Chapter 20
Chapter Twenty
WREN
L ane isn’t my favorite person—she cheated on Barrett and I’m less forgiving about things like that than he is—but the ceremony is so moving, I find myself dabbing away tears and cheering along with the rest of the guests as Lane and Grant are pronounced man and wife.
“That was so beautiful,” I say, sniffing as Barrett and I rise to join the throng headed toward the tent set up on the grounds outside the vineyard’s tasting room. The ceremony itself was held amongst the vines, with the sunset making everything magical and oh-so-romantic.
He smiles down at me. “It was. I’m glad they found each other.”
I frown. “You’re a much nicer person than I am.”
“Not even close,” he says, before adding in a softer voice, “If they hadn’t been banging behind my back, I might never have ended up with you or as happy as I am right now.”
Heart flipping, I lean closer to his side, loving the way his hand lingers at the small of my back, as if his well-being depends on touching me at all times. “I’m happy, too. I can’t wait to tear up the dance floor with you.”
He tugs at his bow tie with his free hand. “I’m going to need at least one glass of champagne first. I know way too many people here to dance like nobody’s watching without something to lower my inhibitions.”
Grinning, I murmur, “Good, I like you with lowered inhibitions. That’ll make it easier for me to have my way with you in the stables before they cut the cake.”
He frowns, but his voice is huskier as he whispers, “I’m not having sex with you in the stables at my ex’s wedding.”
“Too scandalous?” I ask.
“Too many cameras,” he says. “I checked. The entire property is under surveillance. There is, however, a private family bathroom not far from the parking area that doesn’t appear to be monitored.”
“If we get caught banging in a bathroom, Christian and Starling will never let us hear the end of it.”
“We won’t get caught,” he says with a burning glance my way that makes my entire body tingle. “We’re professionals.”
I giggle. “Are we?”
Before he can answer, a squeaky voice bleats from my left, “Wren! I didn’t know you were going to be here! How are you sweetheart?”
I turn to see my mom’s ancient, but very sweet friend, Patrice, blinking up at me through her inch-thick glasses.
“Hey there, Pat,” I say. “I’m great. How are you?”
“Oh, I can’t complain,” Pat says, before heaving a sigh and beginning to do just that, “Though with Harry struggling with his gout and my lingering issues from the Lyme disease, we haven’t been able to be as busy this spring as we’d like. We didn’t get any baby chicks this year and he’s thinking of selling our breeding does. People just don’t eat rabbit the way they used to.” She reaches out, gripping my arm tightly. “Speaking of eating, could you help me to my seat, sweetie? I put on my old glasses by accident and can’t see so good. I wouldn’t want to accidentally sit down at the wrong table.”
Barrett touches a gentle hand to my elbow. “I’ll get us champagne and meet you by the ice sculpture?”
“Sounds perfect,” I say, smiling up at him before turning back to Patrice. “And, of course, Pat. I’ll get you settled, then grab you whatever you want to drink.”
“Well, I want whiskey,” she says, chuckling. “But I should probably stick with coffee if I want to stay awake for cake. Cake is always my favorite part of a wedding. And Lane’s mother said this one is chocolate with coffee icing. Doesn’t that sound delicious?”
Agreeing that it does, I blow Barrett a kiss and lead Patrice into the tent. We circle around the edge of the cluster of circular tables, finding hers pretty quickly. She’s seated with several other older ladies, two of whom are already settled in and deep into dishing on all the attendees by the time we arrive.
They pause in spilling the tea to give me their drink orders—two coffees and a spiked cider—and I hustle over to the hot drink station to oblige them. It takes a few minutes to get through the line and a few more to figure out how to juggle all three mugs at once, but I make it back to the women before they’ve had time to decide if Mary Anne Killarney’s red dress is a do or a don’t with her fiery orange hair, and excuse myself with smile and a wave.
I’m positive the ladies are going to gossip about Barrett and me as soon as I’m out of earshot, but I don’t care. Let them say whatever they want to say, let them approve or disapprove. I’m too happy to be bothered with what other people think about me dating my boss or moving in with him after only two weeks.
Being with Barrett is even better than I imagined it would be, and I’m so glad we found our way to each other before it was too late. He’s just…my person, the one I want to spend every spare minute with, the one I want to daydream about the future with, the one I can’t wait to crawl into bed with later tonight.
Though that bathroom quickie plan doesn’t sound half bad…
I head to the ice sculpture beside the dance floor, marveling at the amount of chilled vodka emerging from the swan’s arched throat. Lane and Grant spared no expense on this celebration. From the open bar, appetizer buffet, and steak or seafood dinner to be served in about an hour, everyone will be leaving well-fed and liquored.
The flowers are also lush and copious. The entire tent is packed with arrangements of various sizes, all of them featuring magnolia blossoms in honor of Lane’s childhood home and all the folks who made the trip from Georgia to celebrate with her. There are even full magnolia tree limbs arching over the dance floor, intermingled with twinkling fairy lights.
I’m so busy admiring the decorations and bopping along to “Beyond the Sea,” Lane and Grant’s first dance, that I don’t realize Barrett hasn’t arrived for several minutes.
When I do, I circle around the dance floor to the other side of the tent, to see if he’s trapped in a long line for drinks or something.
But when I get to the champagne fountain beside the bar, there’s no line to speak of and Barrett is nowhere to be found. I do another lap around the tent and swing by the ice sculpture, thinking we might have missed each other, but there’s still no sign of him. I check the bathroom line next and the family bathroom by the parking lot, but he’s not there, either.
As I close the door to the family restroom behind me, a sinking feeling takes hold of my stomach. My throat tightens and chill bumps lift on my arms, making me wish I’d brought my sweater in from the truck.
The truck…
Maybe Barrett went there to fetch something. But as I turn away from the glittering lights in the tent and move farther from the sounds of music and celebration, the lurching in my gut only gets worse. By the time I reach the rear right corner of the gravel parking lot, every nerve ending in my body is on high alert and I’m not really surprised to see that Barrett’s truck is gone.
But I am surprised by the string of texts that pops through to my cell a few moments later— I’m so sorry, Wren, but this isn’t going to work.
Us. Together.
It’s a disaster waiting to happen. It’s best if we put an end to this experiment now, before we get in too deep, or do irreparable damage to your reputation.
I’ll sleep somewhere else tonight and send one of my brothers to help you move out of the house tomorrow. I’ll get them there at ten with a U-Haul and you won’t have to worry about a thing except making sure the boxes are packed.
Again, I’m so sorry. I don’t have the words to tell you how sorry. I know this will be painful, but in the end it’s what’s best for you and everyone else involved.
I’ll always think the world of you. You truly are one of the best people I’ve had the pleasure to meet. I hope we can find a way to move past this and be friends someday, but if not, I understand.
My deepest apologies and regrets, Barrett.
By the time, I’m finished reading, tears are streaming down my face.
But they’re not sad tears.
They’re angry tears.
If he thinks he’s going to give me the best few weeks of my life, then dump me via text, he clearly doesn’t know me as well as he thinks.
Swiping at my damp cheeks, I pull in a breath and stomp back toward the reception, plotting the easiest way to get Patrice to loan me her car.