Smug Bastard - Stacey Marie Brown Page 0,68

narrowed, rage flashing in her eyes. “I was thinking of Kyle. He really wanted him here.”

A dry snort pushed through my lips. “Right.”

“Okay, enough, you two.” Mom held up her arms. “Two minutes and you two are already at each other’s throats. This week is about your brother and Amie. This is already a stressful time; don’t make it more so.”

My head went down, my mother having the power to make me feel bad in an instant. “Sorry.” I rubbed my head. “I’m just tired and need a shower.”

“Then go take a nap and freshen up. Kyle and Amie will be over in an hour for dinner. And we need to start on the out-of-town guests’ gift baskets. You have a fitting first thing tomorrow and are helping Kasey with the flower order after. This is a full week, and I need all hands on deck.” She motioned for me to go inside.

“I’ll get your stuff.” Dad squeezed my shoulder, walking around to the back to grab my bags.

Kasey still glared over at me, hurt turning up her pert nose.

“Kasey…” I sucked in. Most of my anger wasn’t meant for her. It was at him and most of all, myself. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m confused.” She looked more disappointed. “I thought the whole point of you picking him up was so he’d be here for Kyle’s wedding.” She shook her head, befuddled. “What happened?”

“His past happened.”

The week was exhausting and hellish, making me realize I never wanted to have a big wedding. My sister put me to work in her flower shop working between all the bridesmaid’s duties. Being so busy kept my mind mostly off him, though the bastard still found a way to slip through far more than I wanted him to, especially with his name constantly being tossed out. No one realized every time it struck the air, it felt like a dagger in my chest.

Kyle muttered something about talking to him, but as much as I wanted to ask, I forced myself to leave the room, taking Goat on a walk. I couldn’t do that to myself. It was over. It never should have started.

I wanted to roll into a ball and sob until the pain in my chest released, but I didn’t, like I was punishing myself, like I deserved the pain for my wrongdoings.

Karma.

Friday at the rehearsal dinner I faked a smile and talked with family and friends. I played the role of the ideal sister and bridesmaid, making sure Amie and Kyle were happy, cramming every moment with activity to keep my eyes off the door of the banquet room of the fancy restaurant.

A part of me dreaded the idea of him walking in, but a bigger part of me longed for it.

Hoped.

But he didn’t.

Kasey was convinced he’d come, and I knew in her head she had this grand fantasy of him strolling in, their eyes meeting, and boom—love and happiness. It was pointless to try and convince her he wouldn’t be showing up. She was determined to live in her make-believe world where she and Smith were meant to be.

Knowing Smith better now, I had no doubt they would never work. My sister was the type who had a spot for everything in her house, made labels for her shoes and lunches, organized her stationery. Her house was spotless and magazine ready. She wanted a handsome, rich man on her arm who wouldn’t leave his boxers on the floor and would sweep her away on vacations, letting Mom watch their 2.5 kids and a dog that didn’t shed.

Nothing wrong with that… It just wasn’t Smith. Not even close.

He was raw, rough, fierce, and out of the box. He was the kind to leave his muddy boots on the floor, filthy clothes next to the hamper, but fuck you so completely against the wall the moment he stepped in the door that you’d forget the world existed.

A shiver ran up my spine, the image so unbearably real in my head it made me falter.

“You okay?” Mom came up behind me, rubbing my back as I packed up the picture collages of Amie and Kyle and collected the flower arrangements that Kasey wanted to reuse on the outside tables tomorrow.

“Fine.” I placed the beautiful flowers in a container. Kasey was an amazing florist, each arrangement so pretty they almost looked fake.

“You sure?” Mom handed me another arrangement, her voice full of concern.

“Yeah, I’m great.”

“You have said that all week and I still don’t buy it.”

“What do