Recipe for Romance: A Bucky Barnes Story

31. Here Comes the Bride

Water trickles down my face and arms as I stand beneath the scalding stream of the garage apartment shower. Eyes closed, I take one last deep breath through my nose before the bubbles from my shampoo are all rinsed out of my hair. The stresses from the night before are gathered in my body in the form of tight knots in my shoulders and kinks in my spine. I feel the weight of what Bucky said to me on the drive home from the club last night resting heavily on my heart: I'm just trying to keep you safe, sweetheart. He'd been the one to appear bursting through the crowd at the sound of one of the bridesmaid's loud squeals. It'd been over something stupid—seeing an old friend from high school across the club dancefloor. But before I could think twice, I was seeing my boyfriend pop out of thin air into the once relaxing scene. The look on Bucky's face, the one of strict composure and somberness, was one I'd only ever seen a few times before: like when he'd rescued me out in that alley or when I'd seen his picture being played on war footage news clips. He managed to make his presence in the club secret from my friends but it'd been spoiled for me. I approached him at the bar a while later, knowing that there was a reason he was sticking around—spying on me—and wearing that grim look on his face. I was right, of course. Bucky told me everything then: all while I poured back a few shots and he kept making nervous glances over our shoulders. That's when he'd said it. "I'm just trying to keep you safe, sweetheart." I've had no doubts the past few months that he would, but seeing the expression of fear breaking through his face last night has me worried... pairing that with the facts he was giving me, including that man he shot dead at the wedding venue only the night before, I'm more afraid for my life now than I've ever been.

Peeking open an eye, I spot Bucky's body wash sitting on the shelf next to the razor cream. I reach out for it thoughtlessly. The stuff is maple syrup-colored but smells spicier than its sweet look-alike. I pop open the lid just to get a good sniff. The back of the bottle says "woodsy", but when all I can smell is James Buchanan Barnes and a rainy, cuddly Sunday afternoon, pillow forts and bubble baths after bad days, and snorting laughter on long car rides.

I squeeze a bit of the soap onto my own hand. I rub it around my arms and stomach until the remnants wash down the drain with my previous worries. Feeling slightly better I set the bottle back on the shelf. I shut off the water and hop out of the stall to wrap myself in a towel and then a robe. I run a brush through my hair while rubbing away the steam from the washroom mirror. I sigh to find I've got dark circles under my eyes. I'll need lots of concealer to hide these today. The wedding is in fifteen hours. I'll be standing up in front of hundreds of people. I can't possibly look as tired and afraid as I feel on the inside.

I'm careful to stay considerately quiet on my way out of the bathroom. When I'd hopped in a few minutes before, Bucky had been sleeping. Now, as I walk into the room, he looks like a normal tired boyfriend—wrapped up in quilts with his mouth hanging open to one side of the pillow and his empty arms opened in the same way. Bucky Barnes is anything but a normal boyfriend, though. If I look harder at the picture I can see it clearly: the gun sticking out from beneath his pillow, the knife he has sitting next to his alarm clock, and the glaring metal arm that twitches with his unsettling dreams.

I make my way to Bucky's side of the bed on quiet feet. I'm careful not to startle him as I lean over to brush my fingers through his shaggy hair. He makes an attempt at hiding his face into pillow in protest of morning's arrival.

"Wake up," I laugh softly. "It's time to wake up." I tug gently on Bucky's ear. He has a scar that runs along his lobe, almost as if he's had a piercing in the past, yet I know his past well enough to know that's probably not the case.

Bucky mumbles something sleepily before rolling over to look up at me. I tilt my head away from the sunlight from the window as his eyes blink rapidly to try and focus on my features. "G'morning, beautiful." His voice is hoarse and incredibly sexy.