Chapter Sixteen
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Hannah and River’s wedding is in less than an hour, there are still a dozen critical tasks to do, and yet I’m here, in the winery-turned-dressing-room, arguing. There’s no Bridezilla here, no Groom Kong .
But there is a Teddy .
I really should’ve seen this coming.
Teddy glares at the elfin ear prosthetics in my hand with revulsion, then his eyes flick up to mine. “I will bite you if you come any closer.”
“ Teddy. ” My heartbeat’s pounding in my neck. I’ve grown increasingly agitated over the course of the day, not only because I want Hannah and River’s wedding to be perfect, but also because of the Everyday Bon Vivant team’s impending visit. Yesterday Jamal texted me that Marisol and company had spent a long evening at Into the Woods the night after our meeting, and apparently, it went so well that Rachel pranced through town, smug as ever, telling anybody who’d listen every detail. Whatever confidence I’d gained from Marisol’s warm hugs had dissolved in the sober light of day. I was drunk, for God’s sake, parading them around our property, telling them sad, deeply personal stories, pretending to be madly in love with my vintner who, only recently, stopped detesting me. What was I thinking? I’ve been kicking myself ever since, and Teddy’s bullshit now is grating my last bit of patience down to the nub. “Put them on .”
“I’d rather fellate Gimli!”
“You wanted to be a part of Hannah and River’s wedding, and that means you’re wearing the ears! ”
“What’s going on here?” River strides over, his gait excessively swaggered thanks to his own attire. The sight of my sweet, goofy cousin, forever a dreamer, manages to bring my nerves down a full notch. River’s beaming as bright as the sun. His broad shoulders fill out a soft off-white linen tunic, loosely tucked into a pair of fitted leather breeches that, Hannah confessed during a late evening with the Queer Mountaineers, were the sole reason she agreed to River’s Lord of the Rings –inspired vision for their wedding in the first place. Everybody razzed her mercilessly until she finally passed her phone around with a shirtless picture of River in the tight leather pants.
Even Teddy shut up after that.
Well. Until the ears.
“But I’m just an usher! Why do I have to be a goddamn elf, too?!”
“Because Hannah and I have a vision.” River smiles devilishly, hand resting on the base of his sword’s hilt. It isn’t real—Hannah forbade that part of his vision—but the move is delightfully menacing all the same.
“Oh, don’t bring Hannah into this, Dildo Baggins ! That poor girl’s only mistake is marrying a dork!”
“You could be a hobbit instead,” River offers, his glee multiplying. “It only requires blush, a curly wig, and giant hairy feet.” River points at Maeve and Gloria, both of whom have wholeheartedly embraced the hobbit option. We had a blast one night gluing fake hair to the tops of their Crocs.
“I’m too sexy to be a hobbit, and you know it .” Teddy grits his jaw as he grabs the elf ear-tips and stomps off, his long, silver-haired wig swishing behind him as he mutters something about giant nerds and where they can shove their swords.
“It’s Bilbo, by the way!” River calls out, grinning. He sighs pleasantly, then throws an arm around me. “I picked the extra-big ears for him.”
“Are you trying to make my life impossible?” I exhale through a smile, willing the Everyday Bon Vivant stress to melt away. This is River’s wedding, my beloved cousin who’s always been like a big brother to me, and he’s marrying one of my closest friends. They’re incandescently happy, and I cling to that joy, reminding myself that there are more important things today than impressing some wine folks.
“What can I say?” River shrugs, that playful smile I’ve known all my life dancing on his face. “I have a vision, and it includes annoying Teddy. Everything’s going exactly as planned.”
We clink our heads together gently and walk arm in arm out of the winery toward the groom’s backstage tent area. Hannah has her own tent opposite, and together the effect is like a royal encampment. Guests are laughing and milling about the pre-ceremony cocktail hour, which I’ve set up on the patio. Tristan’s in charge of that, fully rocking his dwarf ensemble and braided beard behind the bar as he pours guests glasses of frothy mead. Literal mead . I have a freaking mead guy now.
I shake my head and smile. River owes me so big. To his and Hannah’s credit, though, Bluebell Vineyards has been transformed into a lovely, mystical place straight out of a fairy tale. Garlands of flowers and silvery vines drape lazily between ornate wooden posts carved by River’s capable hands, making a path through the vineyard to each destination—the cocktail hour, the ceremony tucked right at the entrance to our woods, and the reception in the meadows with our property’s best views of the hazy blue mountains. I’m starting to get River’s point. People in black suits and satin dresses would look utterly out of place beneath the magical fairy lights and gilded lanterns dangling from the trees. Not all the guests complied with River’s dress code, but the ones who did add to the ethereal bohemian atmosphere that Hannah created within River’s parameters. The effect is like walking through a beautiful dream, studded here and there with straight comedy. Seeing Darryl in wizard robes with the words Stepdaddy of the Bride embroidered on the back made my entire life .
While I usually wear my own black tailored suit to weddings, this is family, and I love a reason to dress up. When Hannah and I were perusing designs for her wedding gown, we stumbled across my dress. It’s a pale shade of copper, the exact rosy hue of our blush Catawba blend, and feels just as light and silky on my body as the wine does on my tongue. It’s long and flowing, with gauzy sleeves that end past my elbows, neckline dipping in a perfect V that shows off my sternum. The bodice holds my breasts firmly in place. Inside-boob for the win, with nary a strip of breast tape required.
“It is perfection,” Hannah breathed when I tried it on for her.
“Still want to marry River?” I flashed her a little ankle with a grin.
“ Barely. ” She looked like she meant it, too.
So yeah, I’m feeling pretty hot right now. No ears or wigs for me—River’s granted me the honor of being a Middle Earth warrior queen or some such, I don’t know. Just my short black hair left wavy beneath a simple crown of scarlet bergamot and several strands of gold looped around my neck. I politely declined the jeweled dagger he offered me, though weaponry could’ve been useful for a wedding planner.
When we reach River’s tent, he grasps me by both arms. With misty eyes full of a heartbreaking love, he says, “Thank you for today, Zoe.”
“You deserve this.” My words are without context, but River doesn’t need any. He pulls me into a gentle hug, as though he can see all the bittersweet longing that brims within me, too. It’s making it hard to breathe.
“So do you,” he whispers, resting his chin on my head. “Your love story is coming soon, Zoe. I can feel it.”
I laugh, though the sound is unbelieving and thick with unshed tears. If I could believe it were true, maybe this weight that’s rested on my chest ever since the people I loved most started leaving me would finally lift.
“Hey, boss?”
River and I turn our heads at the same time, and I quickly dash away the few tears that made a jailbreak. I tense in his arms, not breathing—not because I can’t this time, but because I forget to. Laine is wearing camel-colored suede leggings that hug each muscular segment of her strong thighs, tucked into a pair of laced boots the color of cognac. The pants rise over her straight hips, where a slim white button-down is tucked in front. It’s a modern shirt, but the collar is open deep, the buttons undone enough to reveal her chest tattoos. My eyes dance across the intricate pattern of wildflowers that stretches across her collarbone in either direction, kissing the tops of her breasts and disappearing beneath the cotton. I’d seen them briefly that night in Harlow’s bed, but I was so drenched in mortification, I didn’t register what I was seeing. A small gasp exits my lips in recognition.
Bluebells.
River glances between me and Laine, then back to me again. “Maybe it’s already begun.” He squeezes me one last time before disappearing into his tent.
Our bodies bring us closer, so close I could trace the dusky blooms curving over her breasts with my finger. Follow each blue-green tendril along its twists and turns, until they led me to her heart.
“Your tattoos,” I murmur, wishing I could push her shirt aside to see more. To see all of her.
“The woods behind our house, in the spring. The bluebells rise out of nowhere, like a veil of blue.” Laine smiles ruefully. “I always thought they were magic.”
Maybe they are. They brought you to me, after all , my heart whispers. For a second, it seems like she heard. She looks at me, dazed, the small divot between her brows that appears when she’s thinking pronounced beneath her doe-brown hair. The smoky plum eyeliner ringing her silt-brown eyes makes them even richer, like if the wind scattered me there, I could grow into something beautiful.
“Is everything okay?” I manage out through the tightness growing in my throat. It hurts sometimes, how perfect she is. This blend of hard lines and soft edges, the grown-up version of all my teenage fantasies. The mountain breeze ripples through my dress, bringing with it the memory of her mouth on my thighs, tongue sliding languidly across my skin until I clenched so hard it hurt. I hate myself a little for how turned on I am, just from looking at her. From remembering what, for one night, I briefly had. For showing her a glimpse of all these warring feelings within me, and for her not looking away.
“Laine?” I try again. “Did you need—”
“You are beautiful,” she says faintly, the soft words interrupting me, my thoughts, the entire space-time continuum, as she takes a step forward. Her head bows down, her hand reaching dreamily upward, cupping my cheek. The pad of her thumb brushes away the last dew of my tears, lifting me up to face her fully.
“Laine, the—the events team isn’t here yet.” My voice is shaky and unsure.
“So?” The word blooms from her parted lips as her eyes search mine, sending warmth cascading through my entire body. “Say my name again.”
“I—”
“Say it,” she commands, her lips brushing against my hair. And I am molten, unsteady, collapsing into her arms as they wrap around my waist.
“Laine,” I breathe, like her name is air. Her eyes flutter closed, and she groans softly in my ear. “Laine, we—work together. I need you too much. I can’t afford to have some fling with you.”
“Who”—she breathes—“ever said”—her lower lip skates across my earlobe—“it would be some fling , boss?”
My spine curls, bringing my hips flush with hers, the sweet, dull ache between my legs pulsing in time with my heart. Every professional impulse in my body flees the country. It doesn’t even occur to me that I’m ready to publicly ride my vintner’s thigh at my place of business until Hannah’s happy laughter trills through the side of her tent, lurching me back into the present. My eyes fly open, and I press both palms against Laine’s shoulders, pushing us apart. I don’t have time for my feelings. Today, I am part of someone else’s happiness, and that, like always, has to be enough.
It has to.
“It’s time to do final setup for the ceremony because we’re walking the guests over in twenty minutes,” I say in one long, breathless rush. Laine’s pupils are blown wide, dreamy and dark, as she considers the frantic edge to my tone. But if it puts her off, she doesn’t show it. Instead, she slowly adjusts the bodice of my dress, fingers dipping beneath the fabric, eyes drinking in the way my breasts swell against the tight, constricting dip of the neckline.
“Yes, boss.” She trails her index finger down my collarbone, stopping when both our breathing goes ragged. Her eyes hold mine.
“Whenever you’re ready.” It’s a challenge, a dare, a promise . She turns then, disappearing into the folks of the Shire.
And I finally exhale.
My thoughts are on a wild rampage as I flit through the ceremony area, but everything is perfect and thus, utterly unable to distract me from Laine . The wildflowers bundled with wheat and wrapped by vine hang from each row. The trail of vintage Turkish rugs Hannah’s meticulously collected makes a long, mismatched path of ruby and yellow, pink and indigo, all the way to the small round dais River built at the edge of our woods. An arch formed of curling birch branches, draped in honeysuckle and small floating lights, stands on the dais ready for the magic to come. The breeze whispers through the leaves, adding the melodic thrum of wind chimes to birdsong, and my heart yearns, yearns , at the beauty of it all.
And Laine. Laine! I’d say her name a thousand times if she asked me to.
Oh god, I’m losing it.
The yearning only grows as the guests meander to their seats to the soft sounds of Killian, Hannah’s ex and Bowie’s father, fingerpicking Simon & Garfunkel songs on his beat-up acoustic. Trish takes her place on the dais, smiling as River joins her, then grinning with tears streaming down her face as Hannah walks down the aisle, holding little Bowie by the hand and a bouquet of wildflowers in the other. Hannah is otherworldly, lit by the golden hour and the soft glow of the hanging lanterns. Her wedding dress is the color of palest champagne, a folk story of flowers spun in lace. It plunges down the front and back to reveal the swell of her chest, the strong line of her back, the tops of her summer-golden shoulders, before cascading in a waterfall of threaded blooms. Her dark blonde waves are braided away from her face and spill down her back, and she’s crowned with a wreath of magnolias and silver-green thistle. But it’s the look of joy, like she’s found her home at long last, that lights up her entire being. The pride and love and beauty of it all overwhelms me completely.
When River picks up Bowie with one arm and helps Hannah climb the steps with the other, my chest tightens painfully. What they have is so beautiful, it almost hurts to witness it.
Could I have it, too?
“Greetings, folk of the Shire,” Trish says, signaling the guests to sit. “My future son-in-law made me say that.” She smirks at the audience chuckling politely in their seats. “The rest, though, will come from my heart.” Trish’s smirk trembles, her voice catching, and I’m going to be bawling in two seconds flat.
Trish turns to her beautiful daughter with a tender look. “I didn’t always believe in love, but then I had you, Hannah. From the first moment you grabbed my finger in your tiny fist, my heart unfolded into a hundred new directions, growing, stretching, multiplying, and it’s never stopped, baby. You’ve been teaching me the meaning of love ever since.
“Our roads aren’t always easy, paved with potholes and assholes and all manner of other—oh, right. This is a family event.” Trish laughs, wiping her eyes furiously with the sleeves of her own wizard robes. “But those hard, dirty roads got us here today, baby. You are the most beautiful person who ever lived, and you’ve finally found the person who sees you as the treasure you are.” Trish stops, her voice fully wobbling, to address the audience. “If y’all thought for one second I was going to give anything other than a sermon about how wonderful my daughter is, you’re thicker than mud.”
“You tell ’em, baby!” Darryl calls from the front row, and the audience gamely whistles and hoots. Hannah’s laughing and crying, holding a grinning River by the hand, Bowie tucked between them.
“That’s the real trick, isn’t it?” Trish says, her voice strained with emotion. “Finding someone who loves you in all the ways you can’t love yourself just yet. Who gives you what you deserve, even when you don’t believe you deserve it.” She smiles at Darryl, who’s now openly weeping. “And if you’re lucky enough to find that person, being brave enough to put down everything you’ve got and bet on happiness for once in your life.” Her eyes travel across the audience, resting on mine.
“It can be so hard, can’t it? To let yourself hope?”
A small sob arches out of my throat, completely against my will. An instant later, a warm arm wraps around my shoulders, and I look quickly to see Teddy standing beside me. Teddy, who faced an even larger dearth of romantic opportunities than I do now and still found his person. His crinkly eyes see all the hurt and fear I keep inside, making it easier to bear in this beautiful, painful moment. I wrap my arm around him, too, and hug him close.
“When you’ve been hurt again and again, believing that could change seems like the most impossible thing in the world. But it can.” Trish’s words feel more hopeful, more charged with power than any actual sermon I’ve ever heard. They feel dangerous, too, like plans of escape uttered through the bars of a jail cell.
“But not if you won’t let it.” This, Trish delivers in a near-whisper, and it’s up to the breeze to carry it through the clearing. The collective mood has gone from joyful to touched to unspeakably tender, her words resonating within every current and former lonely heart sitting among these trees. They feel like a personal challenge to me, churning through my mind and all my bullshit, daring me to heed them. But how? I want to scream. With Laine?
My employee? The future of my vineyard rests in her hands, and I’ve worked hard to trust her with that. I’ve seen what happens when a heart is destroyed, I’ve witnessed it every day since my mother died. How could I hand mine over to someone who could crush it and my family business in one fell swoop? Laine’s too powerful, and I’m too defenseless. Even if part of me wants to be destroyed, my sense of self-preservation is screaming at the top of its lungs right now. I squeeze my eyes shut, willing my life not to be such an utter travesty. Am I doomed to fall in love with the same woman in each era of my life, only to be ignored or worse, tried out and discarded, on a godforsaken loop?
The sobs crawl up my throat, begging for release, and I quickly disentangle from Teddy’s arm. “I’m—I’ll be fine, I just—I’ve got to go check on the reception.”
Teddy nods. “I’ll keep an eye on things here, baby.”
River’s holding both of Hannah’s hands now, giving her his vows that not a soul in this place could ever doubt, and I can’t hear a word of them over the roaring in my head. I wish their happiness didn’t hurt so much, but it’s like looking at the sun, and my eyes ache to be released from it. I’ve reached my mother’s tree by the time loud cheering rises from the woods, and a wave of relief and shame washes over me. Sometimes my loneliness feels like a boulder inside of me, separating me from everyone I love. I try to ignore it, tell myself that all I need are the occasional blips of intimacy I get from Harlow or Mariah or whoever’s willing to throw me a bone that day. I have family and friends who love me—shouldn’t that be enough? But the boulder’s always there. I wish I was strong enough to roll it down the mountain, to accept this life and the people in it. Let what I have be enough.
I wish it were enough.
“Zoe?” Laine’s voice raises the hair on my neck, and I take a second to wipe my eyes before turning.
“Yes?”
She gazes at me long enough to tell me she knows I’ve been crying again. Whatever, lots of people cry at weddings. I’m not an emotionally stunted bad cousin and friend, choked by jealousy and loneliness to the point where other people’s love feels like air I can’t breathe. She reaches out for my hand and squeezes it gently. She doesn’t let go.
“The Everyday Bon Vivant folks just arrived. It’s ho-time.”
Ho-time. Right.