21. Katerina #2
"My mother doesn't say it that way to most people," Bex says. Her tone is subdued, but there's an undercurrent of significance. "She does give compliments. But not like that. Not with that look."
I hear the unspoken meaning: She approves of you, she likes what you're doing for her family, maybe she likes you for me.
The thought rattles through my mind on an unexpected current, and I press my thumb lightly against my binder to keep myself steady.
"I'm honored," I say, voice even. "Though I'm aware things with your parents aren't... well, they're not easy right now. "
Bex nods. The tension in her shoulders is visible in the flicker of candlelight. "Yeah, no. Not easy." She takes a breath that sounds more resigned than anything else. "But I'm glad she talked to you."
I wait, unsure if Bex will say more about the swirl of parental drama. Instead, she just glances up at the bright lights overhead. "Strange, right? Today was basically Christmas for the entire town, and tomorrow's a wedding. Feels like the weekend is one cosmic swirl of everything."
I recognize that swirl. I feel it crackling through my chest, the sense that tomorrow might unravel secrets in ways none of us can predict. But I say, "It can't be too bad. We have excellent planning on our side."
A breath of a laugh. "Yes, we do." Then Bex's eyes cut sideways at me. "Your binder is color-coded. I have zero doubt we're unstoppable."
My cheeks heat further. I remember the single tab that only says "Miscellaneous," the one Bex teased me about.
Embarrassingly personal, in a way no one else has ever pointed out.
So I step into deflection. "Have you... been rethinking that tab you still owe me a design for?
That was your project, if I recall: making me a better label. "
Bex's grin is slow. "We can swap it for Inevitable Surprises, if you think that's more accurate."
I tilt my head. I almost say, That's dangerously on the nose. Instead I murmur, "I can handle surprises. I just prefer them in moderate doses."
"Mmm." Bex waits a beat. "You know, half the time I can't tell if you hate them or secretly crave them."
I have no answer. Possibly because I don't know what to say. Possibly because the real answer would unravel too many truths.
We linger there, quietly, as the conversation on the patio rises around us: laughter, clinking glassware, occasional bursts of You guys look so happy!
aimed at Sofia and Jordan. The breeze smells faintly of the lake, with a thread of pine from the decorated Christmas tree.
A sense of hush nestles between me and Bex.
Finally, I clear my throat. "I should probably check on the dinner schedule. Make sure they don't need me."
"Right," Bex says, but she doesn't move. Another half beat of silence.
My eyes flick to the side again, drawn almost magnetically to the shape of Bex's mouth.
My pulse jumps. I forcibly turn away, focusing on the wide spread of the lake.
This is the deflection move, continuing in real time.
My body thrums with the knowledge that if I just angle my face the right way, Bex might read the unspoken invitation.
And it scares me how much I want to do exactly that.
I take a half step back. "I'll... I'll see you inside."
Bex nods, that tiny line forming at the edge of her brow as if to say Is everything okay? But she lets me go, which shouldn't disappoint me as much as it does.
The rest of the rehearsal dinner passes in a blur of toasts, half-laughed stories, and last-minute logistical discussions about tomorrow's timeline.
Sofia's circle of friends tells humorous stories from her college years, while Jordan's longtime buddies tease Jordan about their middle school phases.
Skye stands to deliver a short but heartfelt speech about what Jordan's presence means to the family.
There are a few tears and a few more laughs.
I manage the behind-the-scenes details, ensuring the waitstaff keeps the buffet stocked, confirming the final announcements, and politely deflecting any attempts to draw me into the spotlight.
I feel comfortable in that managerial role.
And yet there's a quiet corner of my mind that notes Bex across the crowd, talking animatedly to Nico (who's come up for the weekend), then leaning against the bar with Lexi.
Every so often, Bex's gaze drifts, scanning for me with a subtlety that fools exactly no one paying attention.
Jordan definitely notices. I spot them at one point, arms crossed near the archway, giving me a small, thoughtful nod.
Jordan's expression says something like, I see you.
We'll talk later. It makes my heart skip.
I don't want to have that conversation. Jordan is too perceptive, and I fear I'm losing the ability to mask my feelings.
My chance for a break comes after the dinner formally ends, when the crowd drifts into smaller clusters around the fire pit and the bar.
I need a reprieve, so I step onto the inn's side path toward a row of decorative Christmas trees and find a bench under a softly glowing lamppost, letting my shoulders slump, the binder resting on my lap.
In less than twenty-four hours, all these secrets will either hold or break.
The tension makes my skin prickle. Maybe, in an ideal world, I'd find the perfect way to gracefully extricate myself from the arrangement.
The arrangement. A secret marriage. Possibly the single greatest spontaneous mistake.
Or is it not a mistake? I keep telling myself it's an impulsive leftover from that New Orleans swirl of emotion.
But the ring in my carry-on feels heavier than any ring has the right to be.
I've found myself touching it absently when I'm alone, running my fingertip around the band.
A ring for two people who never planned on forever.
I expect the thought of an annulment or quiet dissolution to be a relief. Instead, it makes my chest tighten with an unnamable ache.
Before I can linger too deep in that feeling, footsteps approach. I look up, half expecting Bex. Instead, Skye appears under the lamppost glow.
"You hiding out?" Skye asks with a gentle half-smile.
"Maybe," I admit softly. "Just wanted fresh air."
Skye nods, coming to rest a hand on the bench's iron arm. "Thanks for everything tonight. It went smoothly. That's partly you."
I try to smile with genuine warmth. "It's a team effort."
Skye's expression says she isn't fooled.
"Sure. But I see what you're doing. Working double-time so that Jordan and Sofia don't have to, and smoothing everyone else's edges in the meantime.
" She pauses. "You and Bex seem to coordinate so seamlessly with the group. Almost like you've done it before."
My throat constricts slightly. I take a beat before responding. "We're... just both personally invested. Sofia's her sister, after all." That's my best neutral spin.
Skye's polite expression doesn't waver, but I sense a sharper awareness behind it. "Well, that personal investment is paying off," she says. "Anyway, I won't keep you. I just wanted you to know I'm grateful."
She parts with a nod, heading back toward the patio. My pulse is still unsteady. I stand, brush imaginary dust off my skirt, and go to gather my things. The wedding day is practically here. God help me, I'd better be ready.
An hour later, the dinner is officially over. People begin drifting back to their rooms. I offer final logistics instructions to the staff at the front desk, thank them, and step outside to the now mostly empty patio. The overhead bulb lights are still bright in the hush.
It looks magical, in that borderline surreal way.
Holiday cheer in the midst of July. But all the hustle has died down.
I press my palm against the binder to remind myself I'm still in control.
Tomorrow is unstoppable, but I can face it with the same measured approach that has guided my life thus far.
Bex emerges from the far side door, glancing around. Her posture eases when she spots me. For a heartbeat, neither of us speaks.
Then Bex offers a quiet lift of her hand. "Thought you'd gone to bed."
"Was just wrapping up a few last things." I feel my chest tighten again, a Pavlovian response to that wry tilt of her head. "You're still up?"
"Had a quick talk with Nico. But they're crashing soon. Gone to their own room." A small pause. "I guess I should call it a night too, if I have to be functional for tomorrow." She grins. "Which apparently is going to be chaos meets holiday meets wedding mania."
I find myself smiling back, though it feels a tiny bit shaky. "Yes. A perfect storm."
We don't move. I realize Bex stands less than three feet away, the faint outline of tattoos visible through the short sleeve of her T-shirt.
This time, I let my eyes rest there longer than I should before swiftly reclassifying it as noticing the coverage for the wedding.
Maybe Bex shouldn't wear that exact T-shirt tomorrow. Right. Totally relevant.
My gaze flicks up again. Bex's lips part, then close. I keep waiting for a remark, some flippant line about how thoroughly we've been avoiding each other's tension all night. Instead, Bex just shakes her head softly, as if deciding not to speak.
"Tomorrow," Bex says finally, with that deep gentleness that makes me feel every nerve in my spine. "See you in the morning, Ms. Planner. Don't stay up too late rearranging your color codes."
I let out a breathy laugh at that. I make my eyebrows arch. "I would never."