The first thing that is listed of what a best man should do (provided by Google and some site called "bestbro") tells her she should be going to a tux fitting with the groom. Skye finds herself waiting in her car outside of the tuxedo rentals, her knee bouncing, shaking her keys in her hand as she waits for Grant to make his appearance. It's been a thirty minute wait, and as of fifteen minutes ago, he was officially late. Glancing back at her phone periodically, she'd been waiting for the call to cancel the meeting. Perhaps he had persuaded someone to do this job other than her. It wasn't reluctance at spending time with Grant Ward, it was watching the nails in the coffin, realizing that all this was borrowed time. Within the next few months he would be happily married to Lorelei and she would turn back into "just Skye".
Not that she was anything more with Grant, he didn't define her.
But she was quickly turning into "the unmarried one" in their group of friends, and while she had been proud of her title as a single woman (back when it wasn't an endangered species) soon people would start focusing more on their marriage than going out, and then they would have children and start talking about diapers and preschools, and it would be all downhill from there.
A text bubble lights up on her phone and she tries not to immediately check it (she fails, damn near drops it) and with a mixed feeling of relief and frustration reads that Grant is caught in traffic and will be there in no more than fifteen minutes. He follows up seconds later with a 'have you started trying on anything yet' and she realizes that they are on a schedule and that she should still keep to.
"Shit," she curses, yanking her purse up and her coffee before jumping out of the car and crossing the street haphazardly. She looks nothing like a best man walking into a tux shop with her silk shirt and a fitted blazer. The place is surprisingly nice, and she can't imagine that Grant even knew about this hole-in-the-wall boutique. It had Lorelei written all over it. Entering, she is immediately greeted by a man with sharp chiseled features that he looks more model than sales associate. The boutique is incredibly masculine, from the dark cherry wood varnish to the buckskin padding detail, she has never looked more out of place. "I think there's a reservation for Grant Ward?"
The model-man glances at the list before ticking off Grant's name with a small polite smile. "Ah, yes. And are you the future Mrs. Ward?"
Skye's eyebrows shoot up and can't help the flush of red on her face as she quickly shakes her head, laughing nervously at the same time. "No! Oh god, no. No, sorry I'm not. I'm his best man... uh, best woman." It sounds so stupid, but the amused look at the handsome man's face gives her a run for her money. He is incredibly charming to look at, despite having said barely anything to her. She laughs inwardly when she realizes, for a second, that he looks like he could be Grant Ward's Italian cousin.
"I apologize for the confusion, it was my mistake," he says, so politely she feels like she needs to apologize too. Instead, she shrugs, unwilling to show weakness in the fancy man cave, and tilts her head a little to see what is behind the atrium that they are standing in. "You're a little late for the appointment time, so I might have to leave you two in there before the tailor can meet with you. We have a fully booked day today, so I am sorry in advanced for the wait. There are refreshments within the dressing room and ample room for testing out our pieces."
He opens a drawer and pulls out a small golden key, marking something in a book. "It seems that there have been a few pieces that have been chosen for you two today, so I'll let you browse the selection and try some on while we wait for Mr. Ward." Exuding niceties, Skye simply nods in response and takes a small golden key with a thin medallion attached to it with a delicate number 4 in script on it.
Walking straight through to the back, guided by model-man, he opens the door to an octagonal room with the same warm lighting, beige fabrics, and dark wood. There are mirrors on almost all the walls save three that include the door and two closets with tuxedos neatly hung. Closing the door behind her and thanking model-man, she sets the keys down and wraps her arms around her shoulders within the cold drafty room that felt like it was going to swallow her whole. From the slick suits to the whiskey glasses, she's starting to wonder if she just walked into a very fancy bachelor pad.
She plucks a bottle of water from the selection of refreshments and pulls a suit out of the rack. None of them have been tailored yet. She wonders briefly if she's going to be wearing some sort of tux, never considering the possibility until now. Groaning inwardly she wished that there was some other reason for her displeasure other than the fact that Lorelei would be in a gorgeous dress and she'd be in a pant suit. Jealousy turned her into a green monster and she hated the way it looked on her.
Yanking out her phone she tapped up an old song, one of her favorites, before throwing her bag to the side ottoman and starting to unbutton her pants, slipping off her blazer as she sashayed to the chair and tossed her clothes down in a pile. Humming to herself, she unhooked the small clasp at the nape of her neck holding the silk shirt up and flipped it over her head and, tossing it back.
The last thing he does while idling in the traffic lane is text Skye to ask her if she's tried on anything yet. Her reply is ambiguously telling, 'Uh... one or two things. Nothing promising, yet.' With any luck she was in her car waiting for him to arrive so she didn't have to go in alone. He'd selfishly asked her to pick up Christian's mantle, something that even made Christian bark in laughter, while he nursed a twisted tendon. He had to watch while his two brothers grin like idiots, while he wondered to himself what the merit was in telling them in the first place. He'd replied to her, asking for some photos of the selections she'd tried on and the text had been left completely unread. Unsurprising.
The next few minutes was him navigating the streets of Los Angeles, making sharp turns left and right before screeching to a halt in front of the most inconspicuous tux shop in the world. He'd passed it twice before realizing that his GPS hadn't made a mistake. Sighting Skye's car, he parked a few cars down from her and jumped out, locking the door behind him as he made quick work of crossing the road and walking into the store. He looked disheveled.
Three hours planning wedding things, from invitations to dance classes to table seating, he's been run ragged. There's a posh man standing as a receptionist. His smile is suspiciously genial, and Grant feels just a little uncomfortable because of it. "Mr. Grant Ward?" the man (more of a robot judging by the tone of voice) asks him, inconspicuously pulling a key from a drawer.
Grant just nods. Before quickly tacking on, "I think my best man got here before me."
"Yes, the best woman." Grant hates the smirk on his face immediately. Best woman is a paltry title but it's something that always seems to make him and Skye chuckle. It's more their inside joke than anything, and they haven't had a chance to have enough inside jokes for this one to be taken Ken Armani. "She's already in the dressing room. You arrived a little late for your appointment, but feel free to try any of the suits and the tailor will come when he is done with our walk-in client." He hands him the key and directs him towards the back.
He nods and waves a thanks, deciding to put his petty and unreasonable dislike of the receptionist behind him, instead focusing on the task at hand. While they were supposed to be trying on tuxes together (they meaning the groom and best man) he hadn't confirmed if Skye wanted to wear a tux or a dress, one that might make her feel more comfortable. He considers what to tell Lorelei since she seems set on suits and dresses and it has already been like pulling teeth to get her to come to grips with Skye as a part of the wedding party.
Inserting his key into the lock, he turns the knob and pushes the door open almost instantly regretting his decision not to knock beforehand. There's music playing from her phone, loud, some kind of swinging jazz, and she is in the cruelest, most diabolical, set of bra and panties that he has ever had the pleasure of witnessing with a white button up left wide open as she serenades herself in the mirror, swinging her hips. Soft lilac lace seems to cover everything and nothing at the same time, the color only a few hues lighter than her naked skin.
Thankfully to her credit (since he was momentarily stunned silent), she jumps ten feet in the air as looking so shocked to see him, cursing a "Fuck, Ward!" that follows as she makes quick work of covering herself up with a jacket immediately. She seems so focused on covering herself up that he takes the time to quell his racing blood, feeling the familiar shot of lust that goes straight to his groin. Turning around, albeit too little too late, he backs up into the room closing the door. No need in Ken Armani also seeing her like this. His heart is pounding and it doesn't stop when he realizes that this is their changing room. The rooms aren't normally reserved for unisex changing.
"Holy shit, Grant. You could have knocked!" The change from Ward to Grant is instantaneous but he notices it. Before she'd left for her overseas work, before there was a Lorelei or marriages or Miles, back when they had been college friends, she had called him by his last name. Jokingly referring to him by Ward rather than Grant, 'because it fit him better' . A formality to some was an intimacy to them.
"You can turn back around now," she mutters, sounding a little embittered. Wrapped in a jacket long enough to cover her just past her upper thigh, Skye taps her phone to pause the music.
He tried not to let the functioning parts of his brain run wild with fantasies. "How the hell I was supposed to know you'd be half naked?"
"Duh, it's a changing room."
She sounds impossibly juvenile, and she knows it, but she stands her ground, crossing her arms and squaring her stance. The jacket makes her look like she's playing dress up.
Clearing his throat, he looks at the rack of tuxes and wonders if there is any distinction between what he should be wearing and what she should be wearing. The suit she has on looks like it's swallowing her whole. Setting his keys down on a table and his wallet, he gestures to the suits. "Find anything you like?"
Shrugging, she bites her lip a little as if she wants to say something but can't.
"You don't have to wear a suit, if you don't want to. You can totally just be in a dress, or you know, wear whatever you want."
"No, it's not that," though she seems to have relaxed a little at his comment. Walking over to the rack of suits, he follows suit trying not to think about the fact that she's wearing next to nothing underneath the jacket that is wrapped around her like a robe. She reaches the rack and flips through each suit. "It's just... these suits are kind of... more Christian's style than yours."
"Too political?"
"No, just... doesn't feel like you."
He wants to ask her what he feels like to her, but he's already caught himself gazing at her. Watching the small details in her movements as she runs her fingers over the smooth textiles of the jackets. "Aren't all tuxedos basically the same?"
She shrugs again. "Maybe. I just don't imagine you in a penguin suit all buttoned up. I think you look good right now." For the average person, it sounds like a backhanded compliment given how ragged he looks, but the way her eyes run over him feels like detailed honesty, and it rakes at his insides. She's such bad news, but he can't seem to let her go. They lock eyes but it's for a brief moment, before a goofy smile paints her face. "Uh... not that anything would help with that face. You're doomed either way, no hope of looking attractive with your monstrous bone structure." She pinches his chin between her thumb and forefinger like a nagging aunt with a scrunched up face.
There's a knocking at the door, and they both start.
"Mr. Ward?" The voice sounds different from Ken Armani, probably the tailor.
Skye has a look of a deer caught in the headlights as she rushes to her black pants on the chair and slips them on hurriedly. Grant looks away out of propriety and replies back, "Just a second!"
A minute later, Skye is in a silk shirt that forms a sloping halter at her neck. In some ways it's worse than the bra and panties. The tailor walks in and then it's Grant Ward on display. The tailor, an older man with grey and white hair, manages to look sophisticated as he measures Grant's inseam, which Grant looks away to distract himself from the fact that some older gentleman is a couple inches away from diddling him in front of Skye. When he finishes, he scratches down the numbers in his note pad, and motions to Skye. "Will you be fitted today as well, Miss?"
They look at each other, both unsure of the reply. She'd never affirmed if she was wearing a suit or a dress, they had been a little distracted. But Skye recovers quickly, shaking her head. "I'm here as moral support. I'll send you my measurements after we decide on a style today." The tailor nods in reply, making a note of it. Ever the diplomat and the quick thinker, Grant catches a wink and a thumbs up from Skye as he is being lead by the tailor to the rack of suits.
"Your fiancée chose some styles for you to try on today, have you found anything that is to your liking?"
Grant doesn't notice Skye behind him, peering over his shoulder until she speaks up from between the two of them. "The charcoal grey one is nice, and that black one with the matching diamond weave shirt. I think those would pair with the white gold cufflinks that Rosie got you a couple of years ago." The tailor nods and pulls them from the rack, handing them to Grant before he has a chance for his mind to catch up with what is happening.
The next hour and a half is him being tailored for the two jackets and pants, only for Skye and the tailor to agree that he looks better in the black than the grey. Lorelei does the same when they're trying on suits for him, but it doesn't bother him when she runs a hand along his arm to check the width and fit of the jacket like it does when Lorelei seems to be correcting the work of the tailor. When it's finally finished, the tailor ducks out after giving them a date to pick up his tux and a number for Skye to send her measurements to after she has them.
"Looks like I didn't even need to come," Skye says as the door closes and Grant is pulling his pants back on. She sounds a little melancholy, her arms wrapped around her shoulders. She walks over to the other suits hanging on the rack and thumbs through them with one hand aimlessly looking away as he gets dressed.
She's been distant since he walked in. Even her teasing had felt a little stilted. "Hey, don't say that, you were more help than anyone else would have been. You know I'm terrible with this. I am a plain black suit and tie kind of guy. Not a tuxedo wearing expert. I would have never even thought about matching the cufflinks." Though he realizes that she picked the one suit he would have felt comfortable in. The other weaves and shades were experimental at best and he had gulped at the selection when he had first walked in.
Sighing, he walked over to Skye when she didn't turn around. "Are you okay, Skye?" The question left his lips before he could fully comprehend what he had asked.
She turned around to look at him, backing up a little when she realized how close he was to her. Her face unreadable, her lips pressed in a line and her eyebrows furrowed. For a few seconds, he wondered if he asked her the question or if it was all in his head. "Why the hell am I here, Grant?" The change in mood was so quick, it startled him.
"What are you talking about, you're my best-"
"Man. Yeah, why the hell did you make me your best man or woman or whatever? We haven't seen each other in a fucking long time. I've been overseas, and we never talked once during that time."
"Because you were busy! But you're one of my best friends. I told you why I asked you." She sounds harsh, cursing at him. How did they get from cufflinks to this?
Her expression changed from clouded to upset. It started sounded more like the Skye he knew than the girl he'd been talking to for the past two hours. "No. You gave me excuses. We used to be best friends. Whatever the hell we used to be, we're not that any more. You didn't even tell me when you got engaged to Lorelei. I had to hear it from Jemma!"
"You were dating Miles at the time." It sounds like a non sequitur, but the words weigh heavier than that. He tries to keep his tone even, despite feeling attacked. It doesn't go unnoticed by Skye, not at all.
"What the hell does that mean? What, because I'm dating someone I don't get to know about your life? You're the one who called us friends, why can't a friend be informed? You never contacted me about the wedding until after Christian got his back messed up. I got your shitty invitation in the mail like I was some distant relative you had to invite without a choice!"
"You know what it means, Skye," he responds sternly. He doesn't address her other comments because they both know the root of this issue, the venomous disease sprouting in their 'friendship'. "You ran out on me. What the hell can we be if not just friends?" The word sounds horrible on his lips, like something he never wants to associate with.
She frowns, upset but struggling to find words that can counter him. She's holding back some part of the truth. He can tell from the way she seems to think through her thoughts and pull out the most effective argument. "I didn't run out." It sounds nothing like her. She sounds defeated and petulant.
"Is that the best you can do?" he prods, desperate to coax out some source of truth from her.
Looking away, Skye shrugs, looking furious. "What the hell do you want me to say?"
"Something. Don't avoid this."
There's a beat. A pause, and she looks like she's going to run. She's going to run all over again. But instead she looks up at him, her eyes are wet, holding back tears. His heart breaks, he wants to touch her face and wipe them away before they even fall, but he stands his ground out of hubris. "I wasn't sure." There's another pause and for those seconds, he wonders if this is all she's going to say on the subject. "I didn't know what I wanted, and being with you freaked me out. I didn't know what was going on in my head, and after that night I didn't know if I had left us in shambles or something."
That night. It had played over and over again in his head for the past years. It wasn't just the sex. They had been doing the same old dance around one another for a few years, and when they finally let the temptation swallow them whole it had been everything they'd wanted. At least that's what he thought. Only for him to wake up in a bed alone, and find her avoiding him for the next few weeks. He knew she'd been scared, so he gave her space, told her he'd be there when she wanted to talk. Months passed by, and he rarely saw her. Then one day it was like they had never done anything more than joke with one another, the old Skye was back and he couldn't find any other version of her. Not the version of her that told him she had feelings for him. That smiled when he said he felt the same.
Another month passed before he finally started dating Lorelei. "You didn't leave us in shambles," he convinces her, involuntarily wiping away one tear that manages to roll down her cheek, hubris be damned. She doesn't flinch, just closes her eyes, her face leans in slightly to his touch.
"I was a coward. I kept wanting to say something, but I kept putting it off. I even gave myself a deadline to confront you and confess to you what I felt. But when the day came, I couldn't do it. Everything was awkward between us, and instead of talking about it, I tried to forget it. Then you started dating Lorelei..." At the mention of her name, she backed up a little, away from his touch. She runs a hand through her hair in frustration, the hairsbreadth of space between them is so easily closed but she manages to make it feel like an ocean. "Maybe I did run," she admits, looking away from him, eyeing the room, exasperated. "Why the hell am I here, Grant? Why am I your best man? Why do you even want to talk to me?"
Logically, he shouldn't want to. When he realized she had broken his heart, he promised that with Lorelei it would be different, and it was. They'd never been become what he and Skye were, and she seemed happy to maintain that distance between them. But logic played no part in whatever it was between Skye and Grant. "Because," he said, pausing to find something to fill the sentence. "Because I need you."
It's so plain and simple that it feels like a weight off his chest. The confession he hadn't been able to make years ago, the one he wanted to when they were nothing but Skye and Grant together. Her expression softens completely, something like hope reflects in her eyes. The defenses are down, both of them are at a cease fire. He wants to say something else, something more substantial, but she tilts her head up and without warning plants a kiss on his lips. It's supposed to be chaste, but the contact, the taste of her lips, brings a chain reaction.
She pulls away a little before he pulls her in at the waist for another kiss and responds by drawing her hands up to his neck. It's instantaneous and she runs her fingers through his hair, the touch likened to fire branding his skin. It escalates, quickly. The taste of her is a drug; he coaxes her lips to part for his tongue and deepens the kiss. A growl emits from his throat as he turns them and presses her up against a mirrored wall. She meets him with equal intensity, biting down on his lower lip before imploring him with her tongue. Her hand continues the agonizing motion, combing through his hair and along the nape of his neck with her fingers, while the other palms his chest, running down the length of his torso. He shudders, eating in the delicious sensation. Grant pins her against the mirror, while he lifts her and she responds by wrapping her legs around his hips. He was suddenly unspeakably hard, and the reaction has him involuntarily grinding against her, the friction gives some measure of relief while tearing it away when a moan slips from her lips.
"Skye," he breathes, his mouth trails down her neck, reaching the high border of the halter and wanting nothing more than to rip the fabric apart. He gropes over the silk at her flat stomach and slides up along her side, teasingly avoiding more intimacy and drawing a huff of frustration from her lips. She bucks against his hips and he pushes back in response. God, it's sweet agony.
His heart is pounding and his head is buzzing. She rakes nails down his back as he gives up trying to undress her and meets her lips again.
There is a smart knock at the door that they miss the first time, both muddled by the sensation of one another.
Another knock, louder this time. "Mr. Ward? Are you dressed?"
Skye breaks away, pushing him back and untangling her legs from around him. He almost whines in disappointment. But her expression, completely shocked, sobers him almost immediately. Skye is flushed, her lips are swollen from his kisses, her hair is messy, and he can see something of the same thing in the reflection of the mirror they were pressed up against. The raging hard on refuses to be forgotten, but the moment is over. Shame washes over them both when the third knock is coupled with a concerned sounding, "Mr. Ward?"
Skye looks away again, avoiding his gaze, and pulls her hair back, rushing to grab her blazer at the chair and her purse.
"Skye, wait."
She shakes her head, unable to even look at him, as she reaches for the door and opens it to Ken Armani's concerned face. She edges around him, and throws Grant one final look of something resembling humiliation, before he hears the sound of the front door open and shut.
Like he said, bad news.