Page 39 of Marrying Mr. Wentworth (Austen Hunks #3)

Meg and Jeremy’s wedding weekend — Milwaukee — Christopher

I wasn’t nervous.

That’s what I told myself when the plane landed. That’s what I told myself when I checked into the hotel, when I rehearsed what I might say to Ariana, when I tried on my suit and hated every goddamn tie I brought.

I wasn’t nervous.

I was wrecked.

Because she’d been silent for weeks, and I was out of ideas.

Vegas was supposed to break her open. Show her what we still had. And it did—for a second. A flash. Long enough to feel like maybe, this time, I hadn’t lost her for good.

But then she left. And she hadn’t said a word since.

Still, I’d said yes to this wedding. Yes to flying into her city, her turf, her world—because she’d be there.

And I had to see her.

Even if it killed me.

The ceremony was in a historic church downtown—high ceilings, candles, strings playing some modern Taylor Swift orchestral version. I sat on the groom’s side of the church, watching Jeremy and Luke standing up at the altar, hands clasped in my lap, pretending I wasn’t feeling like I might puke.

And then?—

She walked in.

Thank God I was sitting because if I’d been standing, my knees would have actually buckled.

But holy hell. Her dress was deep emerald satin, the color making her eyes light up, the bodice hugging every curve like it had been sewn onto her body by angels with a grudge against me. Hair swept up, eyes sharp, lips painted pink like a dare.

And all I could think was: I married that woman.

Even if she didn’t want me now. Even if I’d already lost her again.

I felt Nick nudge me. “Easy, man. You’re drooling.”

I ignored him. Because she looked at me. Just for a second. And I swear— swear —the whole world went quiet as she walked down the aisle with a bouquet of wildflowers in her hands.

There was something in her eyes. Not softness. Not forgiveness.

But something alive.

She looked away too fast, turned to take her place beside the other bridesmaids. But that second? That glance?

It was oxygen. It was hope. It was all I had left.

I didn’t have a speech. I didn’t have a plan.

But I had that look.

And if there was still even a fraction of something left in her…

I was going to find a way to reach it.

Even if it was the last thing I ever did.