Chapter 5
Chapter Five
Ogram and Hope’s Wedding Day
GRüSH
The instinctive ability to connect with nature is common in green trolls, and has been part of my family’s heritage as far back as the remembered stories go. Some tales claim that trolls hold subtle magic, allowing them to draw the earth’s energy directly into the plants they nurture.
When we were young, Ogram and I would often ask our father if he had troll magic. He always said no, even though all the plants he tended grew more robustly than they should.
As kids, we thought he must be lying because he didn’t want us to have an excuse to shirk our botany and agriculture lessons.
Then we got older, and I realized his denial wasn’t a lie.
If troll magic was real and contributing to the farm’s vigorous and abundant crops, Ogram was the source, not our father.
My brother’s affinity for plants went beyond taking an interest or having a green thumb.
I never asked him if it was actually magic, and he never volunteered the information.
By the time I caught on to Ogram’s enhanced connection with nature, we’d already begun drifting apart.
Not literally, not back then, when the four of us lived in the woods outside of town, in a small home built into the surrounding hills to conceal us from any wandering humans.
But the bond we’d shared as children had dissipated.
Like morning fog against a blazing summer sunrise, it was destined to vanish.
Once male trolls reach physical maturity, the urge to find a true mate takes priority, often separating them from family and familiarity.
Ogram longed for a mate, yet felt compelled to stay on the farm.
In the end, it all worked out for him. He owns the farm now.
Growing crops brings him immense satisfaction and peace.
A few yards away, he’s standing under a flower-covered arbor, about to marry his true mate. He got everything he wanted out of life.
Including the best weather anyone could ask for at an outdoor wedding. Maybe his connection with nature runs directly to Mother Nature herself.
Like I told Hope last night at the party, Ogram deserves all the good things. I just wish I wasn’t so fucking envious of him getting them.
The trio who’ve been playing classical background music as the guests arrive tapers off to silence as a woman gets up from the front row of seats to join the band.
A vampire, covered head to toe, including a veil to protect her face from direct sunlight.
She nods to the musicians, and they resume playing.
Not classical music this time, and not one of the traditional wedding entrance songs.
Something soft and light with a pop-country vibe.
After a few bars of instrumental intro, the lyrics begin, delivered in an ethereally beautiful voice that carries across the open air without microphones and speakers. The vampire songstress has serious chops.
The grin on my brother’s face couldn’t get any wider as the guests rise from their seats. I follow his gaze and everyone else’s, turning my head toward the area beyond the back row of chairs. But it’s not the bride who gets my attention. It’s the woman at her side.
Knowing Cate would be walking Hope down the aisle didn’t prepare me for the reality of seeing her again.
After her reaction and our interaction last night, I shouldn’t give a shit if she’s here or not.
It shouldn’t matter that she looks like a bohemian goddess.
I’m in Harmony Glen to support my brother in his celebration of finding love and locking it down. No other reason.
Yet I can’t take my fucking eyes off Cate.
I can’t stop my mind from spinning scenarios where I’m alone with her, getting her out of that flowy dress that looks so damn good against her sun-kissed skin, then worshipping every inch of her before I spread her thighs and sink balls-deep inside the only heat I’ve ever known.
When she’s a step from where I stand by my aisle seat, her gaze finds mine and holds.
There’s no sign of last night’s anger in her sparkling hazel eyes.
Just joy. Love. For the seconds those eyes are on me, I’m transported into the past, to a time when her joy and love were for me.
Then she looks away, and the moment is gone.
I’m alone again, even though I’m surrounded by people. Like always.
I’m a celebrity in the music industry. To the group gathered for Ogram and Hope’s wedding, my biggest claim to fame is being the groom’s absentee brother. Their opinions of me don’t matter. But Cate’s does, no matter how hard I try to convince myself otherwise.
Later that Night
The Wedding Reception
CATE
After a final round of hugs, the happy couple wave their departure from the reception in the big barn. It’s early in the evening, but Hope was spent, and Ogram was more than happy to whisk his very pregnant, newly minted wife away to the house to take care of her.
The party’s not over, though. The DJ has several more hours of danceable music queued, and there’s a catered buffet still to come before things wind down.
None of which I’ll be present for. Happy and honored as I was to be part of their celebration of true love, I’m looking forward to powering down my outgoing side, and more than ready to put distance between me and Grüsh.
Real distance, not just the diameter of the dance floor, which I’ve been careful to do all evening.
Avoiding eye contact with literally everyone I pass, I navigate through the small crowd until I’m on the perimeter, with a clear path to the wide-open barn door in my sights.
Until the person I’ve spent the entire day actively avoiding steps out from a shadowy area along the wall.
“You taking off?” he says, intercepting me.
Nobody’s paying attention to us. I could ignore him or be a complete bitch and nobody would ever know. Part of me wants to let him have it. To unload the full scope of heartbreak I’ve carried since he left. But what would be the point after all these years?
“I’m not looking for another rehashing of the past,” he says when enough seconds of silence tick by to make it obvious I have no intention of responding.
“Then what are you looking for?”
Heat flickers in his dark eyes, and immediately, traitorously, my body reacts, activating nerve endings that have been dormant for six years.
Even if I could school my face like a professional poker player, it wouldn’t matter.
The flare of his nostrils and twitch of his upper lip between the two protruding tusks hasn’t changed.
It’s his tell. Whether intentionally or instinctively, he scented me.
And having done so, he knows I’m still susceptible to that damn smolder.
Being susceptible doesn’t mean I’ll succumb. Those days are over. So is my patience.
I step sideways then forward, skirting around him.
“I was hoping for a dance.”
The statement stops me in my tracks and I whip about, coming face-to-face with him again. “I can’t believe you.”
“Why? I’ve never lied to you. Why would I start now, about a dance?”
Fists on my hips, I stare up at his serious, handsome face. “I didn’t mean it literally. I can’t believe you have the balls to hope for a dance.”
“You know about my balls better than anyone.”
I huff while rolling my eyes. “Me and all your groupies.”
His dark eyebrows rise and his mouth curves into a smug smile. “Never thought I’d find jealousy attractive, but I like it on you.”
“Take off your egotistical rock-star glasses, Grüsh. They’re distorting your perception of reality.”
“So, you’re not jealous of all the groupies who’ve seen my balls?” he says, stepping close enough that I have to tip my head back to maintain eye contact. Close enough for me to catch a hint of his masculine, leathery scent that’s as alluring now as it was when he was mine.
The lie I want to tell refuses to leave my lips. Of course I’m jealous of the women who came after me. I carried on after he left, but I never moved on.
“Good night, Grüsh. Goodbye.” Again, I turn to walk away.
This time, he stops me by capturing my wrist and gently pulling me back into his space. The touch ignites a riot of physical memories that send sparks ricocheting through me. “Just one dance, Cate.”
“Why?” I want to spit the question at him, but it comes out soft and vulnerable, the opposite of how I want him to see me.
“Because I know I’ll regret it if I leave without trying to fix what’s broken between us. Because you’re still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on, and having you in my arms again is all I’ve been able to think about since last night.”
“Damn you.”
“That sounds like a yes,” he says, sliding his fingers from my wrist to my hand.
“Keep your ego in check, or it’ll become a no.”
His husky chuckle unlocks emotions I’ve kept contained for so long.
“No ego, Catherine. Not with you. Never with you.”
I snort derisively as he leads me onto the dance floor. “That was before you became a world-famous rock star with a rabid fandom and groupies throwing underwear at you.”
“Guess I don’t need to ask again if you’re jealous.” Smiling, he clasps one of my hands while pulling me against him with his other, then slides his big palm to my lower back as he guides our rhythmic swaying to a heartfelt country ballad.
“Ask as many times as you want, just don’t expect an answer.”
“I think ‘admission’ is the word you meant there.” He chuckles again when I make another annoyed huff, then squeezes our joined hands. “You have no reason to be jealous.”
“Of course not. Our relationship ended a long time ago. It’s none of my business who you’re with or how many there are.
And vice versa.” Those last three words are a smoke screen.
I’ve been solo by choice since he left, but I’m not giving him the satisfaction of knowing there hasn’t been anyone else.
“Is there anyone in your life currently? If so, you should ditch them.”
“Why? Because you’re here for a fleeting moment?” My tone is as sarcastic as my laugh that follows.
His thick eyebrows draw together at the bridge of his strong green nose. “Not because I’m here. Because they’re not. You deserve someone who sticks around, who’s by your side for all the moments.”
“Oh,” I whisper around the lump of emotion clogging my throat. Is that his version of an apology? Or regret? Regardless, it eases the old pain a little.
The song’s notes end, fading and blending with the next offering. Something with a peppier beat that brings single bodies to the dance floor while simultaneously dividing the slow-dancing couples.
“That’s our cue to say good night.” And goodbye, but I can’t bring myself to say that word again.
Instead of releasing me, Grüsh shakes his head. “Since when do we follow anyone else’s cues?” He continues swaying us slowly, intimately, as if the thumping music and bouncing bodies around us don’t exist.
“Never.” I smile up at him, my heart shedding another protective layer as his eyes twinkle down at mine. Indulgently, I rest my head against his chest, and I’m instantly rewarded by the press of his lips and tusks against the crown of my head.
It’s going to hurt all over again when he leaves. But it doesn’t hurt right now.