21. Vivienne
Vivienne
“Ineed to ask a favor.” I’ve been waiting to say it until the mad rush of downtown traffic is behind us. And until I can find the courage.
Cass has yet to utter more than two words since picking me up this afternoon for our drive back to Belgrave, and I’m not sure if he’s just being his normal surly self or if I did something to upset him.
He angles his head slightly but doesn’t look at me. I don’t know if that’s supposed to be an invitation, but I decide to treat it as such, since I’m running out of other options.
“Do you mind if we stop on the south side of town before heading home?” I say. “I need to choose guest favors. I’ve been putting it off, but my mum keeps hounding me about it.” She spent nearly an hour yesterday going on about the way I’m slacking over this wedding stuff.
Cassian still doesn’t say anything, but his jaw tightens slightly as he changes lanes at ninety miles an hour.
“Cass?” I ask hesitantly.
He jerks like I’ve pinched him. “Yeah, that’s fine.”
My brows knit together as I study him. “Are you okay?”
This time he graces me with a look, albeit one that lasts for less time than it takes for him to flick the power button on the radio. “I’m fine.” Oldies rock starts blaring, and he quickly turns it down.
“Great,” I say, letting sarcasm bleed into my voice. “Since we’re being honest . . .” I wait, but he doesn’t take the bait. Sighing, I settle back into my seat. “How was your weekend?”
“Fine.”
“Bash said the two of you ran into Savannah Davis yesterday. How’d that go?” I waggle my brows at him, hoping for a smile at least. Cass and Sav dated for approximately five minutes. When they broke up, she wouldn’t leave him alone for over six months.
“It was fine.”
“Cassian.” I smack his leg with the back of my hand. His usual response when someone brings up Savannah is to snap back something about parasites. “What is wrong with you?”
He gives me a sharp look. “What?”
“You’ve answered ‘fine’ to every question I’ve asked you, including the one about running into Savannah Davis, which I know can’t be true. What’s going on?”
Heaving out a sigh, he runs his fingers through his hair, pushing it off his forehead before letting it flop back over his eyes. “Nothing. I’m fine.”
Maybe Savannah is the reason for his mood. I ignore the sick feeling in my stomach and turn back to the window. “Take this exit.”
I give him directions, and he parks in front of the wood-and-brick building.
As I move to get out of the car, he places a warm hand on my arm. I glance down at the rings on his fingers. “Viv, I’m sorry. I just have a lot on my mind.”
I look at him, at the storm swirling behind those dark eyes, and it almost does me in. It’s not fair that he’s allowed to look at me like that, to have that effect on me, when I’m completely powerless against it.
I give him a forced smile. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll try not to be long.” I climb out and head for the door of the shop, imagining him texting Sav while I’m inside, maybe making plans to hang out next weekend. The kale salad I had for lunch threatens to come back up.
Before I can open the door to the shop, a familiar tattooed arm swings in front of me and pushes it open. I glance up at Cass in surprise. “I thought you were going to wait in the car.”
“Nah. I needed to stretch my legs.” He claps his hands together and looks around the store. Carefully curated displays of artisanal food greet us, and the scent of freshly baked bread draws us further inside. “Where do we start?”
Instead of pointing out that we were only in the car for twenty minutes, I open my mum’s detailed list of instructions on my phone. “We need to curate a basket of items for each guest room.”
Cass nods. “Just hand me a shopping cart.”
A small smile tugs at the side of my mouth.
“Easy, Captain.” I approach the front counter to speak to the owner, who has close-cropped jet-black hair and is wearing a T-shirt that reads “There is no Planet B.” She gives us a short overview of some of their most popular items, all of which are sourced locally and sustainably.
As she's waxing on about how each jar of honey reflects the emotional state of the hive, Cass mimes sobbing, manic laughter, and anger behind her. I have to fight to keep from smiling and force myself to nod along seriously as the shopkeeper speaks.
After she's finished and walks back to the counter, I smack Cass on the arm. “You’re such a child,” I say, still struggling to keep from laughing.
“Hey, I got emotional.”
“I’ll show you emotional,” I mutter, perusing the cheese selection. “Now help me choose a few of these.”
We make our selection, then do the same with the olive oils, chocolates, herbs, breads, and finally, an emotionally unstable batch of honey. It’s nice to have someone with me, even if I’m making all the decisions and Cass is here purely for entertainment.
“Now what?” he asks after I’ve placed the order and we’re back in the car.
Settling in, I rest my head against the seat. “Now I just need to figure out the customized gifts.”
He turns the key in the ignition and looks at me. “Isn’t that what we just did?”
“Those are for the guest rooms. We need something to place on the tables during the reception.”
I can feel the gears grinding in his head, can practically hear the comments he’s holding back. He thinks it’s pretentious and over-the-top to get this much stuff, and he’s not wrong. It’s way too much, but this is just the way it’s done.
“Okay,” he says. “So where to now?”
“Let’s just go to Belgrave. I can figure the rest out later.”
“We’re here now.” He shrugs. “May as well cross one more thing off the list.”
I wait, giving him time to retract the offer, but when he doesn’t, I blink. “You’re serious?”
He turns in his seat so he’s facing me. “Look, I told you I’d help with this stuff. So let me help.”
Tears prick the corners of my eyes. He can’t possibly know how much that means to me. He’s the only person who’s offered to help who isn’t pushing their own agenda on me. “Thank you,” I say quietly.
He opens his mouth as if he wants to say something, then changes his mind and reverses out of the car park. “Are you going to tell me where to go?”
“My mum gave me directions to a winery not too far from here.” I pull up the address in my maps app.
“A winery,” Cass says. “You’re going to give every guest a bottle of wine?”
“It’ll have a personalized label with the wedding date and our names. Why?”
He merges onto the highway. “Just doesn’t really sound like you.”
“What do you mean?” I continue frowning at my screen, trying to figure out if we’re supposed to go to the wine tasting room or the vineyard headquarters. “I drink wine.”
“Yeah, but it’s not the first thing I think of when I think of you.”
I lift my head in surprise, staring at his profile. He keeps his eyes on the road. “What do you think of?”
“Books. Tea. Horses. Belgrave. Foggy mornings. Ink.”
He gives me a lopsided grin, and I shove my hands under my thighs. I was practicing calligraphy last night, and as usual, the stains didn’t wash off.
“Chess. Walking in the woods. The library. Riding. Ivy,” he adds.
I’m too stunned to speak. Something is happening in my chest, like the districts are storming the capital and my ribcage is the only thing standing in their way. I press my tongue against my teeth to keep my composure. That was a lot to unpack, but now isn’t the time or place.
I clear my throat. “Well, it’s not just about me. It’s about Landon, too.”
“Ah, yes. Lando.” Cass smacks the steering wheel good-naturedly, but the muscles in his jaw grow tight. “Afraid I won’t be much help there. I’ve only met the guy twice.”
I let out a heavy sigh. I know I should’ve invited Landon to spend more time with my friends, but the truth is, I didn’t want to ruin our last days together. Having him grab dinner with us or hang out for movies at the guys’ place would’ve changed things in a way I’m not ready to face yet.
“I’ll text him,” I say. “See if he has any ideas.”
Tension hangs heavy in the air as I type out the message. When I’m done, Cass says, “Why isn’t he here? Seems like this is the kind of thing a bride and groom do together.”
“He’s really busy with work.” Landon is a private equity partner at Montague Hale Investments.
I have no clue what he does there, and I’m happy to keep it that way.
He’s planning to run for MP after the wedding, which means my days of burying my head in the sand are numbered.
Soon, I’ll be little more than a politician’s wife.
My phone vibrates in my lap, and I glance down to see that Landon has responded.
Landon: I’m good with whatever you decide.
Terrific. I toss the device back into my purse.
“What’s wrong? Did he have any ideas?” Cass asks with a sideways glance.
“He’s letting me decide.”
Cass scoffs and shakes his head, then moves toward the exit ramp.
“What are you doing? The winery isn’t for a few more miles.”
“I have an idea” is all he says.
When he finally stops the car, we’re in front of a bookstore. “What are we doing here, Cass?” I ask, leaving my seat belt on. I don’t have time to browse, no matter how badly I want to. My mother might actually come to Belgrave and kill me herself if I don’t get this wedding planned.
“Finding your guest favors.” He gets out and circles the car, then opens my door. “Come on.”
I frown up at him. “Books?”
“Yep.” Extending his hand, he wiggles his fingers, prompting me to take it. “Do you trust me?”
I refrain from telling him that I’d trust him with my life, even if I can’t trust him with my heart.
Unbuckling, I accept his hand with a skeptical look.
“I still haven’t convinced my mum to have the reception in the stables.
” She nearly had a coronary when I told her Cassian’s idea, even though I pretended it was mine.
If she knew he was the one who suggested it, she wouldn’t have given it a moment’s consideration.
Our fight over the orchids was bad enough.
“It’s your wedding,” he says, casually interlacing our fingers. “I don’t see why you need to convince her of anything.”
Cass will never understand. He does what he wants, forges his own path, but not all of us have that luxury. Sometimes it’s easier to keep everyone else happy, even if it means sacrificing what you really want.
I let him lead me to the store, ignoring the way my hand gets lost in his large one and the way his touch sends goosebumps up my arms. He’s wearing a sleeveless black tank, and when he stops to open the door, my nose nearly bumps against his bare shoulder.
A small bell chimes overhead as we step inside.
The shop smells of old leather, ink, and musty books—in other words, fantastic.
Old wooden bookcases line the dimly lit aisles, stuffed with as many volumes as they can hold.
The ones that don’t fit are stacked haphazardly on the floor.
The soft notes of Chopin’s nocturnes float from the tinny sound system.
“This is incredible,” I whisper to Cass.
Squeezing my hand, he gives me a wink. “I knew you’d love it.”
We separate to browse the old classics for a few minutes—Cass flipping through Camus and Dostoevsky, me scanning the shelves of Victorian Gothics for titles I don’t have in my collection yet.
Closing a first edition of A Long and Fatal Love Chase, I replace it with a sigh. “Now will you tell me what we’re doing here?”
He glances up from The Count of Monte Cristo, rereading his favorite scene, no doubt, since I know for a fact he owns at least three copies of it already. “Looking at books?”
I keep the unamused expression on my face until he caves.
He reshelves the book, then flicks the hair away from his forehead. “I was thinking we could give a book to each guest.”
I narrow my eyes, both at the idea and his use of the word “we.” “Buy a book for each guest,” I repeat.
“Yeah, why not?” He shrugs. “It’s more your style than a bloody bottle of wine is.”
“It doesn’t seem very sophisticated.”
His laugh echoes off the shelves around us. “Not exactly the first thing I look for in an idea.”
“But it is the first thing my mother looks for,” I say.
He snaps his fingers. “Right. I forgot she’s the one getting married.”
I give him a warning look. “Why are you helping me, Cass?”
His throat bobs as he swallows, but he doesn’t back away from my gaze. “Because I don’t see anyone else helping you.”
“I have plenty of people who want to help me.” A lump grows thick in my throat.
“Yeah, I know.” He takes a step closer, and my heart picks up speed. “But all of them want something from you.”
My mouth feels like it’s full of sand. “And what do you want?”
He pauses, flicks his eyes back and forth between mine, then says, “I just want you to be happy, Vivvy.”
We go with Cass’s idea. After making our selections, the bookstore agrees to wrap up each of the 250 books like the “blind date with a book” packages they offer, but with custom touches: gift wrap that looks like antique pages, wax seals monogrammed with Landon’s and my initials, and sprigs of lilac.
“Not ivy?” Cass asks with a teasing smile when I place the order.
“You’re the one who’s obsessed with the stuff, not me.”
“I’m not obsessed.” He scoffs, but I catch the remnants of a smile on his lips.
Now, once again sitting in the car on our way to Belgrave Park, I cast a sideways look at him. His left wrist is draped over the steering wheel, that bloody ivy tattoo taunting me. He seems more relaxed than he was earlier, and I wonder if I’ll ever find out what was on his mind.
“At dinner the other night, you said that Belgrave is your favorite place in the world,” I say. Spending the past few hours with Cass appears to have loosened my tongue.
He gives no indication that he’s heard me.
“Care to explain that?” I prod.
He scrubs a hand over his mouth. “I say a lot of things.”
“Not really, actually.”
He turns, giving me a look I can’t read. “I grew up there. Why wouldn’t it be my favorite place?”
“You didn’t grow up at the manor, though. You grew up at your dad’s cottage. There’s a difference.”
His jaw grows rigid. “I’m well the fuck aware of the difference.”
“Then why—”
“Just leave it, okay? Can you do that for once?”
I sink into my seat as my heart sinks to my toes. I can’t blame him for snapping like that, because I’m the fool who wanted to think that maybe it meant something more, but I should’ve known better.
Everything I thought I saw, heard, felt—it’s been nothing but a mirage.