Page 40 of Marrying Mr. Wentworth (Austen Hunks #3)
Wedding day — Ariana
I told myself it would be fine. That I could handle it.
It was just a wedding. Just one weekend. Just one husband-shaped complication in a church full of flowers and a white aisle runner.
But the second I stepped out from the vestibule, I knew I was in trouble.
He was sitting up front in a black suit, tailored within an inch of its life, platinum gray tie slightly askew, like he hadn’t been able to concentrate long enough to fix it. Hair just a little messy, like he’d run his hands through it five too many times.
And when he saw me— really saw me—he flinched.
Not dramatically. Just the sharp inhale, the subtle shift like his body didn’t know whether to rise or collapse.
I watched him grip the edge of the pew. Anchor himself. Pretend he hadn’t just come undone for a second.
But I saw it. Worse?
I felt it.
Like a gut punch wrapped in velvet. Like the ache of something I hadn’t let myself name in weeks.
And then our eyes met. For a heartbeat. Maybe less.
But everything stopped.
The strings. The whispers. The weight of the air.
It all went quiet.
Because that look— his look—wasn’t just you’re beautiful or I miss you .
It was I remember everything.
I tore my eyes away and took my place at the altar beside Ellie and Haley, smiling like my insides weren’t actively trying to reorganize themselves.
As the wedding proceeded, I tried to focus on Meg, on Jeremy—on the vows, the flowers, the moment.
But I could feel Christopher behind me. I knew he was there. Watching.
And it unraveled me.
Because I hadn’t wanted to believe that what happened in Vegas was real. I’d told myself it was heat and history and tequila and nothing else.
But the way he looked at me just now? That was not nothing. That was everything.
And it left me wondering?—
What if I’d been wrong? What if walking away had been the mistake this time? What if love—the real kind, the big kind—wasn’t supposed to make sense?
And what if I was finally ready to stop running from it?