Page 6

SYMPHONY

D iesel watches me the entire ceremony.

I try to avoid fidgeting under his penetrating gaze.

Penetrating being the operative word.

I think about that moment when he sliced off my Spanx. How his gaze got hard and focused, like he was a man on a mission from then on.

He’s got the same look about him now.

And I’m not wearing Spanx.

“You may kiss the bride.”

My attention jolts back to the officiant. It’s over already?

I fix my expression into a radiant smile as Rhett draws Bailey to him. His kiss is long and lingering, and a few whoops go up from the guests.

The two of them turn, and I quickly step forward to hand Bailey her bouquet.

Marietta and I bend down to straighten her train, then Bailey and Rhett walk up the aisle. I don’t have flower girl duties anymore because little Amy gave out halfway through and ran to sit on her mother’s lap. She’s the daughter of one of our teaching assistants.

Rhett’s brother Axel has the ring bearer well in hand. It’s a big brood, the Pickle family.

And Diesel is sitting smack in the middle of it.

I’m dying to ask Bailey about this. Is Diesel part of Rhett’s family? Did she know?

My belly flutters as I walk by their row, but I keep my gaze ahead.

The wedding coordinator leads us down a back hall to a small, enclosed flower garden behind the mansion. Vine-covered trellises surround a white swing decorated with daisies. It’s gorgeous.

The photographer and her assistant are already photographing Bailey and Rhett. There’s no way to ask questions, and I guess it’s not appropriate anyway. It’s her big day.

But Marietta and Jenna surround me the moment we’re outside.

“What was Diesel doing with Rhett’s family?” Jenna asks.

“Right? And he never took his eyes off you.” Marietta bumps my elbow.

“I have no idea,” I say. The three of us watch Rhett push a laughing Bailey on the flower swing.

“Will you ask him at the reception?” Marietta asks.

“I guess so.” I glance over at Rhett’s siblings. I met them briefly at the rehearsal dinner last night.

Jenna figures out what I’m thinking. “They’ll know! Go find out!”

I’m working up my courage to walk over when we’re called to take a photo with Bailey. Then a full bridal party image. Then silly images pushing Bailey on the swing.

“The family should be assembled inside,” the photographer says. “Everyone not related to the couple can move on to the cocktail hour in the rose garden.”

Oh, that’s us.

“We should look when they do the Pickle photo,” Jenna whispers as we head back into the air conditioning. “If Diesel is in the family picture, then we’ll know.”

She’s right.

We duck into the bridal suite on the pretext of setting aside our bouquets and wait a few minutes for the others to join the family.

Then we sneak down the hall to the French doors.

They’re closed now that the ceremony is over, but we can peer through the glass.

“Is he in there?” Jenna asks, jostling for position.

“I don’t see him,” I say, scanning the group. “Maybe he’s not family after all.”

A deep voice behind us rumbles, “Looking for me?”

All three of us jump.

I whirl around. Diesel is behind us.

“Hey,” I say, my voice wavering.

Jenna and Marietta dash off like the cowards they are.

Diesel watches me, his tie loose, the black shirt beneath his jacket open at the throat.

My heart thunders. I barely know him. It’s been two weeks since we met, and I didn’t exactly have his number to chat him up.

The silence stretches until I can’t take it anymore. “I wasn’t sure you’d come.”

“I’m a man of my word.”

“Uh. Good.” I’m way too nervous looking at him, so I turn back to the doors. “It was a lovely ceremony, don’t you think?”

“Definitely the part I was looking at.”

Does he mean me? My face heats, as well as several parts of my nether regions.

I watch the photographer arrange everyone around the couple. “You sat with the groom’s family.”

His voice is dark when he says, “Pretty dirty trick.”

White-hot confusion trickles through me. “What are you talking about?”

He takes my arm and whirls me around, pressing me against the glass door. His face is inches from mine. “What’s your game? How did your little party end up in my bar?”

God, he’s close. I breathe hard, taking in his woodsy aftershave and a hint of motorcycle exhaust. It’s like huffing danger.

“Answer me. Why were you at the Leaky Skull?”

My words rush out. “Bailey threw up in the car. The man driving kicked us out in your parking lot.”

Diesel leans away a fraction of an inch. “He abandoned you at a biker bar?”

“Yes! We needed to clean her up. I’ve never heard of you before. Or your bar.”

“What about Bailey?”

“I want to ask her. When you sat with the family, I was dying to know what she knew.”

Diesel blows out a gust of air against my cheek. “I’ll have words with her before this is over.”

As angry as he is? My urge to protect her kicks in. I lift my chin. “I won’t let you ruin her day. She doesn’t need a confrontation.”

“You won’t let me , you say?” His voice is low and hard. His face is so close I can see the rough stubble along the edges of his jaw.

“I-I won’t allow it.” I straighten my spine, bringing my face even closer to him. God, he’s beautiful. And brooding. My whole body feels alive.

A smile curls on his lips. “What’s it worth to you for me to leave her alone?”

What is he asking? I imagine having to give him a blow job in a bathroom stall. Good God, I don’t know this man at all.

“I-I don’t know. A lot.”

He lets my words hang in the air. The tension is thick.

Finally, I screw up the courage to ask, “What do you want?”

His eyes land on my lips. “I’d settle for a kiss.”

That’s it?

Except … the family is right behind us.

“Here?” I glance around.

“The location of your choice.” His gaze skims the bridesmaid dress as if he means on my body, not just the place in the building.

Why am I revving up at the very thought?

“On the cheek?” I suggest.

His hand slips around my waist and down. I realize he’s interpreting my answer as butt cheek.

Then the door rattles behind us.

“Fuck,” he mutters and steps away from me.

I dart for the corridor and pause, my hand against the wall.

The French door opens.

It’s Grammy Alma, the one who put on Bailey’s veil.

“You’re missing the family picture!” she says gaily and winks in my direction.

That woman misses nothing.

She takes his arm and threads hers through it. “What does it take for a doddering old woman to get her grandson to walk her up an aisle?”

Grandson . So, there it is.

They disappear into the room.

I stay in the hall, running through the family as I know it.

To be a direct grandson, Diesel has to belong to one of Grammy Alma’s two sons. Rhett’s dad isn’t one of them. He’s related to the Pickles through his mother’s marriage.

But Diesel sat next to Greta, who is the sister of the Pickle who married a prince. Bailey told us right away the royal family wouldn’t be in attendance. I think she was hoping, even though they were only cousins.

That’s it. Diesel is a cousin. He’s Greta’s brother. I bet those were his parents in his row.

I desperately want to move back to the French door and watch, but I’m certain Diesel will look there for me.

It’s time to find the other bridesmaids and, if possible, figure out what Bailey knew.

Maybe getting Diesel here wasn’t about my dateless status at all. That would make sense since neither Marietta nor Jenna brought anyone, either.

Maybe Bailey had a bigger plan in mind.

And dang it, I almost got kissed by a rogue.