Shame: A Stepbrother Romance by Emma Soule Page B

for Andrew. Did he manage to find the place? Did he get here on time? My phone is in the small clutch I’ve left in the dressing room, so I have no way of knowing if he got lost on the way. In any case, I don’t see him. Instead, I see an eager crowd of guests, seated on the benches before the altar or gathered on either side, all eyes turned towards the door we will be walking through in a moment.
    I’m as nervous as if it was my own wedding. What if I stumble? What if I fall or mess up my speech later? I bet Andrew’s date never falls or messes up. Just quit it , I tell myself for the hundredth time since yesterday. I don’t understand why my mind just keeps going there if I realize it is both painful and fruitless.
    “Okay, go,” says the smart woman beside me, dressed in a dark suit and sporting a hands-free device and a clipboard. She looks like a secret agent, not like a wedding one.
    I push the door open and a valet takes over from the outside, holding it for all of us to pass through. The crowd stands up as one and starts clapping and cheering. I feel like I’m burning with stage fright and despite the chill, I feel the beads of sweat form on my temples.
    It’s over much sooner than I think and I’m standing by the wedding arch without any incidents. Ashleigh’s mom is a minister and she is officiating the wedding. She is nothing like my own mother. I’ve only met her a couple of times and I already feel like I can tell her anything, while I hardly ever share anything personal with my mom. The warm smile on Ashleigh’s mom’s face at the sight of her baby daughter walking towards her hand in hand with her dad brings happy tears to my eyes. Sean has taken his proud position on the other side of the arch, beaming at his approaching breath-taking bride.
    I discreetly wipe a tear that’s managed to roll past my pooling eyelids and take a moment to look at the crowd. I’m not the only one wiping. Women of all ages are sniffling and sighing and I wonder if it’s because they are so moved on Ashleigh’s behalf or because they thought about their own lives and whether they’d ever be in the place of the glowing woman walking down the aisle.
    I admit I wonder about that for a second too before something else catches my attention. In the far distance, beyond the club house and the lawn, in the driveway a figure is emerging from a sleek black sports car. As soon as the person steps onto the grass, the vehicle speeds off, but I am pretty sure I manage to catch a glimpse of rich cinnamon waves.
    I’m having a hard time concentrating on Ashleigh’s mom speaking as I can’t tear my eyes away from the approaching man. My brother. He is buttoning up his jacket as if he’s just put it on and I’m surprised he is not zipping up his pants too. Okay, I’m not surprised, but my cynical mind has gone into forbidden territory once again. I’ve just pictured him getting a blow job from his mysterious woman friend right there on the parking lot and my blood is boiling with unfounded jealousy.
    Who does that? Who comes up with unlikely scenarios in their head just to feel a sharper, almost physical pain?
    He nods politely to the people at the edge of the crowd and settles in among them, as comfortable as if he is among old friends. He cranes his neck to see beyond the heads in front of him, though he really doesn’t need to. He is easily the tallest person present. Then he catches sight of me and smiles, waving, like he is so happy to see me.
    What is wrong with me? I am missing my best friend’s wedding in order to dissect every micro movement of a brother I hardly know, but who has managed to take more space in my head than anything else I’ve cared for previously. It doesn’t make any sense.
    I shake my head and turn to face Ashleigh. She glances sideways at me and winks. Yes, that’s why I’m here, I remind myself. To be happy for her.
     
     
    “Hey,” Andrew says and whistles, “Look at you! I knew it