorced, I guess. I marry him later. Or I don’t. It doesn’tmatter. I can’t—I can’t think about that, I have to think about today, and today, I need this to happen.”

The suggestion is so flippant, but it’s logical from her standpoint. I get that, I do, but it’s causing a spiral that is ending up with neither of us happy. There’s a part of me that knows she won’t exactly be happy with George either, but at least he’s not eighteen years older than her and doesn’t come with baggage heavy enough to weigh down an airplane.

“We could postpone the wedding,” I offer. “I know your parents are pushing for it to happen today, but we could just wait until I find him?—”

“We can’t postpone.”

Her voice cracks, just once, but violently. It’s like hearing something porcelain shatter.

“If we postpone, they’ll see that as a failure on my part,” she says, and I canseea tear beading on her lashes, can see the way her chest shakes as she takes a deep breath. “They’ll say I wasn’t good enough, that I’m defective, that he left because of me, which, to be fair, he probably did, and — they’ll put this on her. Sarah.”

The tear falls.

She wipes it before it can get any lower than her cheek.

“You heard him,” she adds. “He’s already decided.”

I roll my lips between my teeth, trying to settle myself. She’s not wrong. I saw it, I watched a man I thought I respected threaten one daughter with the future meant for the other, like he was just closing a business deal and nothing more.

And it made my skin crawl.

She takes a step closer, too close now, the scent of her — roses, a hint of vanilla, and the faint scent of sweat from her panic — overwhelms me.

“You don’t have to mean it.” She pushes a stiff lock of hair out of her face, those absurdly reflective brown eyes staring a hole through my skull now. She looks beautiful, even through the threat of more tears. Like someone I shouldn’t be anywhere near. “You just have to say yes.”

My jaw aches from how much I’ve clenched it. This is insane. I shouldn’t be considering this, I shouldn’t be this close to her, I shouldn’t want to say yes.

But I do.

And I can’t stop looking at hermouth.

Another step, and I can feel my resolve crumbling. Her voice drops. “Please, Harry.”

My eyes close. Half of my head is an onslaught of thoughts and promises I’d made to myself over the years: no one else after losing Geraldine, no more grief. But the other half is eating it alive with what might be the worst decision I will probably ever make in my life.

When my eyes open again, she’s still there, too close, looking at me like I’m the only choice she has left.

And I can’t be the man who says no to that.

Not today. Not after the carnage my son has caused. Not after the things I saw play out in that room.

I can help her. I can give her a small mercy.

I let out a slow breath, the kind that feels like it’s taking something on the way out. Maybe my better judgment, maybe my last ounce of self-preservation.

“Alright,” I rasp.