Beautiful Beginning
Page 32
Elliott seemed to sense that my dad was growing a little emotional, so he retrieved the mic from my father’s shaking hand. “We’ve put together a little slide show of these kids growing up. It’ll play on a loop for you to enjoy during dinner. Please, enjoy the meal and the company.”
The guests applauded briefly and then awww’d in unison as pictures of us as babies, as small kids, and as teenagers reeled through. I smiled at pictures of me in my mother’s arms, wrestling with my father. I looked so goofy. In each of his photos, Bennett was well groomed and handsome, even in his awkward preteen years.
“Were you ever hideous?” I asked in a hiss. A picture of me came on screen and was met with loud laughter: it was the year of the worst haircut in the history of the world—jagged bangs, the rest of it basically a mullet—and braces so big I looked like I was eating train tracks.
“Wait for it,” Bennett murmured.
Just after he said it, a picture came up of Bennett holding some sort of certificate. Clearly he’d had a growth spurt; his pants were too short, his hair was long and unkempt, and the picture caught him in the middle of a particularly unattractive laugh. He looked just a fraction less than gorgeous, but by no means hideous.
“I hate you,” I said.
He leaned over, kissing the side of my head. “Sure you do.”
The pictures ended in the present day, with a shot I recognized from the picture of us that Susan kept in the family room: Bennett stood with his arms behind me, bent and whispering something in my ear while I laughed. I leaned over, kissed my dad’s cheek, then stood and hugged Elliott and Susan.
The pictures began to reel through again, and everyone began sipping at the wine the waiters poured into their glasses. I looked down our table, watching our wedding party in their unguarded moments. Sara said something under her breath as Max leaned close and kissed her cheek. Down the table, Will threw an almond at Hanna, and she tried to catch it with her mouth, missing by a mile. George and Julia argued about the ramifications of the return of acid wash. Bennett’s niece Sofia crawled all over Henry’s lap and Elliott poured water for Susan, who looked up at me and smiled, full of such happiness that I could practically see the entire history of Chloe and Bennett in her eyes, and how much she’d wanted this for her son. Beside me, Bennett reached under the table and slid his hand up my knee and under my skirt.
My heart squeezed so tight it felt like it stopped beating, and then took off in a heavy, stuttering gallop.
The rehearsal had been so disorganized that it wasn’t until this moment, right here, that I felt the full force of our impending wedding.
I was getting married tomorrow.
To Bennett Ryan.
To the man who’d anger-fucked me into loving him.
I remembered . . .
“Miss Mills, it would make working with you so much easier if you wouldn’t insist on ignoring all grammatical rules in your meeting minutes.”
“Mr. Ryan, I noticed the company is offering communication training to entry-level managers. Shall I sign you up?”
“Take these invoices down to accounting. What, Miss Mills? Do you require a map?”
I reached for my water, hand shaking as I downed half of it.
“You okay, baby?” Bennett whispered in my ear. I nodded frantically, giving him the calmest smile I could manage. I’m sure I looked like a lunatic. I could feel sweat breaking out on my forehead, and my silverware clattered onto my bread plate as I fumbled for my napkin. Bennett stared in naked fascination, as if he were watching a lightning storm build in slow motion.
“It’s nice to see you finally taking an interest in your physical fitness, Miss Mills.”
Beautiful f**king Bastard.
“And then you’re going to make up the hour lost this morning by doing a mock board presentation of the Papadakis account for me in the conference room at six.”
And I remembered . . .
“Ask me to make you come. Say please, Miss Mills.”
“Please go f**k yourself.”
Bennett slid a calming hand along the back of my neck. I looked up at him, blinked rapidly. “I love you,” I whispered, feeling like my heart was being strung up on a kite, sent headlong into the wind. It was nearly impossible to keep from climbing onto him, begging him to touch me.
“I love you, too.” He leaned closer, brushed his lips across mine. All around us, people broke out in cheers and catcalls. But very carefully he pressed his mouth to my ear and murmured, “Don’t you f**king tempt me right now, Mills. This isn’t the place to test my willpower.”
The guests applauded briefly and then awww’d in unison as pictures of us as babies, as small kids, and as teenagers reeled through. I smiled at pictures of me in my mother’s arms, wrestling with my father. I looked so goofy. In each of his photos, Bennett was well groomed and handsome, even in his awkward preteen years.
“Were you ever hideous?” I asked in a hiss. A picture of me came on screen and was met with loud laughter: it was the year of the worst haircut in the history of the world—jagged bangs, the rest of it basically a mullet—and braces so big I looked like I was eating train tracks.
“Wait for it,” Bennett murmured.
Just after he said it, a picture came up of Bennett holding some sort of certificate. Clearly he’d had a growth spurt; his pants were too short, his hair was long and unkempt, and the picture caught him in the middle of a particularly unattractive laugh. He looked just a fraction less than gorgeous, but by no means hideous.
“I hate you,” I said.
He leaned over, kissing the side of my head. “Sure you do.”
The pictures ended in the present day, with a shot I recognized from the picture of us that Susan kept in the family room: Bennett stood with his arms behind me, bent and whispering something in my ear while I laughed. I leaned over, kissed my dad’s cheek, then stood and hugged Elliott and Susan.
The pictures began to reel through again, and everyone began sipping at the wine the waiters poured into their glasses. I looked down our table, watching our wedding party in their unguarded moments. Sara said something under her breath as Max leaned close and kissed her cheek. Down the table, Will threw an almond at Hanna, and she tried to catch it with her mouth, missing by a mile. George and Julia argued about the ramifications of the return of acid wash. Bennett’s niece Sofia crawled all over Henry’s lap and Elliott poured water for Susan, who looked up at me and smiled, full of such happiness that I could practically see the entire history of Chloe and Bennett in her eyes, and how much she’d wanted this for her son. Beside me, Bennett reached under the table and slid his hand up my knee and under my skirt.
My heart squeezed so tight it felt like it stopped beating, and then took off in a heavy, stuttering gallop.
The rehearsal had been so disorganized that it wasn’t until this moment, right here, that I felt the full force of our impending wedding.
I was getting married tomorrow.
To Bennett Ryan.
To the man who’d anger-fucked me into loving him.
I remembered . . .
“Miss Mills, it would make working with you so much easier if you wouldn’t insist on ignoring all grammatical rules in your meeting minutes.”
“Mr. Ryan, I noticed the company is offering communication training to entry-level managers. Shall I sign you up?”
“Take these invoices down to accounting. What, Miss Mills? Do you require a map?”
I reached for my water, hand shaking as I downed half of it.
“You okay, baby?” Bennett whispered in my ear. I nodded frantically, giving him the calmest smile I could manage. I’m sure I looked like a lunatic. I could feel sweat breaking out on my forehead, and my silverware clattered onto my bread plate as I fumbled for my napkin. Bennett stared in naked fascination, as if he were watching a lightning storm build in slow motion.
“It’s nice to see you finally taking an interest in your physical fitness, Miss Mills.”
Beautiful f**king Bastard.
“And then you’re going to make up the hour lost this morning by doing a mock board presentation of the Papadakis account for me in the conference room at six.”
And I remembered . . .
“Ask me to make you come. Say please, Miss Mills.”
“Please go f**k yourself.”
Bennett slid a calming hand along the back of my neck. I looked up at him, blinked rapidly. “I love you,” I whispered, feeling like my heart was being strung up on a kite, sent headlong into the wind. It was nearly impossible to keep from climbing onto him, begging him to touch me.
“I love you, too.” He leaned closer, brushed his lips across mine. All around us, people broke out in cheers and catcalls. But very carefully he pressed his mouth to my ear and murmured, “Don’t you f**king tempt me right now, Mills. This isn’t the place to test my willpower.”
