Soulmates & Twin Flames

31 - Rehearsal Dinner

We don't mention the wedding or Roman's name again...even when August is finally here, the wedding's a week away, and it's time for rehearsal dinner.

I'm leaning toward the dressing table's mirror in our bedroom, trying to put on large, sparkling earrings. My make up is done and my hair is tied up in a bun. I've settled for a simple, powder-green dress—no cleavage or anything too revealing. I'm not even wearing heels, I have flats on. I don't want any unnecessary attention tonight.

Frankly, I don't want to go. But I've got to put Nate's mind at ease. Okay, maybe I have to put my mind at ease too—prove to myself that Roman is ancient history. There's no need for my hands to be shaky, or my legs to feel like jelly. Because it's true...

Fine. Roman isn't ancient, but he is history. All I need to do to prove it is to get in the car, enter the hotel and sit next to Nate until the end of dinner. Nothing's going to happen.

I shove my phone into a tiny bag and step out of the bedroom. The mechanic voice of a news anchor reaches the hallway. I muster a sweet smile and enter the living room.

There he is. My handsome man looks extra hot in an off-white, linen suit. He is sitting on the couch...pouring whiskey into a glass from a nearly empty bottle. My smile immediately disappears.

"Very mature, Nate."

He chuckles and raises his glass toward the door. Can he even see where I am? Because I'm nowhere near where he's aiming at. His cheeks are pink, tie is loose, shirt's top buttons are undone and his hair is a wet, sticky mess!

I turn the TV off and fold my arms. "How are you planning to drive?"

"I'm not driving. You are," he says, downing his drink in one go. His face sours, but then he smiles again and starts pouring another drink. "Couldn't go without you, babe."

Great. I'm dealing with a man-child. "I thought we were a team, Nate. I wish you trusted me a little."

Nate stops raising the glass to his lips. His gaze lingers on the amber liquid waving in front of him. Letting out a shaky sigh, he leaves his drink back on the coffee table and scratches his forehead.

Do I need to feel sorry for him? Because I don't! Not even when he tries to push himself up to stand, and falls back on the couch.

He is unbelievable. Irresponsible. Stupid!

I march around the coffee table, grab Nate's hand and pull him up. Smokey whiskey reeks out of his pores as if he's bathed in it. How is he going to make it through the night when he can't even stand on his own?

Swallowing my harsh words, I slip under his arm and walk him to the entrance. Nate leans against the wall to find his balance while I open the door.

"Sorry, Abbs," he mumbles, rubbing his cheek.

"It's fine," I snap. "Do you still want to go?"

He nods, reaching out for support.

Once we're in the elevator, Nate rests his forehead against the mirror. His breath fogs around his reflection. Did he fall he asleep? He's groaning, so probably not... I turn my gaze at the descending digital numbers on the panel.

Truth is, I can't bear to look at him. If I do, I'll either scream at his stupid face, start laughing, or cry. There's no in between. It aches my heart, though, to see him this way. He deserves to be in the cover of his own magazine in that suit and light blue shirt. I love how his stripy tie matches my dress and reflects the lighter shades of green in his eyes. He could be center of attention tonight as the charming best man, and be my rock... But it seems like everybody's going to remember him as the groom's drunk brother—including me.