breath I hadn’t realized I was holding just as Poppy joined me, opposite from the men. When I shifted my attention back to the aisle, my smile grew bigger, more genuine as I watched my son heading toward me. Farah didn’t have a flower girl, but she’d insisted on making my son her ring bearer.
He was dressed in a mini-version of the same tuxes the rest of the guys were wearing, his dark hair slicked back in a more mature style than the usual mop he wore. My baby looked like a little man, and I felt a pang of sadness at how much he’d already grown.
Halfway down the aisle, he spotted me, his face splitting into a little boy grin. “Hi, Momma!” he shouted, his voice carrying over the soft strains of music filtering through the room. My chest shook with a quiet laugh as I lifted my hand to return his rambunctious wave with a subtle one of my own.
“Did I do good?” he asked in a stage whisper once he reached my side. “I didn’t fall or nothin’!”
“You did fantastic, kid,” I whispered, wrapping an arm around him in order to pull him into me. “Now we have to face forward and be quiet. Aunt Farah’s about to come through those doors any second now.”
“Okay,” he whisper-yelled, leaning against me, his face an earnest mask as he watched the double doors closely, reaching up so he could lace his fingers with the hand I had resting on his chest. Just that one simple touch from my boy made everything feel better.
The anxiety clawing at my gut began to fade. That was, until I lifted my head. My gaze instantly landed on a pair of familiar storm cloud eyes and my lungs froze solid.
That first initial look had been like an electric shock to my nervous system. Even from four rows away, I could see the intensity in his dark, swirling, stormy eyes. I’d been held captive by it for several seconds before finally being able to shake myself loose and pay attention to what was happening around me.
My body’s reaction to that one look shook me to my core. It had taken forever for my heart to stop threatening to beat out of my chest. For a while, I was worried I’d hyperventilate right up there at the altar, but I finally got myself under control.
However, I felt his gaze on me through the entire ceremony like a physical touch. It was like fire spreading across my skin, and as hard as I tried to ignore it, the sensation just wouldn’t go away.
I refused to take another look in his direction and breathed a heavy sigh of relief once it was over. I managed to push him from the back of my mind, smiling and laughing as I posed for pictures with the rest of the wedding party, and by the time we headed into the reception, I was feeling lighter.
At least until we entered the ballroom and my son let out a shriek of, “Daddy!” and took off running, the excitement at seeing Jensen radiating from his little body. I knew it was ridiculous to feel hurt. My son loved his father, that was a good thing, but there was still a very childish, selfish part of me that wanted to be my son’s favorite. I stood motionless for a second as Jensen’s face broke out with a huge, beaming grin as he crouched down, opening his arms wide, and scooping Brantley up as soon as my boy lunged for him.
I had to turn away as my throat tightened and my eyes began to burn. It was just allergies, of course. It had absolutely nothing to do with seeing Jensen’s expression radiating love and happiness when he looked at my son. No freaking way.
I made it through dinner, toasts, and cake cutting without letting my animosity show. Or at least I hoped I did. Once the party started, I tried to keep myself distracted. I chatted with Caroline and Poppy. I danced with Scooter. I did a shot with my boss, Darla, at the bar, but the whole time, I could feel him watching, that prickle of awareness, a constant reminder that he was nearby somewhere, tracking every move I made.
Brantley let out a loud peel of laughter as I swung him in a circle, dipping him dramatically as the song we’d been dancing to came to an end. I lowered him to the ground, panting