Page 56 of Heart Strings
Aunt Sharon bats the idea away with a wave of her hand.
“Come on, Aunt Sharon. Didn’t you clear the bad juju away already?”
She scoffs and holds the juniper aloft. “Lark, you obviously need an energy cleanse in here, with your cousin around.”
She flicks the lighter and I reach to snatch it from her hands, when I feel a softwhoosh.
Sharon freezes. I smell nasty burning and realize it’s not the juniper—it’s me.
My hair is on fire.
I’m not a squealer, but under the right circumstances anythinggoes. Screaming fills the bridal suite. The poor bride, her airhead of a mother, and the smoke alarm. Me. All screaming.
Anvi tosses a throw blanket over my head and smothers the fire.
Sputtering in horror, I reach for the hot, now-brittle ends of my hair and feel them crumble between my fingertips. The alarm continues to blare. Rory stands on a chair, waving a pocket square in front of the sensor to clear away the smoke and bitter smell of burnt hair.
Saoirse stands in the doorway Sharon left open, mouth agape as she takes in the chaos. “The groom is, uh, ready for you, Lark.”
Chapter 21
Aidan
We’ve been waitingto start the ceremony for fifteen minutes. Long enough for Callum to begin pacing around the formal garden where all the guests are already anxiously murmuring.
“Everything is grand.” I straighten his boutonniere. It’s the only bit of color in his black-on-black ensemble. “But let me text Saoirse to see what’s going on.”
Footsteps and hushed voices grab our attention. Callum turns away, not wanting to catch an accidental peek at his bride before the big moment.
“Sorry to make you wait, Callum. Minor wardrobe malfunction,” Saoirse explains. “Lark is on her way now.”
His shoulders sag in relief, and I pat him on the back. “See, told you.”
The rest of the bridesmaids enter the hallway leading to the gardens in their burgundy dresses that match my suit.
Cielo is a stunner no matter what she wears, but today she looks divine. Sprigs of baby’s breath peek out from her pinned-uphair, and her gown gives her a classic elegance. A healthy glow lingers on her cheeks that didn’t come from the makeup artist, proof that she’s no angel, but damn does she look like one.
“You’re a vision,” I say.
She traces my freshly shaven jaw and dips a fingertip into one of my dimples. Tenderness in her eyes, she whispers, “I missed these dimples.”
It’s a lot to hope for just from a shave, but I want Lo to see that under the trappings of fame, I’m still the man she used to love. Still the man who loves her. Martin says it’s important to keep a distinct image, and that the beard tested well with the record label’s focus group. But it’ll grow back before the festival in New York.
“Thought I’d tidy up a bit for the wedding. Honestly, though, the suit makes me feel a bit like Beetlejuice.”
Lo smiles, but she doesn’t refute the resemblance.
Something acrid crinkles my nose. I lean closer and sniff her. “What’s that smell?”
“My aunt lit me on fire fifteen minutes ago.”
“She—What?”
Cielo shakes her head, quickly recounting the events that led to hiding the burnt ends of her hair in a flower-covered bun. Apparently, she was the picture of chaos only minutes earlier.
“I’d never know. You look perfect to me. You always do.”
At that, she blushes.
