And in a matter of seconds, I can see the top of Luna’s head, right next to Cohen.

With every step we take, drawing closer, my dread ratchets up to entirely new levels, until finally we reach Declan. Thad is the first to congratulate him, with a hug and a pat to the back. Given Thad’s bitterness toward the whole Wedding Game, I can’t quite believe how calm he is. I know he said we didn’t have a chance at winning, and I really think he’s taking that to heart. Instead of bashing the wedding, pointing out what he doesn’t like and how he thinks ours is better, he’s just soaking in the moment.

And it’s somehow more terrifying than the hysterical brother who cried and screamed his way through the competition.

Naomi is next.

“Congrats, Declan. That was so beautiful. I’m really happy for you guys.”

“Thank you,” he says and then turns toward me.

I swallow hard and plaster on a smile. “Congratulations, Declan.” I hold my hand out to him and he squeezes it, a little too firmly. A warning sign, maybe, of a protective brother-in-law.

“Thank you.” He leans in. Very quietly he says, “Don’t hurt her.”

I don’t have a chance to respond because I’m ushered to Cohen, who literally makes my balls crawl up into my taint with the look he gives me.

I hold my hand out again and swallow hard. “Congratulations, Cohen. Your vows were beautiful.”

He takes my hand, another firm grasp distracting me, for just a moment, from how close Luna is—so close that if I move a few inches, she would be directly in front of me.

“Thank you,” he says, leaning in just like Declan did. He whispers, “Be good to her.”

When he pulls away, he pats me on the back and nudges me right in front of Luna.

Slowly, she looks up at me, her eyes watery, her smile fake. I know what a real smile from this girl looks like, and this is not it.

Immediately, tension starts to build between us as we stare at each other in silence.

I hate this. I hate standing in front of this girl—my girl—and not being able to sweep her into my arms. I hate the uncertainty between us. I hate that I can’t reach out, cup her jaw, and feel her lean into my palm right before I bend down to kiss her. I hate that I can’t hug her, congratulate her, hold her hand, and walk her into the reception, basking in the knowledge that she’s all mine.

“Uh, congratulations,” I finally say. “The ceremony was great.”

Lame.

It’s so fucking lame.

Tell her how beautiful she is. How she took your breath away the moment you saw her. Tell her you couldn’t take your eyes off her the entire ceremony. Tell her you’re pathetically sorry and would do anything to make things right again.

But I can’t seem to move my lips, so I stand there, stiff, unsure of what to do next.

Gripping her bouquet, she gives me a curt nod. “Yeah, thanks . . . it was lovely.”

Okay . . . uh, this is probably going down as one of the worst moments of my life.

It’s as if I’m trapped in my own body. My heart is begging my brain to say something, do something, to let her know how much I love her, but my brain is on lockdown, not letting out any of the feelings my heart is throwing at it.

I give her a nod and take a step back. “Okay, well, have a good one.” And then I leave, feeling so sick to my stomach that I stride past Naomi and Thad, who are waiting for me, and straight out the door of the Shed, onto the cobblestoned streets of SoHo. I press my hand into my hair and look around. A Postmates deliveryman on a bike with food in his basket is screaming by me, sending me back against the old brick building, just as I hear the door open.

“Alec,” Naomi says behind me, her hand resting on my back. “Are you okay?”

I shake my head. “No. I can’t . . . fuck, I don’t know how to act around her. I can’t be here right now. I don’t want to make it weird for her, not on her brother’s day.”

“Are you going to leave?”

“Yeah.” I look to the side. “I am. Can you tell the producers I wasn’t feeling well or some bullshit like that?”

“What about tomorrow?”

“What’s going on?” Thad asks, coming outside as well.

“I’m, uh . . . I’m going to head home. Not feeling well.”

“Oh.” Thad’s brow creases. “Okay.”

Naomi gives me a look that begs me to stay, but I really can’t. I don’t want to make things uncomfortable for Luna.

“I’ll see you guys tomorrow. Just need some rest.”

“Drink water,” Thad says, actually sounding concerned.

“Yeah, sure.” I give them a parting wave and then take off down the block, flagging a taxi to get me the hell out of here.

Alec: Do you have Xanax?

Lucas: I take it the wedding didn’t go well today.

Alec: Wedding was fine, the encounter in the receiving line I had with Luna was fucking awful.

Lucas: Oh damn, a receiving line? There’s no way of getting around that. What did you say to her?

Alec: Some stupid shit about the wedding being nice. I really wanted to tell her how gorgeous she looked. I mean, fuck, dude, she looked so goddamn beautiful it hurt to even look at her.

Lucas: I like seeing you lovesick. It proves you’re not the robot after all.

Alec: How are you in any way being helpful right now?

Lucas: Oh, you wanted me to be helpful? Sorry, didn’t quite get that cue from you. How did the rest of the night go?

Alec: Not sure, I left after the ceremony.

Lucas: Ahh, chickened out. Nice.

Alec: I didn’t chicken out. It was obvious from the tension between us that she didn’t want me there. You should have seen the fake smile she gave me. She practically begged me to leave with her eyes.

Lucas: Ouch. And you have two more days to be around her. That should be fun.

Alec: Seriously, why am I even texting you?

Lucas: Beats the hell out of me.

Alec: So no Xanax?

Lucas: No, but my suggestion is to talk to her, and not in a reception line. But that’s a novel idea—you’d never go for it. Instead you take the hard ass route of avoidance. Maybe one day you’ll grow a pair . . . sigh one day.

Alec: I’m saving this text. Hopefully you’ll go through the same torture someday, and I can throw this back in your face.

Lucas: Try all you want, but I’m a smart motherfucker when it comes to relationships.

Alec: Says the single guy.

Lucas: I’m picky. I’m not about to jump into a relationship to jump into one. You have to use your head, man. And you’re being a dipshit right now. You love her right? Then go after her. Stop hiding.

Alec: Why did I envision you clapping at me when I read that?

Lucas: Mentally I was. Come on, man. Go get her.

Alec: Easier said than done.

“Can we just talk about the elephant in the room?” Naomi says as she, Thad, and I stand at a cocktail table by ourselves, each with drink in hand—two beers and one iced tea.

The ceremony is over, Luciana and Amanda are wives, and they looked gorgeous together. Their vows were very heartfelt and touching, and their friend, who was the minister, did a fantastic job. The room was full of love for them.

“What elephant?” I ask, even though I could list two right off the top of my head: Thad’s coldness toward me and my inability to stop staring at Luna, who’s across the room with Declan and Cohen, wearing a cute black dress that flairs out at her hips and holding a glass of wine.

Naomi leans in and whispers, “Helen’s hair.”

Thad and I snort at the same time.

“I didn’t know a woman’s hair could go that high,” I admit, spotting Helen’s head easily against the crowd. It’s as if someone took a beehive, wrapped her hair around it, and then shellacked it in place with hairpins and hairspray. Atrocious.

“It terrified me when I saw her at first,” Thad adds.

“I heard your gasp,” Naomi says, chuckling. “I think the entire wedding gasped the minute the doors opened, revealing her hairdo. I wonder if she’s hiding something under there.”

“Yes,” I say, snapping my fingers at Naomi. “She’s hiding something. What could it be?”

Naomi taps her chin. “A camera? Maybe she’s going undercover for The Wedding Game, trying to get some dirt for them. If she starts asking us questions about the show, be on guard.”

“Good point.”

“Could be vodka, since they went cheap on the bar selection,” Thad says, eyeing his Bud Light. “Not even an IPA. I thought this was a wedding for lesbians. Aren’t they supposed to love IPAs?”

“Not all lesbians wear tool belts and drink IPAs,” Naomi says, rolling her eyes. “You should know that after spending two months with them.”

“But come on . . . Bud Light?” Thad says just as Cohen and Declan step up to our table.

Oh fuck. My back stiffens, and I glance around for Luna. But I don’t see her.

“What are you talking about over here?” Declan asks, so casual.

“What Helen is hiding in her hair,” Naomi answers before sipping on her iced tea.

Cohen and Declan both look toward Helen and chuckle. “Probably a microphone. I can imagine her trying to serenade Luciana and Amanda later,” Cohen says.