Page 34 of Sweet Nothings

“It’s not your responsibility to make me happy,” I confess, filling the silence.

“I think you must be confused,” Lennon says, lowering his voice. “You’re going to be my wife, Laurel. Your happiness is one hundred percent my responsibility.”

I nearly choke on Lennon’s words. He utters his confession with confidence and without hesitation.

“Now…” He waves his hand over the table. “Tell me the wedding you truly want.”

I bite down on my bottom lip and imagine the wedding I’ve always dreamed of. David and I were married at one of the courthouses in the city. After spending a day on my uncle’s yacht in the harbor, we’d taken a walk through downtown when he’d pulled us to an abrupt stop outside the courthouse. Dressed in sandals and a short summer dress, with my still wet bikinihidden underneath, he rushed with his question, and I rushed with my answer. A quick ceremony followed by a signature, and thirty minutes later, we were married. In that moment, I thought David was being romantic and spontaneous. Turns out he was simply taking advantage of me and my foolish love for him.

I stare at my future husband and picture exactly the kind of wedding I’ve always dreamed of.

“Although I come from a wealthy family, I’ve never wanted a large ceremony. Maybe about ten of our closest friends and family.” I shrug, biting back the tears threatening to come. “Ever since my parents died, I haven’t been able to picture a large wedding without them. I don’t see the sense in having a huge affair if my father won’t be there to walk me down the aisle. Of course, I’d be wearing the dress I was convinced was made for me because it must have been for it to make me feel as beautiful as I would that day. Instead of a large ten-tiered cake, we’d have a small two-tiered blueberry cake, with a honey-lavender buttercream. The same flavor my mom used to bake for me every birthday.” I lift my eyes from my generic list and look back up at Lennon. “I imagine getting married surrounded by flowers. Flowers and the ocean.”

“Hmm.” Lennon straightens his back. “That’s better.” His familiar, firm expression has now softened.

The emotion of talking about my parents’ absence and the lack of my father’s ability to walk me down the aisle weigh heavily on my chest. It feels as if I’ve held my breath for far too long. My lungs wheeze and contract, starved for oxygen, the pressure aching from the inside out.

Lennon reaches across and shuts my notebook, then presses the button on the small, black machine sitting at the end of the table. It beeps before Olivia’s voice comes through.

“Yes, Mr. Harding?”

“Olivia, please return to the conference room. Make sure to bring your tablet with you.”

“Yes, sir.”

Lennon removes his finger from the intercom.

I open my mouth to ask him if he has any ideas for our wedding but am stopped when I see a flash of blonde hair rush down the hallway. Olivia’s heels shuffle across the marble floor. She screeches to a halt and swings the door open

She stands beside Lennon, just behind him, not sitting down. I bite back a smile at her eagerness. I’m liking Olivia so far.

Tapping on her tablet, she hovers her stylus over the screen, ready to take notes.

My gaze falls back to Lennon who is staring directly at me.

“Olivia, call every bakery in Boston to see which one will be able to make a two-tiered blueberry cake with a honey-lavender buttercream. We’re also going to need ten invitations printed off for our wedding date, eighteen days from now. Have a local printer design them with both mine and Laurel’s name along with the date and address of the summer house on the cape.”

Olivia’s hand stops abruptly, and her eyes lift to the back of Lennon’s head.

Summer house on the cape? I wonder if that’s the same house where James’s funeral was held. Unless the Hardings have more than one house along Cape Cod. I wouldn’t be surprised if they did.

Olivia blinks a few times before resuming her scribbling.

“What design should I have the printer use?” she asks.

“Flowers. Lots of flowers. Be sure they email over a proof to Mrs. Harding for approval. Look for a photographer that has an opening for the day of the wedding, but make sure it’s one who knows their shit. Since money isn’t a problem, I expect it to be a fucking good one.” He locks eyes with mine. “Also, call every bridal shop in the city and tell them they should be expecting myfiancée in to try on as many dresses she wants until she finds the one she thinks was made for her.” He lifts one dark eyebrow, the corner of his delicious mouth curling into a satisfied grin. “Does that about cover it?”

I hesitate, unsure of what to say. I’m speechless.

He has me melting for him again. This time he hasn’t touched me with a single finger. The only connection we have is the tip of his shoe still pressed against the bottom of my stiletto.

Heat blooms across my chest, up to my neck. I can feel tears welling behind my eyes. I don’t want to cry in front of Lennon, but the fact he’s giving me my dream wedding has feelings stirring inside me I haven’t allowed myself to face. I’m getting my dream wedding, and my parents won’t be there to see it. Not even my brother Kellan. Not that I would want him there anyway, even if he weren’t locked in a prison cell.

Lennon taps his toe against the bottom of my shoe.

Is he playing footsies with me?

With my heat-flushed cheeks, my eyes fall to his hands and his long, strong fingers that once touched me in places I only find myself touching these days. But I know my touch or even my boyfriends since haven’t come close to what I’ve experienced by the hands laid in front of me. A black rose tattoo peeks out from the bottom of his black sleeve, its stem prickled with thorns wraps and weaves down his wrist, connecting to a blooming rose on the back of his hand.

---