Chapter Twelve Ella
Chapter Twelve
Ella
Crushed petals blanket the floor, reds and whites ground into the dirt, stems snapped and scattered like debris after a storm.
“No, no, no,” Rhia yells. “Bad dogs! Bad dogs!”
Said dogs have retreated to the back of the shed, curling into their beds and looking guilty as hell. Nanook is even hiding under a blanket.
Too late now.
There’s not a single intact rose or lily left.
Rhia marches toward them.
“You little menaces. I spent hours on Ella’s bouquet and the arrangement for the altar.”
They cower as she approaches, sensing they’re in trouble.
“You’re damn lucky there’s a blizzard coming, or I’d lock you out of this shed until you learn some manners.”
I stare at the destruction. Despite it all, a laugh bubbles up, and I press my lips together to keep it in.
The absurdity of it hits all at once. Rhia, hands on her hips, scolding a group of huskies like they’re misbehaving children.
“Look at this mess! You’ve turned my masterpiece into a confetti party. Do you have any idea how hard it is to find flowers in the middle of an Alaskan winter? No, of course, you don’t.”
The huskies exchange guilty glances, as if they understand every word of Rhia’s scolding.
“And Ella’s bouquet! It was supposed to be a work of art, a symbol of love and beauty. Now it’s a symbol of the cycle of life and death.”
As Rhia continues her rant, I marvel at her ability to turn even the most frustrating situations into comedy. The dogs, sensing the shift in tone, sit down with an air of contrition, as if actually contemplating the consequences of their actions.
“And the altar arrangement! You’ve decimated my vision of winter wonderland romance. It’s like you have a vendetta against elegance and good taste. Maybe you’re secret agents of chaos sent to test my patience at an extremely important moment in my life!”
I catch Rhia’s eye and laugh. I love this woman.
“Well, we’re not making lemonade out of these lemons,” Claudette says, looking down at the tattered flowers. “I don’t think anything can be salvaged.”
Rhia lets out a huff and taps her chin with her index finger.
“Not quite. We’ll collect the petals and use them on the carpet where the altar sits.”
“They’d look better on the white snow. More contrast. It’d be like sprinkling a dose of romance,” Claudette suggests. Glancing at me, she adds, “Trust me, darling. It’ll be beautiful.”
Lex stands to the side, observing the scene.
“I’m sorry this happened, Ella. But if anybody can make it right, it’s your best friend.”
I nod, glancing over to Rhia, who’s already collecting petals in a bucket she found in the corner. Her pensive expression tells me she’s already working on a solution to the bouquet disaster in her head.
“What happened here?” Tiero’s voice booms from behind.
His arms wrap around my waist, drawing me closer to him.
“And where is your beanie?” he asks, almost in the same breath.
Yeah, I knew that question was coming. I ignore it.
“The dogs were disappointed that only three of them will pull the sled and took it out on the bouquets,” I joke.
“Merda,” he mutters. “I’m sorry, cuore mio. I’m not sure we can get more flowers. Even if we could find a shop that’s open, with the blizzard coming, we won’t be able to fly them here in time.”
I turn in his arms and tuck my head beneath his chin.
God, I love this man. The way he immediately looks for a solution to any problem, especially when it has to do with our wedding, is just the sweetest.
“It’s fine. They were just flowers. All we need is you and me, right?” I repeat his words from a few days ago.
His eyes soften, warmth flickering in them. “It’s all we’ll ever need.”
He kisses me then, but before we can get lost in each other, Claudette chimes in.
“This wedding has a winter wonderland theme. We could create a bouquet out of pine twigs and pinecones. We might even find some lingonberries for a bit of color. It’ll be unique and perfect for the setting.”
“Lingonberries?” I repeat, glancing over at her while still holding on to Tiero’s shoulders.
“Yeah, they’re red and small. You’ve seen them on one of our walks. There are a few bushes around here.”
“Are they poisonous?”
“No, not at all. You can eat them. They’re a little tart, but I saw Barb using them in her jams.”
“I think Claude’s idea is fabulous,” Rhia says, putting down the bucket with the petals by the door. “We use what we can find around here for your bouquet, El. I can already picture it. It will be beautiful.”
“Okay then,” I agree. “Let’s do it. We better find these berries and pinecones before the storm hits.”
“That’s the spirit,” Claudette says, rubbing my back.
Yeah. I mean, what other choice do I have but to go with the flow?
“You girls do that,” Lex says. Then, looking at Tiero, he adds, “Are you ready? We’d better get going.”
Tiero squeezes my hands to get my attention.
“Put thermals on before you go anywhere. And don’t forget your beanie this time. Stay as close to the house as possible, and if the wind picks up, come straight back.”
I look up at him, amused. He’s cute when he gets overprotective. But I would never tell him that. The Mafia Don in him doesn’t like being called cute, sweet, or anything like that.
“Yes, sir.” I salute him, but instead of laughing, his expression stays stern.
“I mean it, Ella. I need to know you’re safe.”
His eyes bore into mine, and something in me softens. He really is sweet.
“I promise. I’ll put on extra clothes, wear a beanie and a scarf…”
“And gloves,” he adds, cutting me off.
“And gloves, and at the slightest sign of the blizzard, we head straight back.”
Satisfied, Tiero gives me one more lingering kiss, then pulls the balaclava over his head and puts on his helmet.
“Be careful,” Rhia and I call out as our men mount their snowmobiles and roar off, a flurry of snow swirling up in their wake.
I watch until they disappear into the forest. A sinking feeling settles deep in my stomach. The air has gone eerily still, as if everything is holding its breath, waiting for the storm to hit.
Unease creeps in, quiet but persistent.
Three bad things…
We’re still one short. What if something happens to Tiero?
No, everything will be fine. It’s just a superstition.
“Come on, girls,” Claudette says, closing the shed door. “Let’s put on more clothes and collect things for your bouquet, El.”
So that’s what we do.
But the restlessness doesn’t leave me.