Chapter 11
The workshop of Mystic Florals was overflowing with wedding flowers.
Spread across the workspace were stems of pure white roses, deep plum roses, sprays of frosted evergreen, sprigs of pine, and other winter foliage.
Spools of white ribbon flowed across the table in a river of satin, and an assortment of jeweled snowflake picks were laid out with care, ensuring no two looked the same.
Soon enough, all of them would be bound together in a waterfall bouquet fit for a winter-kissed wedding.
This was probably the one thing Juliette missed the most about working at the flower shop—building a bouquet for a bride.
There was something so intimate, so poignant about being a part of a dream, of making it become a reality.
She loved piecing together beautiful roses and blooming peonies, fresh eucalyptus and emerald green fern.
In truth, every bouquet she ever designed was her favorite.
It was too difficult to pick just one. Watching bridal flowers come together was magical, like watching a fairytale come to life.
She would have to drive over to Brock’s soon, but one of the girls who handled deliveries had called out sick. Gigi had politely, albeit quietly, asked if Juliette could help her sisters. Just this once.
Now, she was in the back coolers sorting through the day’s delivery and storing flowers, while her mother met with a future bride, and her sisters built a bouquet of winter dreams.
With her arms full of freesia, garden roses, and lilies, she carefully placed them in some metal buckets for the flower bar.
She checked the water levels of all the flowers, then arranged them by size.
Large blooms went in the middle to attract attention.
Smaller flowers made for accents or budding stems surrounded the bigger flowers.
Then greens were placed on the edges, the perfect complement to any hand-tied bouquet.
“Your flower bar has been so popular, Jules.” Adrienne plucked another roll of ribbon off one of the shelves.
Her dark hair was twisted into a braid, the loose wisps held in place with gold pins.
She rolled up the sleeves of her oversized black sweater and started measuring the ribbon.
“Almost every customer who comes in walks out with a handcrafted bouquet.”
“It’s true,” Vivianne agreed, frowning when she spotted a chip in the navy blue polish of her gel manicure. She blew an errant ringlet out of her face. “Everyone loves that they can pick and choose their favorites…Pause right there.”
Juliette and Adrienne froze, their hands and bundles of roses in the frame for another one of Vivianne’s content pictures.
“What does Mama think about the flower bar?” Juliette kept her voice low. Not that she expected her mother to overhear their conversation. She’d been locked away in her office with this new bride for over an hour. But still. She never put anything past Georgina Laurent.
Plus, the lingering words from their fight hung over her head every time she walked into the shop.
Vivianne shrugged and selected three of the snowflake picks. Their crystals twinkled and glittered in the late afternoon light. “She hasn’t made us take it down yet.”
“And she won’t.” Adrienne headed back to the workspace, and Juliette followed her. “Because it’s selling.”
Of course. Money was always the prime factor in all of their mother’s decisions. Perhaps if she had approached the flower bar in a different manner, she wouldn’t have been thrown into another argument with Mama.
“Gabi brought up a good point.” The conversation with her oldest sister was replaying in her head. “She said it wasn’t that Mama hated the idea, more so that I did it without consulting her first.”
Vivianne snapped and pointed her finger. “She’s not wrong.”
“Leave it to Gabrielle to bring up such a valid point.” Adrienne trimmed the satin ribbon into equal lengths. “You both remember that one time I substituted the blush pink roses when we ran out of peonies? It didn’t matter if we sold every bouquet with the roses instead. Mama was furious.”
Vivianne made a tsking noise, a sound their mother always made when she was disappointed. “It’s all about control with her.”
“Sometimes I wish she’d let up.” Juliette picked up a stray leaf from the table and twirled it between her fingers. “Just a little bit.”
“Maybe one day.” Gigi’s smooth and decidedly French voice floated from behind them.
At once the sisters spun and clamped their mouths shut.
“But not today. When I am cold and dead in my grave, perhaps.” With that, Gigi turned on her ice-pick heels and continued walking toward the front of the shop.
Juliette gaped at her sisters, who stared at her silently in return.
Finally, Vivianne sighed dramatically. “God, I hope I’m a stone-cold bitch like her when I grow up.”
“Don’t worry.” Juliette tossed an arm around her sister’s shoulders and smirked. “There’s still time.”
Vivianne laughed. Adrienne snorted.
“Oh, Jules!” Adrienne dropped the ribbon, and it rolled off the table then onto the floor. “I wanted to tell you, I think it’s really great that you’re helping Brock with the beach house.”
A tiny spear of apprehension dug deep into Juliette’s spine. “How’d you hear about that?”
“I heard from my friend, Maya.” Adrienne snatched the ribbon from the floor. “Whose grandma told her.”
Vivianne snorted and snapped another picture of the flowers spread across the worktable. “And where did she hear about it?”
“I don’t know.” A small line furrowed across Adrienne’s brow, and her green eyes widened. “But she was having coffee at Latte and Bean when she found out.”
Juliette shared a look of exasperation with her sisters.
“Miss Bobbie,” they sighed, saying the busybody’s name in unison.
Somehow, Juliette was not at all surprised that news about her working with Brock spread so quickly. But at least Miss Bobbie was prattling about them being coworkers and not a couple.
“So, tell us about this new job, Jules.” Vivianne’s matte red lips pulled to the side, and it was a look Juliette recognized well. Full of skepticism and curiosity.
“I’m just taking care of the interior design aspect while he does the renovations for the beach house.
It’s not a real job or anything.” Juliette winced as soon as she spoke the words.
She sounded so dismissive. So snobbish. “I mean, it’s an actual job.
But it’s just something I agreed to do until… ”
The twins looked at her, half-expectant. Half-knowing. And their faces fell.
“Until you leave,” Adrienne finished for her, busying herself with the fraying ribbon.
“Let’s not talk about that today.” A knot formed in the back of Juliette’s throat.
It was more difficult to face her sisters when they knew the truth.
When they understood. When she would see her own feelings on the matter—fear, sadness, and uncertainty—reflected in their eyes. “I’m staying in Mystic Cove for now.”
“But not because you want to,” Vivianne countered, though her assault was gentle. “Because you don’t have a choice.”
Adrienne’s disappointment in the matter was written all over her face. Shadows of sadness haunted her eyes, and a slight frown wrinkled her usually smooth brow. “Those two aren’t the same.”
“I know.” Despair caused Juliette’s voice to pitch.
She wished she could give her sisters a straight answer.
If she could just give them something, some kind of notice or even a timeline.
Anything was better than false hope. “But we’ve got a great idea for the beach house, and I’m going to stay here until it’s finished. ”
She could only hope the change of topic would be enough to distract them from the thought of her leaving.
Without waiting to gauge their interest, she launched into the major points of the project.
“We’re going to convert the beach house into a high-end wedding venue.
Our plan is to keep it boutique and intimate, to give the brides who want it all something to compete over.
Exclusivity. Prominence. Small-town vibes with a couture feel. ”
Juliette was certain they could pull it off. She was only missing one key part.
Adrienne and Vivianne shared a glance with each other, mimicking their expressions perfectly.
Vivianne nodded sharply. “You know who you need to talk to.”
It wasn’t a question.
Juliette pinched the bridge of her nose with her thumb and forefinger. “Anne-Sophie.”
She knew it was going to be hard, especially after the way Anne-Sophie treated her.
She would have to find a way to apologize while asking for a huge favor before it was too late.
“I was thinking if she can get Charity Rhodes to book her beach wedding here, then it would catapult the beach house onto the elite wedding scene. Especially if we keep it upscale and posh.”
“Mama could do the flowers.” Vivianne’s green eyes sparkled, an idea taking shape in her mind. “And Adrienne can be an onsite photographer. We could offer packages!”
“This is a really splendid idea, Juliette.” Adrienne gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “I can’t wait to see it all come together.”
Now all she had to do was make amends with her mother and Anne-Sophie. The idea for the beach house was wonderful in theory, but if the weddings didn’t book up the schedule, and her mother refused to help, it would all go up in smoke. And Brock would lose his childhood home.
“And you’re good with this Brock arrangement?” Vivianne asked, as though she knew he was on her mind.
“Totally.” Juliette bundled some of the day’s leftover flowers into brown kraft paper, ignoring her sister's burning look. “We just work together.”
Please don’t ask. Please don’t ask.
“Whatever happened with the two of you?” Vivianne asked.
Juliette cringed but was spared from having to answer as the door to the flower shop slammed open. The bell jangled noisily, and a gust of winter wind barreled into the room.
“Speak of the devil,” Adrienne muttered, shuddering against the sudden onslaught of frosty air.
Brock barged into the store in a whirlwind of bitter cold with a cloud of stormy, moody darkness hovering over him, shoving the door closed behind him.
His brows were drawn into a severe line, his shoulders were bunched, and ripples of tension rolled off him.
He scowled as he stalked past them, not even sparing Juliette or her sisters a glance.
Juliette wasn't even sure he saw them standing there.
“Well.” Adrienne rolled her lips and ducked her head, keeping her voice hushed. “He doesn’t look too happy.”
Juliette hesitated. This was definitely not her place.
They were only coworkers. Nothing more. Okay, maybe coworkers who could possibly be friends in the future, but it would be messy given their complicated past. Yet it was obvious Brock was pissed off about something.
Unfortunately, she had no idea how to approach him, or if she even should, to be honest.
Vivianne gave her shoulder a nudge. “You should go talk to him, Jules. He seems upset.”
“He’s a grown man.” Juliette tried to dismiss Vivianne’s concern, but she chewed lightly on her bottom lip, silently debating whether she should go after him. “I’m sure he’s fine.”
In the next second, the guy who’d originally been in the apartment overhead installing the claw-foot tub came stomping down the stairs. He was on the phone, and though his voice was low and controlled, Juliette didn’t miss the words.
“Yeah, Anders. I’m telling you...” He nodded briskly, glancing behind him to where Brock was slamming things around upstairs. “He just came in, more or less told me off, and took over.”
Juliette stole a glance at her sisters as the other crewman stalked out of the shop and into the cold. Adrienne and Vivianne’s expressions were mirror images of one another. Quietly pleading yet also full of unnecessary guilt and pity.
“Fine.” Juliette groaned and wiped off her hands on one of the cloth towels. “I’ll go talk to him.”
“Good.” Vivianne smiled to herself, sending her twin a conspicuous wink. “We can handle the rest of this. Can’t we, Adrienne?”
“Always.” Adrienne flicked her wrist to check the time on her watch and matched Vivianne's smile. “Don’t worry about closing up, Jules. We’ll take care of that too.”
“I feel like I’m supposed to be grateful right now,” Juliette mumbled, gathering what was left of her dwindling courage.
Vivianne flashed a knowing smirk. “You absolutely should be.”
“There’s wine and beer in the fridge,” Adrienne added. “You know, just in case."
Juliette rolled her eyes, sucked in a harsh breath, and ignored the conspiratorial laughter of her sisters.
It was only Brockton, she reminded herself as she climbed the stairs to the apartment.
But the banging and crashing noises, coupled with the muttered stream of blush-inducing swearing, left her jarred and unsteady.
Before she could panic and change her mind, Juliette rolled her shoulders back, and headed directly into the storm of Brockton's fury.