A Flighty Fake Boyfriend (Men of St. Nachos #2) - Z.A. Maxfield Page 0,48

I would be.

I simply couldn’t hide the grief of letting it all go.

Epic drew me into the shadows where he cupped my face with both hands.

“It’s okay,” he whispered. “It’s okay to feel.”

“I know.” I glanced toward the sky, willing my tears to stay in my eyes but feeling them slide down my cheeks. “I’ve played this same tune for far too long. It’s only an earworm now.”

“Grief is weird.” He kissed my forehead. “Grief is over when it’s over. Are you sure you want to do this? We could go back.”

“I’m fine.” I would not let my emotions dictate to me like this. “And the food is bound to be spectacular.”

He took both my hands in his. “And you promised me dancing.”

“Plus, I’ll get a boner every time I remember I’m wearing your butt plug.”

“I doubt you’ll forget even for a second.”

True that. I felt it with Every. Step. I. Took.

“There will be payback someday.”

“Bring it.” Epic laughed and shifted onto the path again. The wide white wedge of his grin battled the brilliance of the sun. “Come on. Let’s do this thing.”

I’d wanted to avoid Luis’s wedding, but I’d sucked up my courage and done everything I could to mitigate the fallout from it. Now the wedding was upon me, and I only wanted it over with.

Except the parts with Epic.

Epic was worth a lot of fallout.

Smiling, I let him take the lead.

Chapter Seventeen

With over one hundred guests in attendance at the ceremony, Epic and I were seated so far toward the back I spent more time people watching than listening to Luis and William make their vows.

The grooms looked spectacular in matching morning suits—black tailcoats and trousers, white vests, white butterfly-collar shirts, and red-and-gold ties—a nod to Luis’s family colors.

The wedding party echoed the color scheme. Luis’s mother wore a crimson gown, his father, a vest in gold with a red tie. The wedding party consisted of siblings and relatives, all of whom bore the dark-haired, olive-skinned beauty of Luis’s family or the almost fae-blond locks and pale eyes of William’s Norwegian forebears.

Epic and I made the long trek down an excruciating receiving line. I had to remind myself that some of these people were still my friends. His mother had liked me. His father had often counted on me as a partner when the family played bridge. Of course they greeted me graciously. They welcomed me like a long-lost relative.

We found our place cards at a table with a group of men and women I didn’t recognize, but I was used to gala fundraising events, and I knew how to ingratiate myself with people I didn’t know.

I had to shift every now and again to get relief from my silent companion. I’d actually never had the pleasure before. I’d certainly never considered wearing a butt plug outside the bedroom. Epic’s eyes tracked my each and every movement.

He hid a feral smile through the entire dinner.

After dining, the grooms danced with their mothers. Luis and William led their first dance with Tchaikovsky’s Sleeping Beauty waltz, which I thought was a pretty interesting choice. For one thing, it had a certain Disney-princess vibe, and for another, Tchaikovsky was kind of a reprobate and not because he was gay.

But whatever. It wasn’t my wedding after all.

I pulled Epic onto the dance floor.

“I need you to know something,” I told him.

“Yeah?” He’d had too much champagne and had taken to peopling with a vengeance.

“When we’re on the dance floor, I lead.”

“Fair enough.” He blushed sweetly. “You’d better. I know zip about dancing.”

“Come with me, dear boy, and all will be made clear.”

Oh God.

Nothing had prepared me for holding Epic close in formal wear. He moved stiffly at first. He didn’t trust himself not to step on my feet. He didn’t respond to the pressure I put on his hips to turn him or the way I subtly changed directions, but my mother had pretensions, and she’d enrolled me in cotillion during my first year in middle school. Since then, I’d found ballroom dancing to be an enjoyable—if slightly ridiculous—pastime.

“You’re really good at this.” Epic beamed at me. “I wish we’d thought of getting in some practice before the event.”

“I didn’t think this far ahead.”

“I didn’t think it’d be fun.” He’d relaxed enough to let me reel him out and pull him back with a tiny flourish. “Do you dance a lot?”

“If there’s dancing at a fundraiser or something. When I travel abroad, it’s considered a plus to be able to