Chapter 26 #2
“Livianna Grace Hemings, you absolutely can and will attend this wedding.” Mom’s voice carries a particular note of authority that makes arguing pointless. “Especially considering the bride is wearing a wedding dress designed by you.”
The words steal the breath from my lungs. “She’s wearing one of my designs? How is that possible? I don’t remember designing a wedding dress for anyone named…?”
“Isabella Morrison. Soon to be Isabella Carter.” Dad supplies the name like it should mean something to me. “She ordered it through your online boutique nine months ago. Apparently, she fell in love with your aesthetic and commissioned a custom piece.”
“Oh, yeah. I remember that, but with everything—” My phone buzzes again.
It’s got to be another one of Jax’s latest messages burning through my pocket like a guilty secret. I need to talk to him and hear his voice to feel grounded in something real before I face whatever tonight is going to throw at me.
“I have to make a quick phone call before we leave.” I start to pull my phone out, but Mom’s hand covers mine with gentle firmness.
“There’s no time. The ceremony starts in an hour, and we still need to get you ready.” Her smile is bright and determined, the kind that’s defeated stronger wills than mine. “Whatever call you need to make can wait until after the reception.”
“Yeah, I guess you’re right.” I give in to her demands and get ready for a wedding I don’t want to attend.
The drive to the venue passes in a blur of Los Angeles traffic and my parents’ excited chatter about the guest list, the flower arrangements, and how proud they are of my success.
My phone stays silent in my clutch, but I can sense Jax’s unanswered messages like physical weight pressing against my chest.
The wedding venue is a sprawling estate in Beverly Hills, all manicured gardens and twinkling lights that make everything look like a fairy tale designed by someone with unlimited resources and impeccable taste.
Guests drift across the perfectly maintained lawn in evening wear that costs more than most people’s cars. Their laughter mixes with the soft music drifting from hidden speakers.
“Isn’t this lovely?” Mom links her arm through mine as we approach the ceremony seating. “Isabella has exquisite taste, and I’m sure your dress design is absolutely…”
The words die in her throat. I follow her gaze to see exactly why, and my blood turns to ice in my veins.
Jaxon stands near the front in a perfectly tailored black Brioni suit that makes him look like sin wrapped in molten lava. His dark hair catches the golden light in a way that makes my heart stutter. But then I notice he’s not alone.
Cindy, his ex-girlfriend, stands beside him in a stunning red dress that hugs every curve of her model-perfect figure. Her hand rests on his arm with a casual familiarity that makes me want to throw up.
She’s as beautiful as I remember from the party at my parents’ house. Her long brown hair is styled in an elegant updo, and her legs go on for miles. She carries the confidence that comes from knowing you’re the woman everyone else wishes they could be.
“Oh, look, there’s Jaxon and Cindy.” My mom lights up with excitement. “We thought it would be delightful for Jaxon to have some company tonight. Since Cindy is our financial advisor and we adore her, when she asked us if we knew any single men, we mentioned he was back in town…”
The rest of her words fade into white noise as Jax’s eyes find mine across the sea of wedding guests. His expression shifts from surprise to something that might be panic.
I start to shake as he tries to step away from Cindy, but she tightens her grip on his arm with a smile that could cut diamonds.
“I need a drink.” The words are brittle on my tongue. “Several drinks, actually.”
“Darling, the ceremony is about to start—” My dad begins, but I’m already storming away.
My heels click against the stone path like a countdown to destruction. The bar is set up near the garden’s edge, staffed by bartenders who look like they moonlight as male models and mix drinks like they’re performing surgery.
I stay standing at the bar, pretending to admire the eye candy who’s serving me. I’m ordering my second vodka soda when a female voice cuts through my spiral of self-pity and rage.
“You look like someone who just watched her world implode in real time.”
I turn to find a woman about my age with long, wavy blonde hair and deep brown eyes that hold just enough mystery to make me instantly curious.
She’s wearing a denim jacket over a black, flowy dress and boots that look like they could kick someone’s ass. Everything about her screams intelligence wrapped in boho confidence.
“Is it that obvious?” I take a long sip of my drink, the alcohol burning away some of the sharp edges of my humiliation.
“Only to someone who’s been there.” She extends her hand with a grin that’s part sympathy, part mischief. “Quinn Foster. I work in investment banking for the groom’s boss, which I'm guessing is someone you dislike based on the way you’re staring daggers at him and his date.”
“Livianna Hemings.” I shake her hand, surprised by the firm grip and the way her presence makes me feel less like I’m drowning. “And you’re very perceptive.”
“It’s a gift and a curse.” Quinn signals the bartender for two more drinks, her movements easy and confident. “So…are we drinking to forget, to plot revenge, or because weddings are inherently traumatic and we need chemical assistance to survive?”
I gaze across the garden where Jax is now seated beside Cindy, his jaw tight with tension that I can read from fifty yards away. He keeps glancing in my direction, but every time he tries to stand, Cindy or my parents engage him in conversation, keeping him trapped.
“All of the above.” I raise my glass in a mock toast. “To surviving the night without committing murder or having a complete emotional breakdown.”
“I’ll drink to that.” Quinn clinks her glass against mine, her eyes sparkling with the kind of crazy that promises this night is about to get very interesting. “Fair warning, though, I’m an excellent wing-woman, a terrible influence, and I have zero filter when I’m drunk.”
“You sound like someone I’d love to hang out with for the rest of the night.” I down half my drink in three gulps, the alcohol spreading warmth through my chest and loosening the knots of anxiety that have been strangling me all day. “You and I are about to get into some trouble.”