25. Cassian
Cassian
Idon’t go back to the house after my argument with Viv in the barn.
Even though I said we should just be friends, I don’t trust myself around her.
That kiss from three years ago is still too fresh in my memory.
If I’m not careful, I’ll push all thoughts of her fiancé out of her mind and show her exactly who she belongs to.
The ground we’re standing on is treacherous. If we don’t watch out, one of us will slip and drag the other one over the cliff with them, and there’s no way in hell I’d risk doing that to Viv.
When I found her second note in the book the other day, I knew our little game had to stop.
She wrote Good smile, Cass, and the way my heart started racing told me everything I needed to know.
I should’ve never started it, and if I don’t do something about it, we’re headed right back to the same place we were three years ago.
So I’m doing what I do best—I’m avoiding her.
The next time I see her is the following morning while I’m working on the ivy. She jogs around the side of the house and heads down the long gravel driveway without even noticing me carefully pruning back the growth according to Lady Wilson’s detailed instructions.
I let my eyes linger on her bright pink sports bra for a single second, then force myself to get back to the task at hand. Cranking up the music blasting through my AirPods helps, but only a little.
Viv returns an hour later, sweat glistening on her skin, damp hair plastered to her face. Even as a hot, sweaty mess, she’s more gorgeous than anything I’ve ever seen. This time, she spots me.
“Good morning,” she calls, slowing to a walk.
“Hey.” I give her a casual wave, even though my blood pressure is anything but casual. Friends, I remind myself. “Do you need my help today?”
She hasn’t mentioned what’s up next with planning the wedding, and it’s been days since we’ve done anything together, but I’m not sure whether I’m hoping she’ll say yes or that she’s got it handled. I can’t think of a more painful way to torture myself than doing wedding shit with her.
She raises her hand to shield her eyes from the morning sun peeking over the roofline. “That would be great, actually. Meet me in the Walled Garden in an hour?”
I grit my teeth and force a smile. “I’ll be there,” I say, even though I’d rather jam a screwdriver under my thumbnail than help her figure out the best way to pledge herself to Landon Davenport.
Viv beams at me before retreating into the house, and I mentally berate myself for the way that smile turns my insides to fucking butter. Another grin like that from her, and I’ll agree to officiate the damn wedding myself.
When I reach the Walled Garden an hour later, Viv is already there, her brow furrowed. She must not hear me approach, because when I say “Hey,” she jumps a mile.
“Sorry.” I shove my hands into my pockets. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”
She takes a deep breath and turns to face the garden again. “I’m not sure about holding the ceremony here.” She gnaws on her bottom lip the way she does when she’s particularly anxious about something.
“Why are you having doubts?” Moving until I’m standing beside her, I inhale the faint scent of her perfume. So much for keeping my distance.
“Because the northern wall should be the focal point, right?” She gestures to the wall, which is inlaid with a giant medallion. “But if guests enter from the west, they’ll have to walk all the way to the south wall in order to reach the aisle.”
I scrub a hand over the back of my head. “Can you use the east wall instead?”
“It just seems like it should be the northern one,” she says.
“Okay.” I shrug. “Then let’s go with that.”
She lets out a frustrated groan. “But what about guests having to walk all—”
“Vivvy, breathe.” I place both hands on her shoulders until she looks me in the eye. “We’ll figure it out.”
She nods, biting her lip and making me want to take it between my own teeth. I drop my hands and take a step backward before I make all my fantasies come to life.
“Can you do a practice run with me?” she asks.
I stare at her. “Practice for what?”
She slips her hand into the crook of my elbow. “Walking down the aisle. I think visualizing it will help.”
My heart is pounding so loud, she has to be able to hear it. Walk her down the aisle? Is she serious right now? “I don’t know, Viv,” I say, glancing down at my scuffed-up boots. “I’m not really dressed for the occasion.”
She laughs. “That’s why it’s a practice run.”
I pinch the corners of my eyes with my thumb and finger. Falling face-first onto a bed of nails sounds more appealing than playing wedding with Viv. “Why not ask your fiancé to do this with you?”
She leans away from me, and a hint of hurt flashes in her eyes. “Obviously because he’s not here.”
I want to press the issue, to find out why he’s not here, and why I’m having to fill in for his sorry ass, but I keep my mouth shut. If Vivienne needs a fake groom—fuck, if she needs a kidney or a lung—there isn’t anything in this world that can stop me from giving it to her.
“Okay, then,” I say, resting my hand on top of hers. “Let’s do this.”
We practice walking down the aisle as a newly pronounced husband and wife, or rather, Viv presumably does.
I’m pretending we’re entering a gala or a ball or literally anything other than the ceremony where she’ll be marrying another man.
Just thinking about having to sit in the audience and watch the whole thing makes me want to vomit in the grass.
It’s going to take a shitload of strength and several bottles of alcohol to get through that day.
“Now let’s try it on the east wall,” Viv says when we’ve walked the length of the imaginary aisle several times.
I blow out a breath. “Sure.”
She takes my arm again, and we walk to where the officiant will be standing, where he’ll ask Vivienne if she promises to love Landon for the rest of her life, and where, with that huge smile on her face, she’ll say “I do.” My heart feels like it’s losing blood.
At Viv’s direction, we once again traverse the aisle, and I clench my jaw to keep from saying something I shouldn’t.
If she doesn’t know how much this is taking out of me, she doesn’t know me as well as I thought she did.
I’m beginning to wish she had just asked me for a heart transplant instead. At least then I’d be dead.
We reach the back corner, and she drops her hand. “What did you think?” she asks.
I stare back at her, not sure what she’s wanting from me. “About what?”
She lets out an exasperated sigh. “About the walk. Which one was better? From the north or from the east?”
Do I tell her they were both equally painful, and that I’d rather use a machete on my own neck than watch her walk down either aisle with him? The obvious answer is no, and I hate that I can’t give her what she wants.
“I don’t really know.” I wasn’t paying attention to anything other than the feel of her hand on my arm and the sensation of having the girl of my dreams next to me.
She pushes the hair that’s escaped from her French braid out of her face and holds out her hand. “Let’s do it again.”
Swallowing my protest, I walk back up the aisle with her. If she makes me do this much longer, I’m going to make up an opinion just to wrap it up.
Once again, we turn at the top and walk the way she and Landon will that day. Halfway down the aisle, Viv’s heel gets caught in the damp ground, making her stumble and fall against me. I catch her easily, the scent of her shampoo and the weight of her in my hands clouding my vision for a second.
When we reach the back, she still looks unsure. “I like the straight shot, but I think the winding aisle makes it more interesting.”
“Just pick the one you like the most,” I say, hoping she doesn’t ask me to help her figure out which one that is, because I don’t think I have it in me to walk that aisle again.
“I don’t know which one I like,” she says, chewing her lip again. “That’s the problem. Can we try it again from the north wall?”
I don’t say anything, just extend my arm.
She takes it, and we head to the starting point, the grass already flattened from our many journeys.
Birds twitter in the trees above us as if this were a happy day, not one from hell.
As we turn to walk back down, it hits me: She’s really doing this.
She’s marrying Landon Davenport in this exact spot in less than two months, and there’s nothing I can do about it.
After that, everything is going to change.
He will lock her in a gilded cage, only letting her out when he needs to show her off.
No more movie nights, no more dinners out, no more flying to the Philippines for the weekend because Shep is craving his grandma’s sinigang.
No more nights in the library playing chess, no more Viv pawing through my closet and stealing my clothes, no more sneaking her notes in an old book.
She’ll be his, and she’ll be even more off-limits to me than she is already.
I don’t even realize I’ve stopped walking until Viv turns back. “What’s wrong?” she says, concern etched on her face.
“I can’t do this.” My voice sounds disembodied, which is exactly how I feel. How did I ever think I could help her, make it easier for her to marry him? I don’t have it in me, and I never did.
“You can’t do what?” she asks.
I don’t let myself look at her. If I do, I’ll sink into those green eyes and never come back up. A single blink, and she’ll have me wrapped around her little finger once again. The best thing to do is avoid meeting her gaze altogether.
“I have things to do, Viv,” I say, moving past her to the arch in the brick wall. “I can’t play wedding with you anymore.”
At the garden entrance, I turn back. She’s still standing where I left her, confusion and hurt on her face. “I’m sorry,” she says. “I shouldn’t have asked you to.”
All of my resolve drains away. I knew I shouldn’t have looked back. “It’s okay.” I slide my hand into my hair, wishing I were stronger. “I just don’t think I’m being much help here.”
A ringing cuts through the birdsong, and Viv fishes her phone from the pocket of her trousers. She holds up a finger, asking me to wait. We’ve already established that there isn’t a lake of hellfire I wouldn’t cross for her, so staying put until she’s done with her call is a no-brainer.
Her voice is quiet when she answers, and I can immediately tell that she must be talking to him.
Landon fucking Davenport, the bloody private equity partner—whatever the heck that is.
The perfect man from the perfect family with the perfect bank account.
The only consolation I have knowing Viv’s marrying him is that she’ll never lack anything money can buy.
Her eyes flit to me as she listens, and I wish I knew what he was telling her. More than anything, I wish I could offer her more than he can, but sometimes you’re born with shit luck.
After less than two minutes, she hangs up and puts the phone away before carefully picking her way over the soft ground to me. I should offer to help her in case her heel gets stuck again, but my feet feel frozen in place.
“Why isn’t he here, Viv?” I ask when she reaches me.
My voice comes out harsher than I intend, but I don’t apologize.
It’s time she faces the truth. Her precious fiancé has left her to plan this entire wedding by herself and forced her to rely on another man to fill his shoes.
If I see his smug face before the ceremony, my fist would love to rearrange it.
I watch the struggle on her face as she decides what to tell me. “Landon and I don’t have a . . . traditional relationship,” she finally says.
I cross my arms over my chest, and a tendril of pleasure skates up my spine when her eyes fall briefly on my biceps. “What does that mean?”
She sighs, letting her gaze wander to a corner of the garden where a stone statue waters the flowers at its feet. “Just forget it, Cass.”
“I’m not going to forget it,” I say, stepping closer. “What’s not traditional about it?”
Her eyes snap back to mine, a tiny flame of fury burning in them. I’ve forced her to tell me something she doesn’t want to, and she’s pissed. But I’d rather she be angry than complacent. “We’re not sleeping together,” she says.
I wait for the punchline, but when she doesn’t add anything, I realize that’s it. That’s when the full impact of her words hit me. She’s not having sex with Landon.
A disbelieving laugh bubbles up inside me, and I clear my throat to hold it down. “Saving yourself for marriage. Your mother would approve. But what does that have to do with him not being here?”
Viv glares at me, her chin jutting out. “Don’t be cruel.”
“I’m not trying to be. I just don’t understand why you and Lando not having sex means he can’t help plan your wedding.”
She marches past me, her anger washing over me like a balm. Give me this Viv any day of the week over the meek and obedient facade she’s been wearing for years. At the last second, she turns around and snaps, “You’re right. Maybe it’s time to change that.”
Long after she’s disappeared, I’m still trying to figure out if she meant him helping with the wedding or them having sex. Both options make me want to run myself over with my car.