Make Me Yours (Bellamy Creek #2) - Melanie Harlow Page 0,63
before I broke down. “In fact, I insist.”
“Cheyenne.”
“Let’s move that way.” I took the lead, maneuvering us over to the side where Mariah stood. “Hey sweetie,” I said, smiling at her. “Want to dance with your dad?”
Her eyes lit up. “Can I?”
“Of course,” I said, letting him go. “He’s all yours.”
“Yay!” She spread her arms, and Cole embraced her the way he’d held me, dancing her back out onto the floor without another glance in my direction.
I stood next to Mrs. Mitchell for a moment, a smile pasted on my face, laughing a little despite myself when Mariah tried executing a few fancy twirls. When the song was over, I applauded along with the rest of the guests, then watched as Griffin brought my mom onto the floor, and Blair asked Charlie Frankel to dance.
Cole and Mariah ended up on the other side of the room, but I felt his eyes on me. Careful not to meet them, I watched my brother dance with my mom and missed my dad with a ferocious ache in my heart. I wiped away tears when the song ended.
At that point, the DJ played an up-tempo oldie and invited everyone to the dance floor. I saw Mariah begging her dad to take her back out there, and Cole arguing before finally giving in. Feeling like I could use a drink, I made my way to the bar.
Glass of wine in my hand, I stood way over to one side, hoping to fade into the shadows. I hated myself for being such a party pooper at my brother’s wedding—I was the maid of honor, for fuck’s sake—but I felt like I just needed a little timeout before getting back on the dance floor. I decided I’d give myself ten minutes to breathe and finish my wine, then I’d set aside my feelings and act like a best friend and good sister should.
Even if I had to fake it.
It worked, to a point.
I drank more wine. I danced right out of my shoes. I smiled for pictures and laughed with friends and even went out onto the floor when Blair tossed the bouquet—which I missed, much to the dismay of my mother, who pointed out that I could have dived for it if I’d really cared.
But I discovered that faking a good time led to actually having a good time, even if beneath the surface, I was still heartbroken over Cole.
He danced a few times with Mariah, but other than that he mostly hung out with the guys near the bar. Our table was clearly my turf, and when I wasn’t dancing, I sat there with Blair or Frannie or Mariah or my mom, sipping wine and trying not to look in his direction.
But I could feel his eyes on me.
Around eleven, the DJ announced the last song, an old Nat King Cole ballad my dad used to love. Misty-eyed, I pulled my heels back on and watched Griffin and Blair moving to the music. I was so emotional, I didn’t see Cole approach.
“Cheyenne?” His voice was low in my ear. “Would you like to dance?”
I looked over my shoulder, my stomach flip-flopping. “Oh! Um, sure. Okay.”
He offered his hand, and I took it, rising to my feet and walking on unsteady legs onto the dance floor. When he took me into his arms, he held me much closer than he had before. I was positive he could feel my heart pounding against his chest.
For a minute or so, we danced in silence, and I tried to let myself enjoy the fact that he’d actually asked me—this wasn’t out of duty. He’d crossed the room to take my hand and hold me one more time. So why did it feel like the consolation prize?
“Did you have fun tonight?” he asked.
“Yes. Did you?”
“Yes. I think I danced more tonight than I have in thirty years.”
I smiled. “I liked when Mariah stood on your feet.”
He groaned. “As if dancing wasn’t hard enough for me.”
“I don’t know. I think you move okay.”
He said nothing, but pulled me even closer. Feelings bubbled perilously near the surface.
“My dad loved this song,” I said, my throat tight. “It reminds me of him.”
“He was a good guy.”
I nodded. Took a deep breath. “We really missed him today.” Then I remembered that I probably wasn’t the only one struggling with grief. “Was today tough for you?”
“Yes.”
Even though I’d suspected as much, his words still caused a sharp twinge in my chest.