Landon sighed noisily at some point after the hand-kiss, and I watched a few people in his row swivel to shoot him angry glances. The priest was in the middle of a lengthy speech before the vows, and Zora looked none too pleased to see her date interrupting the preacher man. Her lips, so pretty and full, were puckered like she'd eaten something sour.

“What's the deal with your step-brother?” Nate murmured into my hair, just as the Pastor was sliding the wedding band onto Anya's skinny finger.

“He's just kind of a sourpuss,” I said, rolling my eyes. I held my chin high and my chest out, just in case the man in question was still sizing me up from across the room. Let him hear me, I figured. He'd been nothing but a jerk so far.

“He's into you,” my ex-fake-teacher finished, looking a little pleased with himself as he spoke. “Guys can always tell. He wants to get weird with you. He wants to have your bizarre cousin-sister-babies.”

I shot Nate a look, and he quickly crinkled his eyes up so I could tell he was joking. But I still felt the nape of my neck flush red. When I closed my eyes tight enough, I could still perfectly recall the feeling of Landon’s hands, roving my back. Cupping my thighs. Holding my breasts. It was hard to imagine Nate Dempsey moving across my body with so much strength and intention. But then again, didn't I like Mr. Dempsey exactly because he wasn't like Landon? Neither fickle nor bad-tempered, neither cruel nor dismissive? I smiled tightly, shaking my head to banish the sexy images. And Landon's eyes were still on me, all the way across the room.

I let my own attention slide back to my mother, who looked as thrilled as I'd ever seen her. The Pastor was a nut, but when I watched the tears stream down her face—tears of joy, for once in her life—I felt resolve stiffen in the pit of my stomach. Even in a perfect world, a world in which the Longhorn was nice to me, how could we ever be? How could we ever do such a thing to our parents?

At the end, Mr. Dempsey took a cue and wandered towards the parking lot, where a tiny crew had gathered to flick rice on Anya and her newest hubby. The humid little storefront was fast emptying around us, so only the first few rows of the congregation remained. Carson led the exit charge in some daring, billowy pantsuit that hugged her waist and seemed to sail around her gams. She gave me a look I couldn't read as she slid a pair of giant Jackie O. sunglasses over her face.

Zora was tugging on Landon's arm, but halfheartedly. She appeared to have given up on her date in some respects. Her gaze was now fixed on Denny, the thuggish boy with the big head who'd been tittering throughout the service. Yet another reason we were star-crossed, step brother and I: his choice in friends spoke very little of his ability to judge character.

“Listen, Z—you go on ahead,” I heard him murmur to her tanned, smooth back. She released his hand without so much as a backward glance. I felt the corners of my mouth turning upward. And suddenly—strangely—we were alone in the church. Him and me.

“Some ceremony, huh?” Landon said. His penetrating eyes had loosened their grip on my face, I noticed. Now, he spoke to the floor.

“I can't believe it,” I said, breezily.

“She sure looked happy.”

“Him, too.”

Landon shuffled from foot to foot. He was so muscular and balanced, however, that it looked from where I stood like he was a swaying tree. Something graceful. Something strong. Even in doubt.

“So I heard you're starting at UT in the fall,” Landon said, pausing mid-sentence to clear his throat. “Maybe I'll seeya around campus?”

“If you could stand to,” I said neatly. In this bad-ass dress, I could almost imagine that I was some fast-talking heartbreaker. A modern Mae West. He didn't stand a chance. No man did.

“Oh, come on. You're the one who's...”

I put my hands on my hips, daring Landon to finish the sentence. But at that point, his whole face shifted. His brow un-furrowed, and his mouth widened. It was just like watching my mother's face break open, except this time I went weak in the knees. Landon was smiling. He was smiling that slightly crooked, dopey, baby-faced smile he'd smiled at me on the roof of a mysterious apartment, one hot summer night.

I told my knees to stay strong. I set my chin.

“I'm sorry,” Landon continued, this time allowing his eyes to drift back up my frame. They took their time, those eyes. And I tried to stay graceful and strong like a tree, as I let him slide up my thighs, linger on my hips, drink in my tapered stomach, widen at my ample chest. I felt great in this dress as it was, but being looked at that way in this dress—well, I felt for a second that I could've given Karlie Kloss a run for her money. Every girl should be looked at like this, I told myself. I would store this gaze for later. That smile would be something I could pull out of a drawer and spread out like an old photograph someday when I was crinkly and old and alone.

“We're going to have to live together, aren't we Doll?” And just like that, the smile dried up like a puddle in heat. “We wanna make Ma and Pa Kettle happy, don't we?” For a second, it looked like Landon was going to take a step towards me. His aura seemed about to cross some invisible bridge. It was then that I heard a sinister chord from the untended piano. The sound made me jump, and I heard my purse land on the ground with a soft thud. Both our heads swiveled simultaneously, just in time to catch a careworn looking tabby cat leaping off the organ keys. I laughed with quick relief.

“Jesus, that scared me!”

“Aww, that's just Otis. He's the Parish cat.” This time, Landon really did bend down a bit, like he was whispering conspiratorially in my ear. “And word to the wise? Don't take His name in vain in here.”

Before I could check myself, I'd thrown a little half-assed punch in his direction—you know, the sisterly kind of punch—but Landon's athletic reflexes stopped me in my path. His palm opened to catch my fist, and I felt my fingers crumple limp against his sweaty palm. Then I looked up at him. I hadn't realized how close we'd gotten.

He was breathing hard. And he seemed about to say something that pained him. But instead of opening his mouth, I watched his fingers collapse over the top of my knuckles. His fingers were surprisingly soft. Like cool, light petals. He pressed his pads lightly on to the top of my hand, then just as quickly began to peel away. When it was just the tips of our nails touching, I let myself lean forward, rising up on tiptoe. I let my digits slide, oh-so-slowly, into the damp crevices his own knuckles made, until we were intertwined. Then I met his eyes. They were so open to me. I knew, in that moment, we could have done something very wrong.

“Hey troublemakers!” called a familiar voice from beyond the makeshift nave. It took a few seconds for me to recognize the voice as my dear sister's, but there she was. Smoking a Virginia Slim from a tapered holder, one knee kicked up against the outside door. Beyond her, I could see that the wedding crowd had begun to disperse. Our new family (and the new family member's dates) were headed to Pappadeaux's for the reception.

“Lady, your fella is looking for you,” Carson breezed. “And Landon, Missus Queen of the Damned has been screeching about you on the sidewalk for the past ten minutes.” I caught a flash of panic in his eyes, and realized we were both thinking the same thing. Ten minutes? Had we really been in here, doing and saying so little, for ten minutes?

“Oh, Jesus,” Landon said, breaking the spell. He took a step away from me, and I saw the door had closed again. Whatever freaky, forbidden thing came out between us when no one else was around could not sustain in the daylight, that much I could see. Oh well. It was like all the romantic comedies Anya and I liked to make fun of, or had liked to make fun of on the now long-gone lady movie nights of my youth: a body couldn't just wait around for some dude to come to his senses. There were too many things standing in the way.