Page 41 of Sweet Nothings

He’s already back to calling me by my future name. My cheeks heat with Roe’s increasing stare.

“Yes, Lennon?” I pull my phone closer, no longer keeping it outstretched for everyone to hear, even though I keep him on speaker.

“I look forward to seeing you in the dress that was made especially for you,” he teases. “And to meeting you at the altar.”

He doesn’t give me the opportunity to answer before he ends our call. I didn’t even get to ask why he called in the first place.

Dropping my phone in my purse, I’m still reeling from the past few minutes when I trade glances between Roe and Erica. Erica’s face is mixed with both fear and hesitation. Roe is buzzing with excitement.

Her grin stretches all the way up to her bright blue eyes as she wags her finger in the direction of my phone sitting in the bottom of my purse.

“Oh, yeah.” She beams. “This isn’t just business. That man loves you.”

THIRTEEN

I doubt this is the type of wedding my father had in mind when he’d given me thirty days to marry Laurel. I’m sure he assumed I would be scrambling to make this work. I bet he’s scowling up at me from Hell, pissed I didn’t struggle nearly as hard as he thought I would at convincing Laurel to marry me. I don’t doubt he entrusted me to make this marriage happen or else he wouldn’t have put the risk of the company falling out of our family’s hands under such a ridiculous condition. But I also know he expected me to work for it, spending the entire thirty days panic stricken.

My father was sick and twisted like that. He liked to watch others squirm under his power. Me included.

Fucking asshole.

Our house along the Cape is almost unrecognizable. Gold-painted pots of white and cream-colored roses are planted down the stretch of lawn, jutting out the coast behind me. This end of our land stretches out, creating a cliff overlooking the expansive ocean. Each flowerpot creates a makeshift aisle leading straight to the altar our wedding planner scrambled to put together at the last minute. A tall, white-painted, wooden arch stands above me, with the same white and cream flowers wrapped around it like astrand of garland. Pops of green leaves poke through the flowers, breaking up the overwhelming blanket of white covering the yard.

Laurel was detailed in her vision for her dream wedding, including only inviting ten of our closest friends. I agreed, knowing we didn’t need to make a spectacle of our big day. Word is bound to get out to the press regardless of whether we invited a thousand half-strangers or ten of our closest friends.

Now, five white chairs are situated on either side of the aisle.

Sitting on my side are Jude and his wife Victoria. Straddled across Jude’s lap is their daughter Abbey. She smiles at me, her dimple pressing into her still-fresh baby cheeks. Shy of a year old, she’s still unsteady and erratic with her movements, especially when she gets excited. On a giggle, she rocks back, her head landing hard against my brother’s chest. She winces but doesn’t cry. He gently runs his hand over the top of her head followed by a kiss. He gives me a smile, letting me know he’s supporting me even though he doesn’t agree with my decision to follow through with our father’s condition. Despite our disagreement, I’m glad he’s here.

Beside Jude, Perry crosses one leg over the other and clears his throat, distracting himself with whatever he’s reading on his phone. He hasn’t moved from his chair since he first arrived. In his lap, he cracks open the familiar leather-bound folder I’ve seen him toting around every time I see him. I’m sure there’s some bullshit in there along with my father’s will about how Perry is tasked with gathering as much evidence as possible to prove my marriage with Laurel today is official and legal.

Sitting on the opposite side of the aisle is Laurel’s sister, Monroe. I recognize her from the night I met Laurel outside the club. At the time, she was dating a frat brother of mine. I’d barely spoken to her that night, drunk out of my mind before deciding to leave, which eventually led me to meeting her sister.

I turn my attention back to the house.

Our photographer stands off in the distance, snapping pictures of me waiting at the altar before Laurel walks out.

Standing beside me is our justice of the peace, a man Olivia found when researching ones who were able to officiate on such short notice.

If I didn’t know the details behind our wedding, I’d think it was planned months, even years, in advance. Not a single detail has gone undone.

“A wedding and a funeral in less than a month,” Micah says, clapping his hand on my shoulder. “Must be a new record.”

“Shut the fuck up,” I tell him, hiding my irritation behind a grin.

Micah is only teasing, but I don’t like thinking of this place as the venue for my father’s funeral. I thought it was twisted he’d requested to have his funeral here considering the weight of memories this place holds.

Up until his funeral, I hadn’t been here in years. I refused. Not since the last time I saw her. This house was no longer the bright happy home it once was. A dark cloud rolled in and refused to move, covering this place in darkness. My father’s presence didn’t help matters, even in his death. But when Laurel said she wanted to be married in a spot surrounded by flowers and the ocean, it was the first and only place that came to mind.

Micah joins the rest of our family and sits beside Victoria. I look over at Monroe sitting by herself and wonder if Laurel invited anyone else besides her. I don’t have to wonder for too long before her Uncle Frederick waddles in. The chair creaks when he sits down before he bounces back up, quickly standing long enough to shake my hand.

I return his gesture and then he falls back into his seat.

My attention is pulled away from our limited number of guests when I catch a glimpse of pure white in the corner of my eye.

Laurel takes her time walking down the three paved steps off the elevated deck attached to the back of the house. Music plays from the speakers scattered throughout the courtyard. She weaves her way through the maze of bushes and flowers. She’s entirely too far away. My stomach drops, and my heart hammers in my chest like never before. I go weak in the knees, drowning in the urge to bend and give in to the temptation of falling at her feet when she reaches me. Somehow, I force myself to stay standing. No one here knows how much power Laurel holds over me. Not even Laurel.

When she finally reaches the end of the aisle, she pauses, her shoulders visibly rising as she takes in a deep, steadying breath. She has no one standing beside her. Her father isn’t here to walk her down the aisle, and I see the hesitation and realization meet her eyes.

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