Chapter 33 Easton #2
Bad news. Your sister has requested that we ruin Hawk’s bachelor party by attending it. She isn’t drinking, and this is the only thing she has asked for. So you can either tell us where you are, or I can track you down and potentially witness something untoward occurring. Your call.
ELIJAH
Hawk has already ruined it by mooning over my sister. He’s barely drinking, and he refused to go to any strip clubs. Absolutely pathetic.
I’m sure you’ll do much better when it’s your turn. So many prostitutes.
I already have their LinkedIn profiles saved.
He sends me a pin to their location, and ten minutes later we are walking into some bar that has thirty kinds of frozen beverages along the wall.
Hawk and Kelsey immediately attach to each other like magnets, or maggots, depending on how you feel about their level of affection.
And I, of course, slide right up next to Elijah, as if it can’t be helped. The mere sight of him eases something inside me that I didn’t even realize was tensed, but the sentiment is not shared.
Elijah takes in my barely there dress, and his mouth sets in a grim line. “Did you lose the pants that came with that shirt over the course of the evening?”
“Your sister made me wear it, and before you start talking about how slutty it is, you should know that it’s hers, not mine.”
“I don’t know if anybody pointed this out, but you are about four inches taller than my sister. That thing would drape to her knees.”
His nostrils flare, suddenly, and I have no idea why until Aiden steps up beside me with his hand on the small of my back. “That dress is something else,” he says with a sly grin.
If it wasn’t for Elijah, I’d probably be interested. Aiden’s hot, and smart, and the right degree of flirty without being gross. But all I feel for him are friend vibes.
“You bend an inch in that thing,” Elijah grits out, “and the whole bar is going to see your panties.”
I give him a brittle smile. “If I were wearing them, sure.”
Aiden glances between the two of us and squeezes my hip. “When you’re done bickering, come find me. You owe me a dance.”
He moves away and Elijah appears even more furious than he already was. “So this is still going to happen with you two?” he demands.
“For fuck’s sake, Elijah. Because he wants to dance? It’s not exactly a marriage proposal.”
“I’m not worried about him marrying you.”
He’s acting more jealous right now than Thomas ever has, and we’re not even together. He could have me if he wanted me and he just...doesn’t.
“This is insane,” I tell him. “You have no idea what you even want.”
His hand wraps around my arm, stopping me as I turn. He’s pressed to my back and as much as I ought to resent being manhandled, I like it. I’m melting.
He leans down. “I know what I want, Easton.”
I glance behind me. Here’s the thing: I believe him. I don’t know why he isn’t pursuing something permanent with me, but I don’t think you can be intimate with someone the way we were and have it mean nothing.
And even if he never figures it out, I’m not done.
I let my weight press to his chest and his hand wraps around my hip, pulling me closer. And then he starts to move me in the direction of the dance floor.
“You’re going to dance?” I ask.
“I’m not fucking dancing,” he says, maneuvering me toward the bathrooms. “And neither are you.”
“I’m not having sex with you in a public restroom,” I insist, but my voice is breathy, as if I’ve already conceded. I suppose I have.
“Is that a challenge, Easton?” he asks against my ear. “I bet you’re already soaked at the idea.”
He’s right. I am.
“Elijah!” squeals a voice. We turn just as Francesca lurches forward to throw her arms around his neck, then takes a single step backward.
“Uh, I don’t feel so good.”
I reach for her. “Let’s get you—”
She grabs my arm as if she’s drowning...then vomits all down the front of my borrowed dress and Elijah’s pants.
I guess we’re not having sex in the bathroom, and based on how pissed I currently am, I guess maybe I really wanted to. I take Francesca into the women’s room and clean us both up as best I can. When we emerge, Elijah’s waiting with a glass of water for her.
We force her to drink it—it’ll probably come up, but hopefully that won’t happen until we’re back at the house.
We call a car and slide into the backseat with Francesca beside me. She’s asleep before I’ve even finished buckling her in.
“You think we need to take her to the hospital?” Elijah asks.
I reach out to feel her pulse, which is steady. “I’ll stay in her room for a few hours and keep an eye on her.”
His gaze meets mine over her slumped head. “I wish we hadn’t been interrupted.”
My smile is slight. It sort of hurts, playing this game with him. Indulging in this fling as if it’s totally cool that he’s not willing to pursue anything more than sex in a bathroom with me while I’d give the entire world up for him.
“I’m sorry I gave you a hard time about the dress,” he says quietly. “I was jealous.”
I laugh. “Really? You hid it so well.”
He grins and all is forgiven. No matter how he treats me, no matter how much he jerks me around...I’ll never be able to stay angry at him.
We have the driver take us to the back of the mansion, where the guest cottages are.
Once we get Francesca to her room, I ask Elijah to watch her while I use her shower.
I’ll need to borrow clothes from Francesca or her roommate, I guess, since she destroyed the dress.
When I emerge in nothing but a towel, Elijah’s gaze drifts over me, head to toe, and then back to the bathroom behind me.
I smile slightly, shaking my head. “We’d have a tough time explaining that if she wakes up. Plus you haven’t showered.”
I see him to the door. His gaze rests on my mouth for one very long moment before he leaves.
Fucking Francesca.
When I wake the next morning in Kelsey’s room, it’s worse outside than it was the night before. The trees are swaying like marsh grass.
I’m pretty sure trees aren’t meant to do that.
I grab my phone to check the weather forecast. Hurricane Mallory is now due to make landfall about an hour west of here. There is no evacuation for New Orleans, but plenty of warnings about flooding and high winds.
“I guess this is why they say not to plan on an outdoor wedding,” yawns Kelsey.
I roll toward her. “You’re really not upset?”
Her eyes glow, and a delighted smile curves her mouth. “We could get married in a parking lot for all I care. I just can’t wait to be his wife.”
A voice in my head says, “But you did so much planning! Where are all the guests going to sit? Where’s the band going to play? You spent so much money on this!”
None of that is helpful, however. Her mind’s been made up, and why would I try to make her less happy with her decision?
The house is in an uproar when I get downstairs. A buffet has been set up in the Boudreauxes’ dining room. Guests attempt to load scrambled eggs and French toast on their plates while staff move furniture to make room for rental tables and chairs.
Bridget has finally given up on convincing Hawk and Kelsey to cancel, so the conversation has turned to the question of where to hold the ceremony instead.
There are two hundred and fifty guests coming, minus any last-minute cancellations, and the only place in the entire house large enough for that many people is possibly the foyer, if people are willing to stand on the staircase and second-floor railing to watch.
“But how do we have a wedding procession if the house is jam-packed with people?” Bridget asks.
“We don’t,” Kelsey says, as Hawk’s fingers slide through hers. “We just squeeze through the crowd as if it’s a concert and make our way toward the front.”
Hawk beams down at her, besotted as a teenager, and who can blame him? He’s somehow found a woman who doesn’t care about his money, who doesn’t care about how this wedding will look on social media—who simply loves him.
Even Bridget softens at the sight of the two of them. “This is the only day like this you get. Let’s make sure it’s special.”
“It’ll be special no matter what happens, Mom,” Hawk replies.
My eyes sting, and I’m not sure if it’s happiness for them or sadness for myself. I love that they have what they do, but yes...I wish I had it for myself, too, and I don’t think I ever will.
The spa day is moved to the basement. The men’s golf outing turns into a visit to one of those indoor driving ranges. By the time we’re heading upstairs to get ready for the rehearsal, there are trees down in the yard and the sound of sirens is nearly constant.
I don’t see how the caterers are even going to make it tomorrow if this keeps up.
Aiden apparently has concerns along similar lines and gets ordained online just in case the justice of the peace doesn’t arrive.
The woman who was coming to do Kelsey’s hair for the rehearsal couldn’t get through the neighborhood and had to turn around.
It’s not likely to be better in twelve hours.
Upstairs, Kelsey and I both shower and then do each other’s hair, the same way we did back in high school. The rehearsal and wedding are going to be an absolute shit show, but it’s sort of cozy in the room with the rain hammering the windows and pounding against the roof.
“You didn’t happen to bring a steamer, did you?” I ask, grabbing my crumpled beige dress from my suitcase.
“Oh!” she yelps. “I nearly forgot! Elijah said to tell you your other dress is in the closet. It’s gorgeous, by the way.”
My brow furrows. There is no other dress. My bridesmaid’s dress was pressed and delivered up here yesterday. The only other dress I brought on this trip is the one currently balled up in my hands.
I go to the closet anyway and find the dress from that shop window in Seaside hanging there.
There’s a flutter in my chest, and an ache too. Elijah speaks every one of those love languages Betty referred to and Thomas speaks none of them.