Chapter 14
Chapter fourteen
A Few Hours Later
The rehearsal is chaos from the first minute.
Castles look romantic in photographs. In reality they’re stone labyrinths designed centuries before anyone imagined modern events with seating charts, a room full of control freaks, and two twelve-year-old twins who refuse to walk down an aisle without spinning.
By the time the wedding planner claps her hands for the third time and asks everyone to start over, half the wedding party is laughing and the other half is trying to remember where they’re supposed to stand.
I should be enjoying this. Instead, my attention keeps drifting to the same place.
Skylar.
She’s halfway down the aisle with Sera and Soleil, crouched slightly so she can straighten Soleil’s sash while whispering something to make both girls giggle. The candlelight from the chapel sconces catches the violet streak in her hair and throws soft gold across her cheekbones.
She looks calm. Focused.
Beautiful in a way making it difficult to notice anyone else. Which is inconvenient because this room is full of people who know us very well.
The pub crawl ended hours ago. Julian insisted we head back early enough to appear respectable for the rehearsal, which meant a long walk through Old Town with the five of us pretending the afternoon hadn’t included more beer than was strictly necessary.
Even with a delightful day spent with my closest guy friends, my mind kept drifting back to the castle.
I missed Sky. I couldn’t stop daydreaming about making love to her this morning. Wondering if we could slip in some time together before dinner.
I told myself I was being ridiculous. We’ll have all night. Tomorrow, after the wedding, all bets are off. Hell. If I have my say, she and I will have the rest of our lives.
Anyway, apparently two hours apart was enough to make me lose my mind.
When we got back to the castle I tried her door. Locked. I sent a text. No response.
I figured she was busy with Marisol. Told myself it meant nothing. Then rehearsal started and she’s barely looked at me. Every time we get close, she finds a reason to turn away. A flower adjustment. A quiet word with Marisol. A hand on one of the girls’ shoulders guiding them back into place.
At first I thought I was imagining it.
Until it was clear I wasn’t.
Sky and I are paired for the ceremony. From my place near the front, I watch her practice walking up the aisle carrying a bouquet placeholder. The second we’re close enough to touch, her face freezes in cool composure.
I’m standing near the altar, awkwardly pretending to listen while the planner explains once again where the bridal party should stand.
The next hour is a whole lot of walk here.
Pause here. Turn toward the officiant here.
Our hands brush once when the planner repositions us and Sky pulls hers back as if she’s touched a hot stove.
No smile. No secret glances. None of the heat lingers from the countless times I’ve been inside her over the past forty-eight hours.
Only distance.
By the sixth practice run, everyone is over it. Sera twirls instead of walking. Soleil sings a Taylor Swift song. Marisol sighs and Julian eyes roll so overtly, we all stifle laughs.
Sky remains calm and focused and gently guides both girls back into place.
“Walk,” the planner points.
“We are walking,” Soleil insists.
Marisol throws her hands up. “You’re dancing.”
Everyone breaks into laughter again. Sky finally glances up and, for a second, our eyes meet. Barely long enough to register before she turns back to the girls.
My stomach roils. Nope. I’m not imagining it. Something is way off.
Finally, the planner declares the rehearsal “good enough,” allowing us to dissolve into casual conversation. The procession toward the dining room happens in loose waves. Family first, then the bridal party.
Sky is immediately swallowed by the girls. Soleil hooks an arm through hers. Sera takes her other side. They draw her over to Marisol and Lupe, where they form one seamless little cluster of bright voices, dark curls, and wedding energy.
I don’t get within ten feet of her.
Dinner takes place in a smaller hall tonight.
Lower ceilings. Dark wood paneling. The windows overlook the gardens where dusk is settling over the hedges and stone paths.
The table glows in candlelight. White linen.
Gold-rimmed glasses. Small arrangements of pale roses and greenery.
Plates of fresh bread and whipped butter already wait at intervals along the center.
By the time I enter, Sky is already seated between Soleil and Marisol on one side, with Sera beside Miranda a few seats down. I end up directly across from her because fate, apparently, enjoys irony.
Voices overlap in every direction. Julian and his father are debating the proper order of toasts. Véronique compliments the flowers. Irving is on his second glass of wine looking entirely too pleased with himself.
Sky still won’t look at me.
Her attention is fixed on the twins as they chatter about tomorrow’s flower petals and whether they are allowed to eat cake before the adults. She smiles. Nods. Tears bread into neat pieces and passes the basket to Miranda.
Sky’s freezing me out.
I clear my throat softly and reach for my water. Nothing. Not even a flicker.
The first course arrives. A clear consommé with herbs and delicate, tiny dumplings floating in the center. Sky lifts her spoon. Blows once. Tastes it.
I know the exact shape of her mouth when she’s pleased by something because I’ve spent fifteen years cataloging things I never admitted mattered.
By the second course, conversation and wine is flowing over roast chicken with root vegetables and a rich mushroom sauce. Fred tells a story about Julian at fourteen trying to impress his high school girlfriend with a borrowed guitar and exactly three chords. Laughter ensues.
Sky laughs. I catch the curve of her smile. A sharp pull of relief hits me square in the center and makes me stupid enough to think I can fix what’s wrong with one well-timed glance.
I address her directly. “Sky.”
She hears me. I know she does because her shoulders slope almost imperceptibly. No acknowledgement though.
“So,” Miranda reaches for her wine, “how was the famous Prague pub crawl bachelor party?”
“Uneventful,” Irving deadpans.
Fred snorts into his glass.
Jose smiles. “You mean irresponsible.”
“Only in the best possible way.” I raise my glass and once again try to catch Sky’s eye.
Nothing.
Julian laughs. “Hudson would have hated every minute.”
Irving sets his glass down with more force than necessary. “Hudson hated most things I enjoyed.”
I glance at Sky’s face, lightness drains from her expression.
Lupe lifts a brow. “Good riddance. He wasn’t a good fit.”
“He was a fraud.” Irving emits a short laugh with no amusement in it.
All of us freeze. Julian even stops cutting his chicken.
“The man spent ten years pretending we were partners.” Irving shrugs one shoulder, but there’s an edge under the movement. “What he really wanted was an accessory. Someone to orbit his life while calling it love.”
No one interrupts him.
“He loved the optics,” Irving continues, voice calm in a way anger often is when it’s old.
“The right dinners. The right cities. The right photos. But any time I wanted something for myself, there was suddenly a problem. Silicon Valley was provincial. You guys were distractions. My work mattered less than his because his sounded grander over cocktails.”
Marisol mutters, “Asshole.”
“Exactly.” Irving reaches for his wine but doesn’t drink it yet. “I wasted too much time thinking effort would turn him into someone honest.”
Something goes very still inside me. Across from me, Sky finally makes direct eye contact and she’s not giving sympathy for Irving. Or abstract disapproval for Hudson.
It’s disgust. Aimed squarely at me.
Nothing loud or dramatic. No one else would notice the brief, unmistakable clench around her mouth. Or the flicker in her eyes I’ve often seen when she speaks about the opposing party in cases she tries.
It’s a look that has never directed at me.
I stop breathing for half a second. Something shifted between breakfast and now. Whatever it is, it’s clear I’ve disappointed her somehow.
The rest of the conversation resumes in fragments. Someone changes the subject to tomorrow’s weather. Julian asks Fred about the timing of the cars. Miranda starts teasing the twins again.
I hear almost none of it.
All I can see is the way Sky interacts with everyone except me.
What the hell happened?