Chapter 14
Lo
I do everything I can to avoid Aidan’s eyes as we enter the castle.
“I’m gonna get changed for the rehearsal dinner.”
Falling into his arms had felt amazing; his soft lips and firm touch almost made me forget what went wrong between us. But I refuse to fall into old patterns for the sake of comfort.
I’d underestimated the power of his presence, but he’s bound to leave me behind. Alone. It’s his job to tour and travel. He thrives on it. Life is no less complicated for us now than it was two years ago, no matter how good it feels to be with him.
“Lo…” Aidan pauses in the foyer. “Can we talk later?”
“After the rehearsal.”
Does he want closure or to try again? Because this feels like picking a scab, and I can’t reopen that wound.
Luckily, I brought several nice outfits—I like to be prepared.
After drying off, I change into a sleek maxi dress and re-do my hair and makeup.
In an attempt to distract myself, I decide to check if Lark is back from yoga and if she needs any help before the wedding rehearsal.
She and Callum are sleeping separately until they tie the knot.
I knock on the door and she pulls me inside. Workout clothes lie in piles on the floor, hairspray cans and contour palettes strewn across the bed.
“It looks like a Sephora exploded.”
“Help me with this, would you please?” Lark points to the open back of her short, ballet-pink dress. The state of this room looks like evidence of a crisis to me, but she grins beatifically.
I oblige, tugging the zipper up her lower back.
She casts a glance over her shoulder. “So, I noticed that you and Aidan weren’t at yoga…Interesting that you both disappeared.”
“Yeah, I kind of threw him off a bridge into the creek.”
“You didn’t.” Lark swivels to face me directly.
“Accidentally! There was this raven, and—”
“Forgive me for not believing that.”
I don’t want to tell her that I kissed Aidan, because nothing can come of it. And I definitely won’t be telling her that he nearly lost the Flannelly family claddagh ring to the creek.
“I felt so bad that I jumped in to pull him out. So I had to go back to my room and change.”
Something like vindication spreads across Lark’s face as she blots her lipstick.
“Uh-uh. Don’t do that.” I wag a finger. “It doesn’t mean anything.”
“Whatever you say.”
My phone chimes with the event reminder.
“You look beautiful. Time to go, Bridezilla,” I say affectionately.
We walk downstairs together. It’s just the rehearsal, but Lark crackles with anticipation beside me.
Aidan stands by the French doors leading out to the garden where the ceremony will take place.
He’s delicious in a crisp white dress shirt, sleeves rolled up exposing his tattooed forearms. While he’s still deep in conversation with Callum and the officiant, I take the opportunity to drink him in, but it doesn’t take him long to sense my attention.
His aquamarine eyes pin me from across the room.
Their intensity hasn’t wavered since our searing kiss.
If I knew what was good for me, I’d look away. But I haven’t been great at self-preservation since Aidan came back to town.
He’s pushed his damp hair off his forehead. As I walk closer, I can make out LO stamped against his skin.
“It didn’t wash off?” I whisper-yell, gesturing to the faded ink. I try to resist cracking a smile as he arranges some hair to cover the letters, but it’s stuck together in a wet clump that won’t photograph well.
“I’ve been marked,” Aidan says with amusement.
The scissors tattoo I’d glimpsed on the boat returns to my mind. Was I reading too much into the imagery of it about to cut through a knot?
“Come here.” I rake my fingers through his hair to separate the strands. Mirth twinkles in his eyes. He’s so damn pretty. “I have an exfoliating wash that might help scrub this off. I’ll give it to you later.”
“All right, everyone, here’s the run of show.
” The wedding planner’s voice cuts through the rush of adrenaline brought by Aidan’s silky strands between my fingers.
She gives us an overview of the ceremony layout in the garden.
A white aisle runner cuts through rows of slip-covered chairs, leading to an arch of willow branches that Saoirse and her assistant will adorn before the ceremony tomorrow.
The planner props the doors open and directs Callum to wait at the end of the aisle with the officiant.
Up next is Aunt Sharon. Then, the wedding party—including Aidan and me—and finally the bride will meet her groom. Easy enough.
“Okay, Best Man and Maid of Honor! You’re up,” the planner shouts from across the room. “Walk down the aisle together, please.”
Aidan offers his arm and I take it. Golden evening sunlight spills across his face as we step into the garden. Unlike the flirtatious race on the way to yoga, we easily match each other in an instinctual stride.
I lean gently into the sense of contentment when Aidan’s fingers rest atop mine. But I need to stand on my own two feet. Leaning on Aidan hurt me once before and I can’t—I won’t allow it to happen again.
My mom sits in one of the guest seats. Protectiveness surges in my chest as she coldly examines Aidan while we pass. This is why I don’t want her to know our history. He doesn’t seem to notice her silent judgment, but I’ve become attuned to it.
We take our places on the bride’s and groom’s sides of the aisle, but throughout the rehearsal, Aidan and I keep finding each other’s gazes.
Saoirse and Deirdre, then Anvi and Rory take their turns down the aisle, then Lark begins the measured walk toward her groom.
Of course, all eyes will be on the bride tomorrow, but for now, Aidan’s attention is on me alone.
It feels like I’ve stepped back in time, to that first gig I watched him play, when he stared at me the entire set.
Clapping, the wedding planner brings the ceremony portion of the rehearsal to a close. We reverse the procession, and it’s time for dinner in the formal garden.
Squared-off hedgerows and topiaries anchor the outdoor dining space composed of large round tables.
Twinkly lights glow in strands overhead as the sun drifts below the horizon and the sky shifts to indigo twilight.
A faint fragrance fills the air, courtesy of flowering vines snaking up the castle’s exterior wall.
When I notice Aidan’s name on the place card beside mine, my chest seems to constrict and expand simultaneously. Part of me wants to run from him, another part longs to sprint straight toward him. Well, I can’t very well run away from Lark’s rehearsal dinner when I have a speech to give.
Sharing a table with both Aidan and my mom is a study in tension.
From the concerned glances Aidan keeps throwing me to the way my mom grills him on his career, it’s a strange energy for a celebratory dinner.
But my maid of honor speech goes better than planned, earning a few laughs as I lead a toast to the couple.
Halfway through the salad course, my mom rubs her temples.
“Everything all right, Mom?”
“All that patchouli oil Aunt Sharon wears gives me a headache.”
I offer a small smile and make a mental note to ask my aunt to tone it down before the ceremony. “I have some medicine in my room. Let me grab it.”
As I ascend the stairs, the soft concern etched on Aidan’s brow flashes in my mind. I don’t love leaving him alone with her.
It doesn’t take long to retrieve the headache remedy and tuck it into my clutch.
Soon I’m back in the formal garden, striding toward our table.
Aidan catches my gaze and then flits his eyes to the man beside him.
My ankle rolls as I come down wrong on my heel when I see who it is.
My stumble catches the eye of the whole table, and now everyone is staring.
“Dad?”
My eyes snap to my mom, who is staring at her empty place setting, and my blood goes hot.
I shoot a questioning scowl at Lark. She told me he’d RSVP’d no and hadn’t said a word about him since.
My dad rises from his chair and spreads his arms. “Surprise!”
“Yeah,” I sputter. “Very. Hi, Dad.”
People say to forgive and forget like it’s easy, but neither response feels natural to me. He provided for us, but he also left my mom and me alone when we needed him. My bitter heart clings to those transgressions.
My dad comes around the table to hug me, and we do an awkward tango before he wraps his arms around my shoulders.
It feels so stilted. Growing up, I’d convinced myself that if I was the perfect, low-maintenance daughter, he’d stick around.
Maturity was realizing that no matter what I did, he wouldn’t stay.
I needed to succeed for myself, not for his approval.
For the sake of keeping the peace at Lark’s rehearsal dinner, I try not to let my resentment show, but on the inside, I’m seething.
How dare he ambush my mom like this. What is his problem?
Over my dad’s shoulder, I lock eyes with my mom.
She knocks back a champagne flute and steals another from Aunt Sharon, who obliviously chirps about how lovely it is to have a family reunion.
Nothing rips the scabs off old wounds like seeing your lost love in the flesh.
I should know. I can only imagine how Mom feels.
Dad checked out emotionally long before he and Mom finally split up.
His distance sent Mom into a spiraling depression that threatened to swallow me up, too.
“Uncle Gustavo actually RSVP’d ‘no,’?” Lark says, her tone light. “So I did a spit take when he walked in three minutes ago. But hey! The more the merrier.”
My dad walks with me back to the only available seat, which is sandwiched between him and Aidan, right across from my mom. Aidan’s brows knit together as he tries to gauge my mental state. He’s always been much better at smoothing out social interactions than I have.