My Brother's Best Man

“My wife.” He smiles, less shakily this time, as though the mention of Tiffany is steadying him. “How amazing does that sound? It doesn’t even seem real, man, that she belongs to me. I know some people would say that’s an old-fashioned way of looking at it.”

“Screw them,” I snap as I help him stand. “It’s the truth. She belongs to you. And you belong to her. That’s what marriage is about.”

“Careful,” he says. “You sound like you’re warming to the idea.”

I chuckle as I help him stand. He steps away, brushing his hands down his shirt.

“I think I need a glass of water.”

“I’ll get you some.”

“All right.”

I move over to the bar, ordering a glass of water.

When I turn to check that Alex hasn’t fallen yet, I spot Becca standing close to me.

She clearly didn’t know I was here because her eyes widen. She even makes a whimpering sound as though she thinks I’m going to savagely leap on her, drag her somewhere private, take her, take her hard.

“Is he okay?” she asks, looking down at the bar, not me.

It’s like she can’t.

I know the feeling.

If we spend too long staring at each other, our bodies are going to magnetize again. It’s like we can’t help it. No, not like.

We can’t help it.

“He’s fine, just a little drunk,” I tell her. “He’s happy. About his wedding. I’ve never seen him this happy.”

“Neither have I,” she mutters, risking a glance at me.

Our eyes fuse, hers so expressive, silently saying so much. It’s like she’s telling me she wants it, wants everything I yearn for, but she knows we can’t pursue it without shattering Alex into a million pieces.

“You’re close with him,” I say. “Even if you moved and he stayed here. You’d talk a lot. He’s a good brother to you.”

I’m stating things I already know, things she already knows, as though that will make it easier for us to run away from this…run away from something we both want to hungrily run toward. The only consolation I have is that she wouldn’t feel the same, not completely. If I told her about the family she’s going to give me, the future we’re going to share, it would change things.

If I told her she belonged to me – that I owned her, every curvy inch, every shy sassy expression – she’d look at me like I was cracked.

“He is,” she says after a long pause. “He’s a good person. He doesn’t deserve….”

“To have this day ruined. Or anything ruined.”

“No,” she says, her voice breaking, a tear appearing in her eye.

It’s like she knows this is the end. We have to stop it now.

Even when the wedding’s done, even when I’m just his best friend, not his best man, we won’t be able to act on this.

“When do you go back to England?” I ask.

“In a couple of days,” she whispers. “But we’re back in two months. Dad’s work is opening a new branch right here in the city, and we think maybe he’ll lead the way.”

“I spoke to your parents earlier,” I tell her. “They’re good people.”

“They are.”