He straightened up and looked me in the eyes. “If we would have told you he was going to propose and then he didn’t . . . God . . . I just couldn’t do that to you, Taryn.” I rubbed my hand gently, briefly over his shoulder, trying to alleviate his obvious remorse. “I understand. I . . . I just feel like such an idiot, carrying on the way I did. Seeing him kiss Lauren in that restaurant and that freakin’ note . . . it was so convincing. I know I should have never doubted him, but standing there watching it, it was like reliving the Thomas nightmare all over again.
Only this time, it hurt a million times worse.” Pete’s lips curled into a familiar, sympathetic smile.
“I know what you’re going to say next,” I interjected, reading the rest of Pete’s expression. “I have to put that all behind me now and never allow myself to get that low again.”
“Yep,” he confirmed with a smirk. “But what you also have to keep in mind is that this time around, you’re with a guy who’s totally in love with you.”
I didn’t need to be an interpreter to catch Pete’s allusion. Despite his contrary actions and Pete’s opinion, Thomas did love me. He even said it to me out loud once. He just didn’t know how to show it all the time.
Pete glanced over in Ryan’s direction. “I mean, just look at him. He’s got all sorts of women hovering around him but he never acknowledges them—ever. He’s been like that since the first day he walked into your pub. Like you are the only woman on the planet. And the funny thing is, no matter where you are in the room, Ryan knows exactly where you are. He may be talking to somebody rich and famous but he’s always got one eye trained on you. That poor bastard. He’s such a goner.”
I rolled my eyes at his teasing.
“Speaking of goners . . . before I forget, Tammy has been bugging me. You know we still have a little problem with the wedding and who you’re going to be partnered with. I didn’t want to ask my cousin in case you wanted Ryan but . . . do you want me to ask Ryan?”
“Ask me what?”
My head jerked, surprised by his voice.
Ryan reached out and gently caressed my cheek in his hand, silently mouthing “hi” to me. In that moment, everything else ceased to exist. His love for me was overwhelming and in that instant something new, something profoundly deep tied us even stronger. I felt it as sure as I felt my own heartbeat. I gathered his warm hand quickly and gave it a kiss.
“Oh hey,” Pete said, giving me the “see what I mean” lopsided look I know so well.
Ryan straddled the chair next to me, pressing his body close to mine. My mind quickly veered to thinking about how much I’d like to just snuggle up in his arms and end this tiring day. I was starting to feel like Pete looked—exhausted. Ryan softly kissed the exposed skin on my shoulder and oh so seductively drifted the tip of his nose on my neck.
Freaking tease.
Pete cleared his throat. “Ryan, I was wondering how you’d feel about being Taryn’s partner in our wedding. I’d be honored if you were one of my groomsmen.”
Ryan perked up a bit. “Really? Wow. Sure, I guess. Um . . . wait. I don’t know,” he said.
That’s when he parked his forehead on my shoulder.
“I thought you were clear for the first weekend of September?” I reached for my phone to check his calendar, swearing that I had blocked it off, but other thoughts quickly dawned on me.
“I am, I think,” he muttered. “That’s not it.
Pete, I’m honored that you asked but I don’t know if that’s such a good idea. You know I tend to cause a stir wherever I go. I don’t want to ruin your wedding day. That’s your day.”
I set my evening bag back down on the table and sighed, imagining the pandemoni-um that would ensue from Ryan and me being seen in a church together. This morning’s tabloid gossip reported that Ryan proposed because I’m supposedly pregnant. “Yeah, he’s right. You don’t want the paparazzi at your wedding.”
“Ah, screw them. I want you there,” Pete retorted emphatically, poking the white tablecloth with his finger to emphasize his point.
The more I considered it, the more I envisioned Tammy’s wedding being ruined by party crashers and hundreds of photographers all vying for a clear shot of Ryan in a tux.
“No. It’s not a good idea,” I said remorsefully. “Just ask your cousin.”
Ryan cleared his throat. “Um, I don’t recall saying no,” he corrected me. “Can I get back to you on that, Pete?”