17. Cassian
Cassian
Last night was both incredible and torturous.
I should just get back in my car and drive until I reach the city.
Screw this ridiculous plan my dad cooked up.
Viv doesn’t need my help with the wedding.
If she needed help, she would’ve stayed in the city and used the wedding planner her parents are paying thousands for.
She only acquiesced because she knows as well as I do that the only way Mateo will shut up is if you tell him what he wants to hear.
I have every intention of letting her off the hook as soon as she comes back to the kitchen. She went up to her room to change clothes the second we got back to the manor, as if she couldn’t handle another second in my presence.
While I wait, I make us both a coffee and rehearse what I’m going to say.
I have it all planned out. I’ll tell her that it was nice of her to agree to my dad’s plan, but what he doesn’t know won’t kill him, and that I’m sure she’d much rather do everything without my sorry ass tagging along behind her.
It’s a good speech. The only problem is that it vanishes from my brain the instant Viv walks into the room.
She’s wearing black leggings, knee-high wellies, and a white fleece pullover. Her chocolate-brown waves are hanging loose down her back. One hand is tucked inside the pocket of her jacket, the other clutching her phone. Her eyes are glued to the screen, and she doesn’t see me right away.
I clear my throat. “I made you a latte.”
She glances up in surprise. “Oh. You didn’t have to do that,” she says, but from the way she beams at the thermos sitting on the counter, I already know I’ll be making her coffee for the next six weeks, bare minimum.
Hell, I’ll brew espresso for her after she’s married if it means I can start every day with that smile.
I knew this would happen, could sense it coming a mile away. As soon as I lower my guard, she starts climbing into my cracks like ivy, weakening my foundation little by little. The only thing to do is remove the weed.
“About my dad,” I say.
Her brows furrow as she lifts the travel mug to her lips. “Is he okay?”
“He’s fine.” I should’ve written the bloody speech down, because it’s off to a bad start. “But he gets stupid ideas a lot. Like trying to repair a roof on his own at his age.”
Keeping her eyes fixed on me, she takes a sip of coffee. “That explains where you get it.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
The little vixen tries hiding her grin behind her cup. “You nearly burned down the carriage house one summer playing with matches.”
I scowl at her. “That was your brother.”
She shrugs. “Do you really want me to start listing all of the ridiculous things you’ve done?”
We are so far off topic, I’m having a hard time remembering why I brought it up in the first place. “My point is that this whole wedding thing is rubbish. I know you said yes to make him happy, but let’s be honest. It’s just another one of his stupid ideas.”
The amusement drains from her face, replaced by a mask I’ve come to despise because of everything it hides. “Right.” She gives a nervous laugh.
When my words echo back to me, they sound much harsher than I intended. “That came out wrong.”
“No, you’re right. I’m sure there are a million things you’d rather do than help me figure this stuff out.”
“That’s not what I meant, Viv.” Even if it’s the truth.
It’s not that I don’t want to spend time with her—god knows how much that’s not true.
It’s that I don’t want to do it like this.
Planning her wedding to Landon fucking Davenport, imagining them reciting their vows to each other, listening to her dreaming of her life with him.
Getting into a fight with a chainsaw sounds more appealing.
“It’s okay. I wanted to do this on my own, so that’s what I’m going to do.” She lifts her chin as she takes another sip of coffee, but I catch the way her jaw wavers.
I want to ask where her fiancé is, why he’s not helping her, but the fact is, I don’t give two fucks about his whereabouts. The day he shows up here is the day I leave.
“Let’s go.” I head for the back door, assuming from the way she’s dressed that whatever we’re doing will be outside. When she doesn’t follow, I turn around. She’s staring at me, mug still held against her lips. “Are you coming, or am I planning this thing by myself?”
As if in a trance, she slowly approaches me, a tiny furrow between her brows. “You don’t need to do this, Cass.”
“I know,” I say, nodding. “I want to.” Then, without thinking, I grab her hand. It’s small and cool, and it feels natural in mine, like it belongs there.
As we step onto the terrace, the sharp edges of her big, fat diamond press into my skin, and it all comes rushing back. I drop her fingers like they’re live coals, and she tucks them back into her pocket.
“So where are we going?” I ask, inserting as much nonchalance into my voice as possible.
“I was planning to walk the grounds and choose the best locations.”
“Locations for what?”
She reads from a list on her phone. “Ceremony, receiving area, cocktail hour, photographs, reception, and send-off.”
“And here’s me thinking all you needed to get married was a church,” I say.
A pink tinge colors her cheeks. “It’s overkill, but have you met my mother?”
“Unfortunately.”
“Then you understand what I’m up against.”
I pull my Zippo from my pocket and flick it, watching the flame fight against a gust of wind and lose. “Can’t you say no?”
Viv pulls her arms tighter around herself. It’s still chilly from last night’s storm, and a heavy fog hovers over the ground. “I’ve learned to pick my battles.” Her tone tells me this conversation is over.
I pocket the lighter and clap my hands together. “All right. Where should we start?”
We’ve nailed down a few of the easier locations—send-off in the front courtyard, photographs in the rose garden, cocktails on the terrace—but Viv can’t make up her mind about the rest. She’s normally so strong and opinionated, and it kills me to see her stressed over something so stupid.
I’d get married in a courthouse if it meant avoiding all of this.
We’re back on the terrace after covering most of the grounds, boots caked in mud. Viv shoves both hands into her hair, lifting it away from her scalp and letting the wind blow through it. Closing her eyes, she raises her face to the sky, probably wishing she were a million miles away.
Images of her in my T-shirt last night flood my mind.
She’s been stealing my hoodies and sweaters for as long as I can remember.
Bash is weird about other people wearing his stuff, so I became her supplemental closet whenever she got cold.
If she ever gives them back, they smell like her. Most of the time, she keeps them.
This morning, she folded everything neatly and laid it on my bed.
“Let’s just go with my mum’s suggestions for the rest,” she says, tucking her hair behind her ears. “That way, you can go back to whatever you need to be doing.”
While that had been my initial thought too, now the idea of leaving her—of her having to settle for her mum’s ideas—makes me sick.
“I can’t work anyway. The ground’s too wet, and the fog hasn’t lifted.” It’s a lie. There are a million things I could do despite the weather, but it’s what she needs to hear. And so help me god, I’ll give her everything she needs from me, down to the last drop of blood in my body.
“Are you sure?” she asks hesitantly. “I feel like I’m dragging you in circles.”
“I’m sure.” I hold her gaze so she knows I mean it.
She bites her lip as moisture gathers at the corners of her eyes. “Thank you.” She blinks, and then it’s gone. “I don’t know where to start.”
“What do we have left?” I look over her shoulder at her phone, ignoring the scent of vanilla that tickles my nose from standing so close to her. “Ceremony, reception, receiving area. Seems like you’d receive guests directly after the ceremony, no?”
“Yeah, you’re probably right,” she muses, looking off into the distance. “But that just puts us back at square one: where to host the ceremony.”
“What’s wrong with the walled garden?” I ask. When we toured it earlier, it seemed as good a spot as any. Plenty of room for three hundred people, eight-foot walls to block the wind from the moor, and long enough to allow for a decent aisle.
“My mother prefers the grand foyer,” she says.
“She’s not the one getting married.”
Viv shoots me an amused look, a tiny hint of a spark returning to her eyes. “No, she’s not. If we held it in the garden, we could greet guests afterward in the Linden Avenue.”
“Sounds perfect.” I’m trying hard to distance myself from the reality of what we’re discussing. If I can pretend we’re simply planning a party, it’ll be a hell of a lot easier to get through this day.
She types furiously on her phone, making notes on everything we’ve discussed. “Which means we only have the reception left. We should probably just do the ballroom for that.”
“Why?” A ballroom is as much Viv’s scene as a tea party is mine. Not that she looks out of place in one—quite the opposite—but it’s a sure way to snuff out the glow that’s finally returning to her cheeks.
“Because I haven’t gone with a single one of my mother’s suggestions yet. And it makes the most sense. Close to the kitchen, close to the restrooms, no need for a rain contingency—”
“You’d hate it.”
She glances up at me. “It’ll be fine.”
Fine isn’t good enough. She deserves the best. “What about the stables?”
A bark of laughter slips out as she does a double take. “The stables.”
“Yeah, why not? It’s one of your favorite places.” The more I think about it, the more I like the idea. I grab her hand, no longer caring about the impropriety of it. “Come on.”
We run across the soggy yard to the horse barn, Viv laughing behind me as the foggy air swallows us up. After entering the code for the door, we stumble inside, the horses nickering in greeting.
Open rafters made of cedar stretch above our heads. Bronze hardware gleams in the light of the sconces framing each stall, which are all closed with doors of wrought iron and wood.
Viv makes a beeline for Rhya. “Hi, baby girl,” she murmurs, stroking the mare’s muzzle.
I join them, scratching Rhya’s ears and telling her what a good girl she is. She snorts loudly.
“She says you’re nothing but a flirt,” Viv says.
“Way to call me out,” I tell the horse.
After a few more minutes, Vivienne steps back and studies the center aisle. “My mum would have an aneurysm.”
I give her a lopsided shrug.
“Would people be grossed out eating in a barn?” she asks.
I cock a brow and continue petting Rhya. “It’s hardly a barn, Vivvy. More like a ridiculously lavish house for horses.” The floor is probably cleaner than my dad’s kitchen table.
Viv paces back and forth, fingernail between her teeth, mind spinning a million miles an hour. “The tables could stretch in one long line down the center aisle. It’s not that far from the house to transport food.”
“There’d be shelter in case of rain,” I point out. Rhya nudges my shoulder with her nose. “Besides, then Rhya could be at your wedding, too.”
Vivienne’s steps slow, then come to a stop several feet away from me. Slowly, she raises her gaze to mine, and a genuine grin spreads across her face. “You’re a genius,” she says, and the next thing I know, she’s throwing her arms around my neck.
Instinctively, I wrap mine around her waist, holding her even though she’s not mine to hold. She smells so good and feels so soft that I draw her close without another thought. My heart stops beating, and for a second I forget I’m not the one she’s marrying.
“I almost forgot to ask you,” she says, and the wrecking ball of reality slams home as she slips out of my arms as quickly as she arrived in them. “Would you be willing to drive the horse and carriage for the send-off?”
The send-off. The moment she and Landon climb into their getaway car and drive away, leaving the rest of us behind as they start their new life together.
It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask why she doesn’t just carve my heart out and serve it alongside the roast duck at the reception, but I don’t want to ruin her good mood, so I say the only thing I can.
“Of course.”
She looks relieved. “You’re the best.” For a second, I think she might be planning to jump into my arms again, but she stays put. “I was going to ask your dad, but . . .”
“Kind of hard to drive a carriage with a broken leg,” I say. “I’ll do it. No problem.”
That’s if I can make it until the wedding without jumping off the roof.