6. Seth

SETH

I don't knowwhere Bridget is.

She disappeared right after the photos of the wedding party were taken and hasn't returned to the gardens since.

I'm doing everything in my power not to ask if anyone knows where she went or to go after her but every nerve in my body screams at me, begging to go after her.

It's not even just a bad habit from all these years of adoring her. It's something necessary to my lifeforce. I feel like I'm dying not knowing where she is.

It was like this when she went away to college too. Didn't matter how busy I was with my work, didn't matter the pictures I saw she posted on social media. I was desperate to know that she was safe at all times.

That's when the texts really began. My check-ins. My begging to know where she was. Of course, she didn't see it as begging. She saw it as manipulation.

I wasn't able to enjoy the rehearsal dinner whatsoever last night after our confrontation under the column. I had to watch as Dory flirted with her, ogled at her, sat next to her, the place I have wanted to take for ten years.

And then I had to watch her walk down the aisle with him. Arm and arm. The way he leaned down and whispered something teasing in her ear. How it made her laugh.

Drove me fucking crazy.

But what really pushed me off the deep end was Bridget. How beautiful she looked in the olive-colored dress that brought out the green in her eyes. The elegant line of her bare collarbone. Her head held high, dark hair in luscious tumbling curls.

God, what am I supposed to do?

Keep it together, Seth.

That doesn't stop me from scanning the garden for any sign of her just one more time.

Instead, I lock eyes with Mason.

He's standing with Nate, talking low and close. He jerks his head to draw me closer.

I head over. That will hopefully be a good distraction. "What's up?"

"You still good to help us tonight?" Mason asks.

I smile. "Of course, I am."

Nate sighs. "We're nervous, man."

"Most guys have to propose on their own," I say. "They don't have backup."

Mason scoffs. "You know it's not like that."

I roll my eyes. "I'm joking, joking." I grab both my friends' shoulders and give them a squeeze. "It's going to be great."

They both smile.

When I found out that they'd gotten permission from Sonia and Edwin to propose to Laney at the reception, I offered my services right away. After all, I was one of the first ones in on the relationship, when Mason called me almost in panic when they were in the cabin where their throuple's story began.

Now they've been official for about eight months and, while I think it's a little fast for a proposal, when you know, you know, I guess.

"So, you'll go out and make sure the lights are set up, right? Abigail's on musician duty and–"

Laney appears at Mason's shoulder. "What are you guys talking about?"

All three of us jump at the sound of her voice.

Mason gasps. "God, you scared me!"

Laney frowns, smiling at us like we're dummies. "Sorry, didn't realize you weren't ready for a jump scare."

Nate tries to laugh.

Laney puts her hands on her hips. In her heels today, she's almost as tall as me. "Seriously, why are you being all secretive?"

Mason and Nate look at me for an excuse because "planning our proposal to you" isn't going to cut it if they want to keep the element of surprise.

"Just checking if they've seen Bridget." God, I'm obsessed with her.

Laney looks around as I've done twenty times already. "Oh, weird. She was in the photos, right?"

"Yeah, pretty sure…" I trail off when I spot Dory stroll by. On his own. Tip tapping away on his phone. The business type. Doesn't have time even for personal events like a wedding. Works hard, plays hard.

Yeah, don't want him anywhere near Bridget.

"Sorry, I gotta go do something." I duck away from the conversation, leaving Mason and Nate to stew in their nervous energy in front of their soon-to-be fiancée.

My focus is lasered in on Dory.

He must feel me coming because he lifts his head and locks eyes with me. Offering me one of those smug I'm-god's-gift-to-women smiles.

I'd love to punch that smile off his face.

"What's up, mate?" he asks as I close in.

Shit. I can't just come up and start talking about Bridget, can I? Would that be weird? Do I need to make small talk? "Enjoying yourself?"

Smooth, Seth.

Dory holds up his phone and grimaces. "Work never stops, does it?"

"Know the feeling," I say. "I'm in tech."

"Edwin mentioned. Baby prodigy or something, eh?" Dory pushes his elbow toward me, not daring to touch me.

I nod, attempt to smile.

I made my fortune at fifteen by working on a crypto algorithm that took off like gangbusters, especially when the market blew up. Now I'm proprietor of my own financial software company. Been working since before I could drive.

No wonder I'm tense.

"Yeah, hey, listen–" Fuck small talk. "I want to talk to you about Bridget."

Dory's eyebrows pop up. "Oh?"

"Yeah, just…I'm her… brother." God, I feel sick. "So, you know, I'm just looking out for her."

He nods. "That's good of you."

You probably wouldn't say that if you knew the way I think about her most the time. "I can tell that the two of you are getting kind of close."

Dory's eyelashes flutter, eyes rolling back. "I mean, you know, it's all in good fun."

The exact reason I was wary of him. He's just biding time. Having fun.

Bridget isn't deserving of some guy's attempt at fun at a wedding.

"I totally get it. But Bridget, she's sensitive."

The Englishman cocks his head to the side. "Oh?"

"She's…" Now or never, Seth. What kind of guy are you going to be? "Just gotten out of a relationship."

A liar, apparently.

"Oh," Dory repeats, this time with a knowingness I wish I could celebrate with a happy dance.

"Right. So, she's very vulnerable, and I wouldn't want her getting confused that your flirtations are anything more than–"

Dory puts his hand to his chest. "Oh, of course, mate," he says in a dower, low voice. Quintessential British person. "You needn't worry. I'll be very careful. In fact, I'll keep it strictly friendly from now."

"Yeah, thanks. I appreciate that."

He holds out his hand to me. We shake on it.

I'm such a slime ball for lying like that, making up a relationship Bridget hasn't been in. But it was the right thing to do. That way, I protect her.

And protecting her means protecting me.

Shit, maybe I am a manipulator.

Before I can make other false claims, Solomon approaches. A relief for pulling me from this conversation. A shame for the way I just lied about his daughter.

"Am I interrupting some sort of business deal?" he says with a daddish lilt on the phrase "business deal."

"Always," Dory says, then gives us both a nod. "Gentlemen."

The guy might be a Casanova, but he knows how to read a situation.

"What's up, Sol?" I ask.

Solomon grabs my shoulder. "Your mother wants a picture of the four of us while the photographer is doing portraits, but I can't find Bridget. You mind taking a look inside?"

I look back at the manor house and gulp. "Sure." I try to play it cool.

Solomon smiles. "Thank you, Seth."

I head out of the garden and up the stairs to enter the mansion. Past the column where I feel the ghost of Bridget and me sniping at each other in low tones.

All I can hear in my ears is my heartbeat.

Where could she be? Camped out in the bride's quarters? Trying to calm her nerves with a glass of champagne?

I walk the halls calling out her name. Event staff are scurrying past me carrying trays and linens, trying to set up the reception room while cocktails take place out in front of the manor.

If I know Bridget, which I think I do in some respects, she wouldn't be camped out around the chaos. She'd be taking a breath somewhere quiet.

I head up the grand staircase to the second floor and head to the west wing. Us guys got ready at the opposite end of the hall in the west wing from the girls' room.

Once I get to the bride's quarters, I rap on the door. There's no response.

With care, I open the door and peer inside.

"Bridget?"

The empty room doesn't answer.

I begin to close the door but stop when I hear the sound of a woman's voice. Distant and muffled. In pain?

"Bridget?" I say again.

Still nothing. But another…moan?

I go into the room and stand there for a moment, waiting for the next sound.

Sure enough, with my ears tuned to the sound, I am able to identify the direction. And it's coming from a door I didn't see before. Must be a bathroom or…

"Oh god…" the voice whimpers.

Okay, that's not pain. That's arousal.

And it's not just any woman's voice.

It's Bridget's.

"Bridget?" I ask once more, except my voice is nothing more than a whisper. I'm not sure how to keep my nerves steady. If she's in there fucking some guy, I'm going to lose it. But if she's alone…

I can feel blood rushing to my cock already.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," I hear from behind the door.

I stop in front of it, stare at the wooden panel. I can't very well interrupt, can I?

Then she'll know I heard her, and she'll be embarrassed, most likely angrier at me than she already is. But if I stand here and listen–

"Get out of my head…"

Yeah, there's no way I'm walking away.

"No, no. Shit." She huffs out a long breath.

I smile to myself. She sounds frustrated.

Is she touching herself? I don't hear the breath or sounds of someone else…

I'm growing harder by the second. I wish I wasn't…

"Come on, I'm– I'm going to–"

I grab the doorframe and close my eyes. All I want for her is this release.

She sounds so desperate, so needy.

I've been there. So many times.

"Fuck, Seth, please."

My eyes shoot open.

Did she just say my name?

"I hate that you do this to me…" her voice pitches higher at the end of her sentence.

God grant me the strength not to tear open this door right this fucking second and show her what I am capable of doing to her.

"Seth, Seth, Se–" The last mention of my name is interrupted by a shrieking sigh.

My cock jumps in my pants. All I'd have to do is touch it and I'd come, Jesus Christ. I try and steady my breath, think nasty gross thoughts that will reduce my horniness.

That's better…mildly so, but better.

There is silence for a few moments.

Then, I hear the door handle jostle.

Shit.

I stumble back, hurry out of the bride's quarters, and stand in the hall and wait for her to emerge. A few seconds pass. Then a minute.

Finally, the door flies open, and Bridget appears, cheeks flushed from her release.

"Hey," I say, my smile not able to hide my nerves.

Bridget leaps into the air. "Oh, my god!"

"Sorry, sorry, I didn't mean to scare you. I–"

"What the hell are you doing just standing here like a creep? What the fuck is…" She tries to catch her breath. "What is that about?"

Poor thing doesn't know I just heard her coming with my name in her mouth. But she knows she was repeating my name. Begging a version of me in her imagination to release her from the shackles of her arousal.

She wants me. Bridget fucking wants me.

I clear my throat. "Sorry, our parents–" Ugh, I hate saying that. "—they want a family picture before the photographer moves onto the cocktail hour. Your dad sent me to look for you, and I–"

"Okay, well, let's get it over with I guess," Bridget says, blowing past me toward the staircase.

I withhold a laugh.

She's so flustered. Because I was just on her mind. More than that. I was in her body. In her blood coursing through her, the pounding of her heart, the wetness of her pussy.

As I follow her, I swear I can smell her, the remnants of her arousal between her legs. Not the first time I've felt able to smell her. I've been attuned to her since I first met her.

Fucking pheromones. They're stronger than ever now that I know…she wants me.

My insides are like a circus over that. Backflips and acrobatics.

Elation.

Once we get downstairs, I catch up to walk beside her. "Bridget."

"What?" she replies, clearly short with me.

"You look…really nice today." God, how old am I? Thirteen? Telling a girl at her bat mitzvah her polka dot strapless dress looks nice? "I mean, you look amazing."

The tension in her face melts, but she doesn't look at me. "Thank you."

We are silent the rest of the way to meet our parents out in the garden.

My mom grins. "There she is!" She gives Bridget a loving hug.

I try to ignore the guilt building in the back of my throat.

Mom has always treated Bridget with love and closeness. Unlike me, Bridget lost her mother when she was too young to have many memories of her. That allowed for my mom to give her more than Solomon has been able to give me.

We are a weird little family.

But all of that is eclipsed by the memory of my name in Bridget's mouth.

We allow our parents to jigger us around since my mom wants to show her good side. Finally, we settle in a row, Bridget and I next to our respective parents.

"Alright, big smiles." The photographer ducks behind his mammoth lens.

And boy, if I don't follow that direction. I beam, lifting my chin, puffing my chest. Proud.

Not for my family. Not for how we look like the perfect American Dream from the outside.

No. For the way I feel. That after ten years, I can be proud of the way I want Bridget. There's no reason to be ashamed.

Not when my name is in her mouth. Not when she wants me in her most primal, private moments.

I'm right. Right to want her.

And now…I have to have her.