Chapter Thirteen
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Mark
I whistled low under my breath as I stepped out of my truck, taking in the restaurant before me. Fancy place. The kind where the breadbasket came with whipped butter and the menu didn’t bother listing prices. Ivy Keep. Technically, it was the only part of Uplord Castle’s property that the public—peasants like us—were allowed to set foot on unless they were attending an event.
Eliza and Julian’s wedding would be at the castle, but the bridal shower would be here. The restaurant was run by the castle’s exclusive caterer and supposedly had some of the best food in the area.
I still couldn’t quite wrap my head around the idea of them getting married in a literal castle, but a lot had changed since high school. Julian’s videos on instrument creation had gone viral, and he said he wanted to give Eliza the wedding of her dreams.
Dylan would like this place.
I glanced at my suit—courtesy of Dylan. Perfect timing, since I’d have needed one anyway, and Steven’s taste was spot-on. At least, if I had needed to, I could finally have afforded to buy my own. Large orders were coming in for my hot syrup—so many that we’d already had to turn people away.
Dylan said we should expand my family’s production capacity. He was willing to invest in a facility where we could process commercial-level quantities and explore international distribution channels. I had laughed when he suggested it but he hadn’t been joking. A few days later, I received a legal proposal for investment via email. I had told him I needed time to think about it.
On one hand, it would put me in a better financial position to support my parents as they got older. On the other hand— Dylan .
Julian waved to me from the entrance, a smirk on his face as I approached. “Well, well, Mark Walker in a suit. Didn’t know you owned one.”
“You never really know anyone, do you?” I shrugged, brushing imaginary lint off my sleeve. I hadn’t told him about Dylan. Why? The whole situation was complicated, and I wasn’t particularly proud of my role in it. I didn’t like that Dylan had no intention of contacting Jennifer again. I didn’t like that I was about to face the consequences of sending Dylan in my place to see Lanie.
Julian chuckled, clapping me on the back. “Sure. Well, thanks for stealing or borrowing one for today. Eliza would’ve made you turn around and change if you’d shown up in your usual.”
“Noted,” I said. “Now tell me, is this the kind of place where they place a napkin on my crotch and refill my glass every time I take a sip?”
“God, I hope not.” Julian grinned. “Unless you were hoping for that kind of service.”
I snorted. “It’s been a while—any crotch attention’s a win, I guess.”
He shook his head but was still smiling. “Eliza will skin you alive if you talk like that tonight. She decided we’re going to be fancy until after the wedding.”
“Isn’t it almost a year away?”
He shrugged. “I don’t mind, and it makes her happy.”
I looked around. The restaurant was as polished inside as it was outside. Ivy climbed the wooden beams framing the entryway, and the lighting was soft and golden, reflecting off the polished wood floors. Big windows overlooked manicured gardens. It was the kind of place where people whispered their conversations, and the servers probably called themselves sommeliers. “I should warn you—I only have two suits.”
As we entered, the hostess greeted us with a professional smile. After taking our names, she asked, “Would you like to enjoy a drink in our bar while you wait for the rest of your party?”
Julian glanced at me, and I shrugged. “Sounds good.”
“This way,” she said.
We followed her through an ornate hallway, past tables draped in crisp white linens and adorned with flickering candles. The bar area was tucked into a corner, its centerpiece a gleaming marble counter with rows of crystal glasses hanging overhead. Bottles of top-shelf liquor lined backlit shelves, and clusters of upholstered stools surrounded tall, round tables.
The place was packed with well-dressed couples staring adoringly into each other’s eyes. It was enough to make a single man who made most of his income from side jobs question his life choices.
“Here you are,” the hostess said, motioning to an open table. “Someone will be with you shortly.”
As we took our seats, Julian leaned back and surveyed the scene. “Eliza will definitely want to have her shower here.” He gestured toward the decorative vines climbing a pillar near the bar. “Not sure they have enough ivy, though.”
I coughed on a laugh, then glanced over at the bartender, dressed in a tuxedo, his hair slicked back like he belonged in a black-and-white movie. “This place has... vibes.”
When a server approached, Julian grinned. “Alright, Mark, what’s the play? Beer?”
I snorted. “Not tonight. Gotta keep up appearances for Eliza.”
I scanned the menu briefly, then nodded at the bartender. “How about an old-fashioned?”
Julian raised an eyebrow. “Look at you, Mr. High Class.”
I shrugged, keeping my expression neutral. “Just thought I’d try something different. What about you?”
Julian tapped his chin, then glanced at the bartender. “You know what? Make it two.”
As the server headed to the bar, Julian leaned closer and lowered his voice. “Seriously, where’d you get the suit and the drink recommendation? Are you moonlighting as someone’s gigolo?”
“I’m not into elderly women, but twenty dollars is twenty dollars.” I chuckled lightly, then fiddled with the edge of my cuff.
Julian snorted and shook his head.
Initially, I had thought meeting Dylan and switching places with him would make for a good story—not just for my parents, but for my friends. So far, I hadn’t told a soul about any of it. And when I asked myself why, I didn’t like any of my reasoning. My parents were good people with strong morals. Any story that included me lying—regardless of the reason—would not have amused them. Julian and I were close, but I didn’t want to have any conversation with him that would start with me admitting I still had feelings for a woman who hadn’t reached out—not once—since she left a decade ago.
Lame —Dylan called it, and it was. Almost as lame as sending another man to find out if Lanie had ever liked me.
That had been a new low for me.
How would Lanie react to seeing me today, considering the last me she spoke to was Dylan? He’d said she had moved on, and all she had felt was sorry she hadn’t made more of an attempt to stay in touch. That’s exactly what someone says when they’re being nice about it. When they didn’t care enough to put in the effort.
Our drinks arrived a moment later, and I took a courage-building gulp.
Over the past two weeks, I had gone from disappointed to hurt to telling myself that seeing her now—facing the truth of her indifference—was necessary.
I needed to see it for myself. I also had to own up to my own lack of action. I could have done what Eliza did—gone to see Lanie despite being told she didn’t want company.
I could have called her.
Done something to change her mind.
Instead, I had wallowed in my disappointment over losing my scholarships, dated women I tried to care about, and pined for someone who hadn’t spent a moment missing me.
I’m a fucking pussy.
And a stupid one at that.
I had known Julian was going to ask Eliza to marry him—I had gone with him to choose the ring. What hadn’t occurred to me was how that would bring Lanie back into my life. That alone would have been awkward enough without the added layer of not knowing what Dylan had said to her. I had spoken to him since, tried to get more information, but he was disappointingly uninterested in reopening that topic.
Julian held his glass up in a toast. “To friends—the ones who become family through brotherhood and the ones we decide to marry to keep around.”
I toasted to that.
Watching Eliza and Julian over the years was one of the few reasons I remained optimistic that I might one day meet someone. They were solid—not just as a couple, but as friends as well—and that reminded me so much of how my parents were. I knew they had what it took to make it.
We sipped our drinks in silence for a few minutes. The old-fashioned wasn’t bad—smooth, with just the right amount of sweetness. It reminded me of some of the drinks I had during my brief stint as Dylan DeVoss.
Julian glanced at me sideways, then set his glass down with a soft clink. “You’re quieter than usual,” he said, his voice casual but curious. “That’s not like you.”
I shrugged, focusing on the condensation trailing down my glass. “What do you mean? I’ve been delightful company.”
Julian chuckled, but he wasn’t backing down. “Sure, but normally by now, you’d have cracked at least three jokes at my expense and one inappropriate one about Eliza making me fancy.”
I barked out a short laugh, shaking my head. “Maybe I’m turning over a new leaf. Classy Mark, remember? Can’t ruin the vibe.”
“Yeah, okay,” he said, dragging the words out, unconvinced. “But seriously, you good?”
I hesitated, the question settling between us like the lingering burn of whiskey. Was I good? No. But saying that out loud would open doors I wasn’t ready to walk through—not here, not with Julian. Instead, I plastered on a crooked grin. “I’m fine. Just trying to be on my best behavior.”
He laughed, but there was still a flicker of something else in his eyes—concern.
I didn’t like it. It meant I was failing at hiding my mood. I drained more of my drink, letting the smooth burn of it distract me from the knot tightening in my chest.
“I’m fine,” I said again, this time firmer.
He tilted his head, studying me. “Is this about seeing Lanie again? I thought you’d be happy to.”
“I am,” I grumbled, then forced another smile and tried for more enthusiasm. “I am.”
Julian gave me a knowing look. “It’s been a long time, but she’s still the Lanie you knew. It’ll be weird at first, and that’s natural. I bet by the end of dinner, it’ll be like no time has passed at all and the two of you will be goofing around just like the old days.”
“Yeah,” I said quietly, swirling the liquid and ice in my glass. “I’m sure we will.”
A movement near the entrance of the bar area caught my attention. And just like that, everything else in the room faded.
A hostess was guiding Lanie and Eliza over to us. Lanie didn’t need a showy outfit to turn heads. She wore a simple navy dress, the kind that skimmed over her curves without making a big deal of itself, paired with understated heels. Her hair fell loose over her shoulders. Naturally beautiful. But it was her expression—reserved yet undeniably composed—that hit me harder than I expected. Her smile as she spoke to Eliza was warm, radiant even, but the moment her gaze flickered to me, it dimmed.
Something flashed in her eyes—caution, maybe even anger—but it was quickly concealed. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and looked past me.
Every muscle in me tensed at the subtle rejection.
Julian waved them over, his grin widening. “Ladies, over here!”
We stood as Eliza reached us, enveloping Julian affectionately before turning to me. “Mark, be nice tonight, okay? I’ve been dragging Lanie all over town with wedding planning. And she was kind enough to drive so I could get a little tipsy.”
I shot my most charming smile at both of them. “Why wouldn’t I be nice?” Had Lanie told her about Dylan’s visit? I hadn’t thought so—there was no way Eliza wouldn’t have told Julian, and that would have been obvious. But Lanie and Eliza had spent the day dress shopping in Boston. Who knew what they talked about?
“We all know your sense of humor,” Eliza joked before hugging me. “Look at you, in a suit and everything. Now I know you love me.”
As I returned the hug, I murmured, “For someone warning me to be nice, you’re throwing a lot of shade.”
“Always.” Her grin was shameless and worked well—reminding me that my feelings about seeing Lanie again needed to take the backseat.
And then it was time.
I turned and faced Lanie. “Nice to see you,” I said, more gruffly than I intended.
Lanie shifted her weight, her hands clasped in front of her. “Same,” she said, her tone light but distant.
Okay, so we’re serving awkward and stiff for our first course.
Julian glanced between us, his brow furrowed slightly. “It’s great to all be back together, isn’t it?” The question was innocent but heavy.
Lanie was the first to answer, her voice steady and cool. “Absolutely.”
“A reunion that was long overdue,” I added.
Our eyes met, and the anger I saw behind her smile took me by surprise. Was I supposed to acknowledge that we’d met up recently? Pretend we hadn’t?
There was no handbook for what to do when I drunkenly dared my doppelg?nger to seek out an old friend to assess her feelings for me—only to end up tasked with spending time with said friend again.
Clearly, I did not think this through.