Clarke shrugged him free. “I wasn’t going to touch your wife. I was going to beg.” He turned back toward the women. “Please. If anyone knows where she’s gone, it’s you two.”

“You used her,” Naomi said, stepping forward and giving Clarke an ungentle shove in the center of his chest. “She is the best person any of us know, and you used her. You let her think she was getting a happy ending, and all you wanted was a damn job?”

“Screw the job,” Clarke shouted, not caring who heard him. “It was never about the job.”

“Really?” Claire asked sarcastically. “Your dad didn’t offer you the company if you married Audrey?”

Clarke ran a hand through his hair. “No, he did, but I didn’t even… that’s not what this is,” he said, gesturing down at his tux, their formal wear, then back at the church. “That’s never what this was. I honest to God didn’t even think about it after he offered it. I should have told Audrey, obviously, but it was just so stupid, just some stupid game my messed-up parents played. You know what, I don’t have to explain to you. I’ll explain to her. Now, where is she?”

No one said a word, and Clarke fought the urge to roar at the entire lot of them, to tell him that the longer they stayed silent, the smaller his window to win her back became.

“What do you want?” he asked. “You want to punch me? Punch me. You want to kick my balls? Do it. But for the love of God, please just give me a chance to talk to her. Please.” His voice broke. “I love her.”

He was watching Claire as he said it, sensing she had the softest heart of the group, praying she’d understand. Her eyes widened infinitesimally, then narrowed. “Do you love her? Or are you in love with her?”

“Both. Both.”

Naomi and Claire exchanged a glance, but they still didn’t give him the answer he wanted. Needed. Out of the corner of his eye, Clarke saw his cousin and his wife getting out of a car, two daughters in frilly pink dresses in tow. His cousin, who was a jackass, was staring, and his wife, who was a snobby gossip, had her mouth gaping open at what he could only assume was his feral appearance, but he didn’t care about either of them.

His eyes fell on the younger of their two daughters, a small blonde with twin ponytails at her ears. She was clutching a coloring book with a kitten on the cover.

Clarke moved quickly but gentled his motions as he approached the girl, lowering slightly so he was closer to her height. “Hi. Melissa, right?”

“Marisa,” she said in a tiny voice.

Crap. Rough start.