Page 85 of 4 Weddings and a Feud
But Cierra turned her face at exactly the wrong moment, and his lips met hers. Alex stumbled back. “Sorry, I?—”
“What thefuck,Villa?” the groom roared. Around them, people Alex hadn’t noticed before gasped.
“I didn’t mean to?—”
“Parking lot. Now.” The groom’s face was red.
“I’m not going to the parking lot with you,” Alex said. “I’m just here to?—”
“I know why you’re here. You can’t have her back!” the groom roared in a soap opera–worthy performance. It seemed he, too, had a flair for the dramatic.
Behind him, someone stopped the aerialist’s music.
Alex put up his hands. “I don’t want?—”
“Fuck what you want.” The groom grasped his arm and tugged him along the path toward the parking lot.
Alex had two choices: dig in his heels and resist, which would surely get him punched and might splatter blood on Cierra’s gown, a problem Mary would have to deal with; or go with the groom, also with a one-hundred percent chance of getting punched but likely to create fewer problems for Mary.
Shaking off the groom’s grip, he walked beside him along the path to the concrete parking lot. That was going to hurt—a lot—when he fell. Why couldn’t it be sun-softened asphalt?
Sunset turned the pavement rosy pink. Alex squinted against the golden rays that speared into his eyes. “Look, I’m not here for Cierra. I’m here to see?—”
Pow.
Alex doubled over at the unexpected pain radiating from his midsection. Cierra’s husband didn’t punch as hard as Mary’s brothers, but any blow to the solar plexus hurt like hell. Blinded by the sun, he hadn’t even braced for impact. He coughed on his shiny dress shoes, willing the bile not to rise into his throat.
“Stand up and fight!” the other man shouted.
Still bent at the waist, Alex held up a hand. “I don’t want to fight you. It’s your wedding day.”
“I’ll fight anyone who touches my wife!” He grasped Alex’s shoulder and pulled him up.
Pain sizzled in Alex’s stomach as he straightened. Resisting would make everything worse. This time, he saw the groom’s fist coming for his face, and he braced. Agony lit up his jaw, and his head snapped to the side. He stumbled back, lost his balance, and fell on his ass.
Fortunately, his suit saved him from road rash. Unfortunately, the thin linen split with a ripping sound.
The groom grunted and shook out his hand. His chest heaved.
Sitting on the concrete, Alex touched his jaw, then worked it around. No teeth loose, and nothing appeared broken. “We good now?” he muttered, glancing at the crowd that had gathered. Of course their phones were out, recording his humiliation. His tongue felt thick, and his words slurred.
“Yeah.” The groom examined his reddened knuckles. Then, louder, he said, “Stay away from my wife.”
“Got it.” Alex lowered his voice. “Know where I can get some ice?”
“Kitchen. There’s an entrance around to the right.”
“Thanks, man.” Alex squinted at the guy. “Good luck to you and Cierra.”
The groom stepped closer. “You better fucking stay away from her.”
He held up both hands. “I promise. I came here for your wedding planner.”
The groom laughed. “You came here for the wedding planner?”
“I love her. I came here to tell her that. Say one word about her, and the punching bag punches back.”
“Nah, we’re cool,” the groom said. “I wish you’d told me that before…you know.”
