Page 109 of Accidental Groom
I freeze for a moment, watching as she turns in the mirror before nodding to herself about the sweater, then peels it off. I take it and put it in theyespile. “What about him?”
“I don’t know. I just hate how you’re barely speaking, and I don’t know how to be in the middle of all of that when she comes.”
“You’re not in the middle,” I say, pulling a loose blouse off the rack. “You’re not responsible for what he’s done, andyou’re definitely not responsible for what’s happened between us. That’s my problem to sort out, not yours.”
Her lips go flat as she holds the blouse in her hands, not moving. “But you’re going to have a daughter,” she murmurs, staring down at the fabric, her thumbs stroking the fabric. “And at some point, she’ll want to know her brother. I don’t want this…riftbetween you two to make her feel like she’s already a part of a fractured family.”
I gently take the blouse back, undoing the buttons one by one. “I don’t know what to do with George yet,” I admit, holding the open fabric out for her to slip her arms into. “But that doesn’t make it your burden to carry, and certainly not hers. I’ll figure something out at some point, make peace with him. Or not, if he won’t let me. But if he won’t, I’ll make sure it doesn’t feel like that for her. I promise.”
She’s quiet for a while as I do up her buttons, then let her look in the mirror again. I don’t push her. But when she turns back to me, fiddling with the buttons on the cuffs, her cheeks are still that faint shade of rosy pink they were when I came in. “I love you,” she says, her voice soft as the silk hanging around her body.
My hand slips around the back of her neck, and I pull her toward me, pressing my lips to her forehead. “Love you too, darling,” I murmur. “More than I ever thought I was capable of.”
Chapter 39
Elena
Grace and Sarah apparently thought it would be a spectacular idea to commandeer the entire west wing of Highcourt Hall for my baby shower.
It’s not that I dislike it. It’s not that I don’t want it. It just means my mom is at myhome, staring at me over six months pregnant, judging me — and that is more than enough to set me on edge.
They’ve filled it with plants and baby pink and cream decor. Custom place cards line tables with printed menus, an enormous sage green cake taking up the center of the room, and beside it, a lone helium balloon floating sadly because apparently Liam was dead set on picking at leastonething out.
There’s something almost dreamlike about it — stepping into a room like this and knowing it’s all for you. Or rather, for her. It feels like the wedding all over again, but with positives instead of nothing but anxiety. I let my hand drift to my belly, still fighting that internal cringe at the roundness before remembering exactlywhoI’m growing — even if it feels like she’s already trying to break free.
I’ve no idea how I’m going to get through another three months of this.
Grace appears beside me with a glass of sparkling apple juice, nudging it into my hand. “You’re glowing,” she grins.
“I’m sweating,” I deadpan, wiping beneath my eyes and the ridge of my nose.
She shrugs. “Same thing.”
For all her usual poise and precision, Grace has a side that’s entirely chaotic older sister energy — probably the same shit Sarah deals with from me. It’s the kind where she gets things done without waiting for permission, and won’t let anyone wallow when there’s a party going on. And today, she’s in full force. I don’t hate it.
The guest list is fairly small and intimate, the kind of people Harry trusts and the ones on my side that I don’t feel exhausted by, apart from my mom. Sarah’s perched by the back doors with a mocktail in hand, sipping it every time Mom opens her mouth. Mom’s been here less than thirty minutes and has already commented on the weight gain —“It’s all in your face, dear.”— and how she still doesn’t understand why we’re having a baby shower in the first place when we can afford to buy the things that people are giving to us, as if she isn’t sitting on stacks of Dad’s money herself.
I’m halfway through a bite of lavender shortbread when I hear her again.
“She’s always been so dramatic,” Mom says to one of the wives from the board at Highcourt Hotels. Macy Everdeen. She’s one of the few board members I’ve actually enjoyed speaking to since joining the brand. “She used to have these birthday parties for her dolls and would have entire meltdowns when none of her classmates came. So sensitive. One of her teachers called me once because she wouldn’t stop crying on her first day of middle school, saying she missed her sister too much. Worked herself up so bad she passed out like a Victorian heroine at eleven years old.”
My breath leaves my lungs.
“Don’t think she’d survive without someone to look after her.”
Grace shoots her a glare before I’ve even opened my mouth. “Seriously?”
Mom turns, her brows furrowing. “What?”
“You know she’s working for Highcourt Hotels now, right?” Grace says, her grin turning lethal. “She does pretty much everything on her own. She’s running the entire Swiss grand opening and already planning two conventions in the following months. She’s had every single division wrapped around her finger for the last month, andno onehad to look after her while she did it.”
I blink, caught off guard by Grace’s comments, and Sarah smiles like a madman behind Mom. But Mom just scoffs and rolls her eyes, excuses herself to the restroom, and abandons the situation like the coward she always has been.
“Thank you,” I say to Grace.
She shrugs. “What else are sisters-in-law for?”
The rest of the afternoon passes in a haze of tiny sandwiches and mocktails and women rubbing my stomach like it’ll bring them luck. I take breaks, sit near the fireplace, and Sarah rotates people away from me like a bouncer when I start looking overwhelmed. There’s a strangeness that hangs over everything, one that stems directly from everyone being there to celebrateme, and I don’t know how to feel about it.
