Chapter Thirty-Six
Amiya
T hank God it’s a sunset wedding.
Lennon and I made it home at five. We didn’t even bother showering off the flour and frosting before crawling into bed. I set the alarm for ten so I could get up and showered to meet the girls at the cottage.
I wake Lennon as I’m leaving.
“Do you need to ride with me?” I ask.
“No. Wade’s picking me up,” he mumbles.
He gets up and staggers to the kitchen to make coffee.
“Okay. See you there.”
I grab my keys just as a knock vibrates the back door.
“Fuck. That must be him,” he says.
I open the door, and standing on the deck in a well-tailored Armani suit is Allen Chamberlin. He’s the wealthy owner of an Atlanta-based engineering firm, who has been asking me out since I began managing his portfolio over a year ago.
“Allen,” I say, trying to hide the frustration in my voice.
I meant to call to politely uninvite him, but it slipped my mind in the chaos of last night.
“Hi, Amiya. Am I early?” he asks as he looks at my lounge pants and tee.
Lennon walks up behind me with a mug of coffee in hand. He’s wearing a pair of sweatpants, but his chest and feet are bare.
“Hi,” Allen greets, confusion evident in his voice.
“Nice to meet you, Allen. I’ve heard so much about you,” Lennon says.
“You have?”
Lennon hooks an arm around my neck. “Yep. Amiya hasn’t stopped talking about you for weeks.”
If looks could kill, he’d fall straight to the floor when my eyes snap to his.
Bastard.
I look back at Allen and smile. He’s handsome. He’s successful. He’s the kind of man most women would fawn all over.
But he does nothing for me.
“I was just on my way to meet the bride and other bridesmaids so we could ride together to get our hair and makeup done. I’ll just call and let them know I’ll meet them there so I can ride with you,” I tell him.
I turn back to Lennon. “See you later.”
“Yeah, you will.”
Allen drops me off with the girls at the venue where the beauticians have set up to do their magic.
He walks across the street to a coffee shop, where he said he would be fine to hang out and make some business calls until it was time for the wedding to start. I feel guilty for abandoning him that way, but I didn’t know what else to do.
I’d asked him if he wanted to be my wedding date because of Lennon.
When I didn’t hear from him after our first night together, I was hurt. And I wanted to avoid the awkwardness of him showing up at the wedding with a date and me being alone.
I hadn’t anticipated the last few weeks.
“Hey, are you okay?” Avie asks.
She’s seated while the stylist flutters around her, curling her long hair.
“Yeah. Why?”
“You’re just quiet this morning,” she says.
“That’s because I’m sad. I’m losing you to a boy today,” I quip.
She shakes her head.
“Like that would ever happen.”
I step into my dress. It’s a gorgeous, strapless, floor-length sangria-colored satin number.
“You look so pretty, Auntie Miya,” Leia squeals from her perch on the stool next to Avie. “Can I put my dress on?”
“Not yet, baby. We wouldn’t want your pretty white dress to be messed up before the ceremony,” Sabel tells her.
The door to the dressing room cracks open, and Naomie’s head appears.
“Amiya, can I borrow you for a moment?” she asks.
“Sure.” I look at Avie. “I’ll be right back to help you into your gown.”
I walk out into the hallway and shut the door behind me.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, knowing from the high pitch of her voice that another crisis is afoot.
“It’s Avie’s bouquet. It’s roses. Not tulips,” Naomie says.
The delivery guy is standing there, waving a work order in the air.
I snatch it from his grasp. “It says right here. Tulip and dahlia bouquet,” I point out.
“Look, miss, like I was telling this lady, I don’t make the bouquets. I just pick up the flowers and deliver them.”
I glance down at the name tag on his jacket.
“Look, Mel, I know this isn’t your fault and I’m sorry you’re having to deal with it, but this is important. You’ll just have to go back and have them fix it,” I demand.
He sighs. “There isn’t any time. My guys are finishing up the arch now, and by the time that’s done and we drive back out to the distributor in Wilmington, the ceremony will be over.”
Fuck .
“What do we do? I can’t take this to her,” Naomie cries.
Geezus, can one thing go right? I look around the hallway trying to come up with a plausible solution. I could call Allen and send him in search of tulips, but what is the likelihood any florist in a fifty-mile radius will be open on a Sunday and stocked with white tulips?
“What flowers are on the arch?” I ask Mel.
“Huh?”
“The arch. Outside. What flowers are you putting on it?” I ask.
He looks down at the paperwork.
“We have some golden pampas grass, blush- and wine-colored roses, white ranunculus, and some eucalyptus,” he says.
“White ranunculus—what’s that?” I ask.
“It’s a pretty flower that looks like a tight white rose, only a little fatter,” Naomie answers.
“Okay. I’ll go pluck those off the arch and replace them with the roses from the bouquet. You keep the dahlias, and I’ll be right back,” I tell her as I tug the roses out of the ribbon that is holding the bouquet together.
I sprint out the door, down the hallway, and knock on the groom’s dressing room.
The door opens, and Parker is standing there.
“Wow, look at you,” he drawls.
“Yeah, you clean up well yourself there, handsome,” I say.
“Amiya? Is something wrong?”
I look around Parker’s large frame to where Sebastian stands in his tux, Sebby in front of him knotting his tie.
“Flower emergency. I need the best man’s assistance,” I say.
Lennon steps from behind him and walks to the door.
“Come on. Let’s go find a ladder,” I command.
He slides his hands into the pockets of his navy-blue pants.
Damn, he looks good.
He’s wearing his dress uniform. And it’s tailored to fit his body perfectly. Who knew a military uniform could be so hot?
“Why don’t you get Allen to carry a ladder for you?” he asks.
“Who?”
“Your date,” he snaps.
Oh, right. Allen.
Shit, I haven’t seen him in a while. Where did I leave him again?
I shake my head. I don’t have time for this.
“He’s not a date. He’s a plus-one, and he’s having coffee. Now, shake a leg, Sailor.”
I turn on my heel and start toward the stairwell that leads down to the storage. I’m pretty sure I saw a ladder down there when we were helping bring chairs up for the rehearsal dinner.
Lennon huffs in exasperation but follows me as I open every door until I locate a metal A-frame ladder. He hoists it over his shoulder, and we make our way back to the stairs. I grab the top of the ladder with my free hand and help him guide it up the steps and out the door to where the vendors are still setting up seating for the ceremony.
He sets the ladder down, and I hand him the fistful of white roses.
I kick my heels off and try to adjust the ladder under the arch, but the stupid thing is too tall.
“Dammit,” I bite as I stand back and look up at the flowers that are just out of reach.
I turn to Lennon. “You’re going to have to give me a boost,” I say.
“A boost?”
“Yeah, if you boost me onto your shoulders, I think I can reach what I need.”
He shakes his head as he walks over and sets the flowers on a chair. He removes his jacket and unbuttons the top button of his dress shirt before walking back to me.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“Giving you a fucking boost,” he says, his voice crackling with annoyance.
“Grab the roses. We need those,” I say.
He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes for a second before turning back to retrieve the flowers.
He’s probably praying for patience.
He hands them to me with a tight smile. Then, he grabs my waist, lifts me onto his shoulders, and walks under the arch.
I have to wiggle and stretch, but I’m finally able to pluck the flowers I need and toss them onto the ground a few feet away. Then, I stuff the stems of the roses into the gaps.
I’m on the last stem when I overreach.
“Legs, hold on,” Lennon yells right before we topple over.
I grasp at his hair, trying to stay upright, but I end up in a tuck and roll that sends me headfirst into the damp sand.
“Ouch,” I cry as my hand flies to my head.
“Shit. Are you okay?” Lennon asks as he gets to his feet.
“I think so,” I say.
He reaches down under my arms and tugs.
“You might be fine, but your dress is not,” he says.
I look down to see the fabric has ripped at the split, all the way up to the top of my right thigh.
Fuckity-fuck-fuck.
I dust the sand off as best I can and stomp over to the harvested ranunculus and gather them up.
Mission accomplished.
“Amiya,” Lennon calls, and I turn to him.
He’s wiping at his slacks and eyeing me warily.
“It’s fine. So my split’s a little higher now. I needed something to make me stand out from the other bridesmaids anyway. I’m gonna have to roll with it,” I state.
Lennon’s gaze travels from my bare feet, up my leg, and to my hip, and he shakes his head. “Your pussy is going to be purring at the guests.”
That should make me stand out for sure.