His Plus One by Kate Aster
Chapter 17
~ HAILEY ~
I’ve never been much of a morning person.
Oh, I manage to slap on a smile from time to time when I stagger into Starbucks, assailed by an aroma that smells like it was crafted by God. But most the time, it’s pretty much all I can do to keep my eyes open.
Especially when my nights have been filled with a lot more activity than I’m used to.
But this morning, as I sit next to Natasha in our white, tulle-adorned chairs, with bare feet sinking in the sand, I can’t help thinking, this… this is worth getting up for.
A light, cool breeze blows in off the ocean, making the scent of two heaping bouquets of flowers waft my way. They rest on the top of white pillars at the end of an aisle and alongside them, next to Harris, and then Colt and Carson, stands Graydon.
Even in the low light of pre-dawn, the sight of him in his tan-colored suit with the ocean behind him positively takes my breath away.
That’s my date?
I suppress the need to pinch myself.
“They look pretty great up there, don’t they?” Natasha whispers, her eyes locked on her fiancé.
“They do,” I agree, my eyes diverting to Max as she takes some photos of the best man, then the brothers and then of their mom and dad, seated in the first row.
There’s a string quartet playing something—Handel or Bach, I think, though I haven’t been to enough weddings to know for sure.
Then I watch the bridesmaids—two of Freya’s cousins and two of her closest friends—walk down the aisle in turquoise dresses that match the ocean perfectly. Her niece—who is the dictionary definition of adorable—follows, tossing white rose petals on the ground as she makes her way toward the rest of the wedding party.
The music shifts and when we all hear the familiar sound of the wedding march, we stand.
As though the heavens were in perfect synch with the ceremony, the sun peeks over the horizon just as Freya comes into sight, looking like a vision in white.
For a moment, I wish I could freeze time just for her. She deserves for this to last so much longer than it will. I take some photos, but when I spot Max again with her camera, I set my phone down. I think Max has us covered.
Freya doesn’t look at anyone but Mason as she practically floats down the aisle in a gown that looks almost ethereal. Embroidered flower motifs that match the lilies in the bouquets adorn her bodice and seem to almost cascade downward onto her gown of tulle with an underlayment of silk. The simple, elegant silhouette looks as though it was designed just for this beach setting—light, natural, airy. It’s as though she means to be just as stunning as the sun rising behind her, without daring to upstage it.
Her hair is swept into an updo with tiny roses and a single lily just to the side tucked into the curls and a few tresses free to frame her face. But nothing, nothing, can be quite as beautiful as the smile on her face when she gazes at her groom.
When she looks at him, it’s as though she sees everything that is good and right in the world.
And when they join hands at the head of the aisle, there isn’t a soul on this beach that doesn’t know for certain that these two were meant for each other.
These two are going to make it.
Mason’s face is lit by so much more than just the sunrise as he looks at her. He seems to glow in that way that every bride hopes—dreams—her groom will. And while I might have expected to have him look at the dress since this is the first time he’s seeing it—the way his eyes are locked on hers tells me that she could be wearing a sack and he’d still be wondering, “How did I get this lucky?”
It makes me smile, just to look at them—at the love they share. I imagine I’ll still smile when I picture this moment, even years from now because it’s just that perfect.
It makes me realize what I want from love. Not the relationship that seemed like a good fit—two computer-savvy people who looked a little like mirror images of each other, staying together for too long because it just seemed like the appropriate plan.
Instead, I want what Freya and Mason have found—two completely different individuals who complement each other so perfectly that when they come together, they are like pieces of a puzzle—a fit so perfect there are no questions or reservations—just love.
I look around me, at the few single people in the audience here—at Harris, Freya’s cousin, her maid of honor, and a couple others I’ve noticed are alone—and I know we are all thinking the same thing. I want a love like that.
I glance at Graydon and wonder if he’s thinking it. I press my lips together, the memory of the kiss we shared this morning warming me. How easily it happened for me—just one slight nudge and my harmless crush has turned into a love that could break my heart so easily.
And probably will, given the fact that we’re so unlike.
But when I look at Freya and Mason again, I have this hope welling up inside of me that maybe whatever Graydon is feeling for me might blossom into something else—something stronger and even more passionate.
Something… like that.
A light breeze caresses the beach.
But the chills I feel are not from the wind, but from the vows they wrote for each other. Freya’s eyes are filled with happy tears as she recites hers. Her words flow like poetry, just as one might expect from a romance novelist, I suppose.
Yet they’re also so meaningful, blending that theme of idyllic love with a reality that is sometimes not as simple or perfect as it can be in fiction.
She makes us all believe in the transformative power of love. And the steady reliability of it. They seem to be exactly what I need to hear, as a person who lost her belief that love can actually last forever—that it can grow and change and yet, still be just as strong years from now.
And I can feel this love in the air among all of us here, flowing thick, as though we now share a bond just by witnessing this event.
But it’s Mason’s words for Freya that have tears welling in my eyes.
“Freya, I will never be as perfect as the romantic heroes you create in your head,” he says. “But I will always strive to be good enough to inspire your talent, touch your heart, and bring you a happily ever after every day of your life. You have my respect, my admiration, my commitment, my protection, my friendship, and my eternal love.”
Chills cascade over me, watching this hardened warrior display such a unique mix of vulnerability and determination, for all of us to see.
And when they kiss for the first time as husband and wife, the only word I could use to describe it is epic.
Simply epic.
After the ceremony, Max takes a group shot of all the guests together on the beach, some of us kneeling in the sand, others stooping, others up on their tiptoes to try to get all of our faces in the shot. Then she swoops the wedding party away for a few poses. I’m grateful to have Natasha to chat with during that time, as we sip our mimosas.
Then Max calls Natasha over to be in some of the shots.
It’s appropriate, of course. Natasha is destined to be a part of the family too.
I watch from a distance as some other guest takes the camera so that Max can be in a few shots. What a picture they all make—that Adler family—now joined with Freya’s family. And stronger for it.
I feel my heart pinch with longing.
And then I hear Freya call me over. “Come on, get in here!”
My eyes widen. “No, no. That’s okay. I’m not family.” I force the words out.
Because I’d love to be a part of a family like that.
“You’re putting up with my son for a whole cruise,” Graydon’s mom says. “That’s good enough.”
“I—” I look at all of them, and then my eyes rest on Graydon as he nods to me with a grin and waves me over.
I feel my feet somehow carry me over to them.
I want a copy of this photo, I decide as it’s taken. I don’t care if I blink. I don’t care if my hair is a mess or if I’ve got something stuck in my teeth. I know that it’s a photo that I’ll want to keep forever.
No matter where this relationship leads. Because I’ve learned that this is what I want—people around me who I can rely on. People who care. A family, regardless of whether we’re bonded by blood.
Even if I have to build it on my own.
After the photos, we retreat to the outdoor venue of the hotel next to the beach. A sprawling buffet greets us and I eat way more than I should.
“Can you tell Freya has a sweet tooth?” Max laughs as she comes back to our table with her second plate of cinnamon pinwheel rolls soaked in a rum and caramel sauce. “I think three-quarters of the food up there classifies as dessert.”
“I’m not complaining,” I say, digging into my feast of some kind of raspberry coffeecake drizzled with a sweet Grand Marnier sauce.
After Mason and Freya do the customary first dance, I’m surprised that so many people join them on the dance floor at this early hour.
“You want to dance?” Graydon asks me, sipping on some top-shelf bourbon on the rocks which he tells me tastes particularly good with a stack of cinnamon pecan waffles.
“Absolutely not,” I reply quickly. “After seeing the videos of me doing the Electric Slide, I think I’m ready to retire my dancing shoes.” I laugh, looking down at the flats that I slipped on after we were out of the sand.
He stands, extending his hand, and I take it instinctively. Then after giving me a gentle tug upward, he whirls me around.
“Maybe you just need to be doing the right kind of dancing,” he murmurs against my ear just as the music turns to some painfully sappy rock ballad that is more from my dad’s era than mine.
Yet in Graydon’s arms, I can even tolerate a Michael Bolton classic.
We sway, our bodies melded, our breath in unison, as the morning sun shines down on us. The sun is the source of the warmth, I try to remind myself. A warmth that seems to be skipping over my skin and only heating my heart. But I can’t convince myself of it. Because I think the sole source of it is this man who holds me as though he cherishes this moment as much as I do.
How did this happen—me, falling in love so completely—all in a week that was supposed to be pretend?
“You’re a good dancer,” I whisper to him.
“You’re not so bad yourself.”
I giggle. “Now I know you’re just sweet-talking me.”
“No, it’s the truth. We should have been dancing like this that night at the Sail Away party.” He holds me even tighter, and as he does, I feel a slight pang of regret that we wasted any of this cruise as just friends.
Does he still want to book another cruise with me? Or was that just one of those spontaneous things people say when they’re soaring eight hundred feet above the ground like a bird?
“Well, if we had, you might have saved me a lot of embarrassment,” I point out.
“Hey, Hailey,” Natasha says as she and Carson dance our way. “We’re still on for the spa after, right?”
“Absolutely,” I say, grateful beyond measure that I have plans after this to keep me grounded. This hold he has on my heart this morning makes me feel so vulnerable. A few hours apart might help bring me back to reality… just long enough to flush the idea of weddings from me.
Because this one—this perfect beach wedding under a clear blue sky—would make any woman want to be next in line to be wed. Especially to a man like Graydon.