The Truth

Tiffany quickly loops the leash through her wrist before offering a middle grip to Neve, who holds on with much ceremony as she joins the retreating party, owning the scene like everyone’s there to see her.

“I believe she takes after her father,” I quip, making Elle laugh.

“More like her mother,” Colton says. “But that’s what makes her so . . . fetching.”

Tiffany’s at the back of the hall now, and just as she disappears through the door, she looks back and finds me with her eyes.

I swear she’s saying she’s thinking the same thoughts I am.

Next time, it’s going to be us.

* * *

“You . . . are gorgeous,” I finally manage to tell Tiffany as I hold her chair out for her to sit. “I am stunned.”

Tiffany blushes lightly and looks over her shoulder at me. “Thank you. Not so bad yourself.”

She reaches up to pull at my tie, the intimate move both comfortable and exciting. We’re in front of friends, in front of Harper’s family. But there’s no hesitation in my heart as I lean down and kiss her sweetly, inhaling the intoxicating scent of her perfume and feeling the warmth of her lips shoot straight to my heart.

When I pull back, Tiffany looks soft-eyed and blissful. “How do you do that to me?”

“Do what?” I ask, fairly sure I already know what she’s talking about because I feel the same way—fuzzy and fizzy all at the same time.

Tiffany purrs. “You know exactly what you’re doing.”

I chuckle, feeling another part of my body remind me that love is more than just the heart. “Maybe,” I tease, “But I still like hearing it.”

“You melt me.” She shakes her head gently. “Not just that. You bring down every defense I have, make the whole world disappear, and it’s only you.”

I trace my lips over her jaw, trailing my way up to whisper in her ear, “Only us.”

A shiver runs through her, and I smile triumphantly. Meeting her eyes, I expect to see unguarded lust brewing there, but there’s the slightest hint of a storm swirling in their depths. “Tiffany?”

“Daniel, I . . .” Tiffany says before her voice trails off and she takes a deep breath. “There’s something I need to—”

Whatever she’s about to say is cut off by Elle and Colton sitting down at the table with us. They’re alone but both grinning. “I think Neve has a new friend. By force,” she says, laughing.

I look to where she’s pointing to see one of groomsmen on the dance floor holding Neve on his hip with an outstretched arm as he leads her around the floor. Neve is smiling and laughing, wiggling as she tries to dance along with him.

“Who’s that?” I ask, maybe a little protectively.

Tiffany pats my arm, reassuring me. “That’s Terrance, one of Ace’s friends. I think he’s the youngest in his family, so he’s got loads of nieces and nephews. He’s in heaven, probably debating with Neve on whether Baby Shark or Cocomelon is the better cartoon.”

Colton grunts. “Peppa Pig, all the way. At least she’s got a British accent.”

Elle groans but nods. “Anything besides Frozen. For fuck’s sake, can we let it go into the unknown now?”

The DJ calls for the single ladies to come to the dance floor. Elle pushes at Tiffany, who tries to brush it off. “It’s fine. I already have a bouquet. Let someone else get one.”

“Oh, no, that’s not how this works,” Elle says, taking no argument. “You’re not married, you go out there for the bouquet toss.” And then she says the magic words. “I dare you.”

Tiffany grins at the no-longer-private joke between them and says, “Excuse me for a moment. I got some bitches to snatch flowers from.”

She stands, putting her napkin on the table. She wobbles a bit as she stands, shaky in her high heels, and I offer a steadying hand. “You okay?” I ask.

Tiffany lets out a deep sigh, wiggling her hips like she’s uncomfortable. “Yeah, just reminding myself that Spanx are Satan’s undergarments.”

Tiffany’s solid as she walks out onto the floor to stand next to Terrance, who has Neve on his shoulders. It seems they have a game plan to get the bouquet for Neve, and somehow, I believe they’ll be successful. Neve won’t have it any other way.

Up front, Harper appears, and the DJ leads the countdown. “Three, two, one . . .”

Harper takes three practice swings, then lets the bouquet fly. The gathered women all reach for it, and there’s a chorus of squeals, Neve’s highest and loudest of all. So naturally, my eyes are on Neve at first, and I smile at the pure, unadulterated joy on her face.

But then something grabs my attention.

Tiffany.

She’s not reaching for the bouquet. Her arms are hanging loosely at her sides and her face is pale. Confusion pulls my brows together for a split second before morphing into horror as Tiffany’s eyes roll back in her head.