Hopelessly Devoted Read Online Free PDF Page B

the water like diamonds. In the middle of the lawn was a parquet dance floor and partly hidden off to the side was a DJ and a small wet bar. Tables and chairs were placed strategically around the perimeter, and servers weaved in amongst the guests with platters of food and champagne flutes. It wasn’t the serving trays that distinguished the waiters, but more so their attire. They were the only ones dressed in black-tie. Seeing it all laid out before me confirmed my suspicions that a wedding planner had been discreetly engaged.
    Paul squeezed my waist in a reminder to breathe. Apart from the servers, everyone was in costume. I don’t mean
any
kind of costume, I mean fifties style,
Grease
costumes. Pink ladies, T-birds, teen angels, and Eugenes were everywhere.
    “Holy. Shit,” I whispered. Paul squeezed my side again. “You did this for me?”
    “Have you not worked out how much I love you yet?”
    “I think if I don’t know now, I’m an idiot.”
    Paul laughed and kissed the side of my head. “Tell me what you don’t see.”
    I scanned the crowd, who were looking at Paul and me, waiting for us to do something. Some were drinking from their champagne flutes while talking softly, and I think I saw Mrs. Connor—who made a mean-looking Rizzo—dab her eye with a tissue when she saw us emerge from the house.
    It dawned on me what was missing. “Where are the Dannys and Kenickies?”
    “There aren’t any. There is only one Danny and Kenickie, babe. Right here.” He kissed my temple again, and I melted at his side.
    “I freaking love you.”
    Before I could tear up, the music changed, and Paul led me down the steps to the dance floor. We weren’t announced, like many other couples are when making their grand entrance. We simply walked down the steps, arms around each other’s waist, as
Hopelessly Devoted
came through the speakers. My new husband guided me to the dance floor, took me in his arms, and we swayed to the music together. Paul sang to me, his face buried in my hair as his warm breath ghosted over my skin. I was only vaguely aware of the guests dancing around us, joining us in what I then realized was our wedding waltz.
    The music stopped, and before the DJ moved on to another song, Paul raised his hand and made a circling motion in the air to repeat the track. He did that three times while not moving his face from its position buried in my neck, his arms wrapped tight around me as we danced slowly to the music.
    After the fourth time, I tapped Paul’s shoulder. “Umm, Paul. I think we should greet our guests now?”
    “Screw them, I’m staying here. This is our time,” he said into my neck.
    “I think your mom wants a dance. We’ll have more time later.”
    Paul reluctantly raised his head and kissed me sensuously, heedless of the well-wishers standing around waiting to congratulate us all over again.
    I danced with Sophia, then Mrs. Connor, who was still sniffling into a tissue, albeit mindful of her makeup. I danced with Paul Senior and even though it raised a few eyebrows, he took it in his stead. I didn’t care. I shook hands and air-kissed with the best of them. I was having such a good time, I forgot about my anxiety and found I could hold a conversation with businessmen and socialites alike. I guess it helped that they all looked like they’d stepped off the set of
Grease
.
    The music was mixed; some more popular songs were intertwined with the
Grease
soundtrack and other hits from the fifties. Every time a
Grease
song came on, the dance floor was filled to the point that some people didn’t bother trying to make it onto the wooden platform; they just danced where they were.
    Delicate canapés and champagne were never-ending, the waiters making sure no one’s glass was empty. Yet the waiters were so discreet and fluid I hardly noticed them.
    There weren’t as many guests at the party as had filled the manor for the ceremony, and Paul explained that
we—
I use that term loosely since I