Chapter 17
Aidan
After Cielo sent me back to my own room, I lay awake most of the night. Some of that was dedicated to writing down lyrics thanks to the sudden flow of inspiration.
Falling asleep in a hotel is never easy for me and trying to rest after what had just happened felt impossible.
I should be in bed with her right now, the comforting weight of her thigh slung across my body and the steady rhythm of her breath reassuring in my ear.
Instead, I’m alone, plotting how I can possibly make the leap from temporary to forever .
I can’t let Lo slip through my fingers again. Over the course of the day, I have to fulfill my duties as best man, run interference with Cielo’s parents, and figure out how to keep her. I should’ve gotten more sleep, but I don’t regret an instant of our time together.
Cielo still feels like home. On the road, I’d tried to convince myself I was just a little homesick, but it’s so obvious now that I’ve been heartsick.
By the time the bedside clock reads 5:34, I decide to cut my losses and start my day. Mist casts a soft haze across the formal garden as the sun begins to peek over the horizon. As I walk, I pull the folded best man speech from my pocket.
Speaking in front of a crowd has never bothered me—I’ve always enjoyed being the center of attention—but today’s performance comes with added pressure.
I repeat my carefully chosen words under my breath, trying to make sure I won’t need to rely on my notes.
Engrossed in rehearsing the speech, I look up and realize I’ve reached the end of the garden. There’s movement near the garage.
Cielo kneels next to Callum’s black Peugeot, fixing white streamers to the back bumper. She’s not in her bridesmaid garb yet, just a tee and shorts that hug her gorgeous ass. My heart races at the memory of last night, the desperation in her eyes as she bound my wrists.
“Ready for round two?” I ask, gesturing to the roll of ribbon in her hand.
She jerks upright and gasps at the sound of my voice.
“Sorry to startle you.”
Lo breathes deeply, hand against her chest. “It’s okay.”
“Canned peas? They’re serving breakfast inside later, you know,” I tease, grabbing the aluminum can off the boot of the car. Half a dozen cans are stripped of their labels and tied to the bumper by white ribbons.
“We should move the car. I kind of want the decoration to be a surprise. They’re not doing the whole ‘ride off into the sunset’ thing at the end of the night to start their honeymoon, but I know Lark wanted some cute pictures anyway. I also have those bubbles for everyone during the send-off.”
“You’re not bad at this maid of honor thing.”
Cielo rips the paper label off the peas and fixes the can to a length of ribbon. “What has you up so early?”
Wondering how to turn one weekend into a relationship . I hold up the folded paper. “Practicing my big speech. I always have a hard time sleeping somewhere new.”
“Oh. I didn’t know that.”
“Neither did I before I went on tour.” Before then, when I’d spent the night in a strange bed, I usually wasn’t trying to sleep. By the time I’d spent the night with Lo enough times to want to rest, it had felt familiar. She had felt familiar.
“How does that work while you’re on the road?”
“Eventually I got used to the tour bus,” I answer.
“Hotels are roomier and private, but I toss and turn the whole night.” It gives me lots of time to think of you, I want to tell her.
Not in a sexual way—although I’ve done plenty of that, too—but in the reflective yearning that seems to happen best in the quiet hours.
The only remedy was to perform myself to exhaustion night after night and sink into the unfamiliar beds after a couple nightcaps.
Just one more reason I was relieved to be on a hiatus for a while.
“Other than the rest, how’s it been? Getting kind of famous, I mean?” Lo hooks her hair behind her ear.
“Most days, it’s a dream come true.” Do I tell her the line I give in interviews?
Or the unabridged version? With everyone else in my life, it feels taboo to be too honest. Considering how many people would kill to be in my position, anything that acknowledges the darker side of it all feels ungrateful for my extreme luck in a brutal industry.
You don’t want a reputation for ingratitude spreading among fans, fellow performers, or record company executives.
But Lo isn’t just anyone. And she’s also always been a realist. “Some days, there is so much pressure, I don’t even want to pick up a guitar.
That’s never happened to me since I started playing. ”
I haven’t admitted that to anyone, not even my own mam, who sees my career as a fairy tale. Shattering that for her just feels wrong.
Cielo’s brows knit. “Burnout is bound to happen if you’re giving it your all, all the time.”
She would know. She never stops, never takes shortcuts, never compromises.
“My manager hated the last few demos I made. I hated them, too, although not for the same reason. I thought they weren’t deep enough lyrically, but he thought they weren’t commercial enough.”
Anger flashes in her topaz eyes. “He doesn’t like your music?”
“I haven’t even liked my music lately. The label wants me to move away from the singer-songwriter direction, at least for singles.”
“What? The folkier sound is what makes you special. Sure, you can evolve as a musician, but it should come organically.”
“I’m under contract for the next album and they want to start recording by the end of next month.
I might have to take their direction,” I admit, rolling an empty can between my palms. My future hasn’t truly felt self-driven since I signed with the label.
A loss of creative autonomy has been the price of financial security.
Lo stares in shock. “Think about it hard before you do anything that threatens your artistic integrity. There’s got to be a compromise.”
“They also want to lock in an album and a tour each year for the next five. Five albums guaranteed to be produced and released is a rare bit of career stability for this industry.”
“You don’t want some assholes dictating what you can and can’t do for half a decade of your life.”
“This isn’t just about what I want. There’s a fan base and executives to satisfy now and I’ve got to be honest: It’s…a lot of money they’re offering. With careful management, I could make sure my family is comfortable for the rest of their lives.”
“You need to be comfortable with the music you’ll be performing for the rest of yours. Do you want your name associated with music you don’t care about?”
Trust Lo to give it to me straight.
“What does it say about me that I haven’t been able to write a decent song in months?”
“That surrounding yourself with dicks makes you question your creative vision and sucks the joy out of it. Screw that. I always believed you’d make it big one day if people just heard you. The real you. And it’s been true. Don’t let them convince you that you’re suddenly not good enough.”
A cautious smile lifts the corner of my mouth.
Lo leans back to admire her work on the Peugeot’s decorated bumper. “Okay, I’m gonna park this closer to the garden.”
I step back to give her some room. She turns over the engine, but there’s only a whirring sound.
Black smoke billows from under the bonnet. Shite. I motion for Lo to pop it and take a peek at the engine to confirm that this thing isn’t going anywhere without a tow truck.
Lo waves a hand through the cloud and coughs. “What happened?”
“Looks like the starter is banjaxed.”
“Do you think we can push it somewhere scenic and then roll it back when they’re done with the photos?”
Fine morning mist shrouds the surrounding grassy hills. “It would be fine one direction, a pain in the arse in the other.”
We call every mechanic in a half-hour radius, but most are closed for the weekend. Every one of them says that car isn’t getting back on the road tonight.
“It’s fine,” I tell Lo. “We can decorate my car for photos. Cover it in fondant and make it look like a cake on wheels for all I care.”
“Would that seem weird? Someone else’s random car?” she asks. “It’s too bad they only have the one vehicle.”
“No, they don’t.”
“Lark wouldn’t want to drag her Cinderella dress from a Lambretta. It would get filthy.”
“I’m talking about the other vehicle.”
Mischief flashes across her face. “Not the hearse!”
“?‘Just married’ rhymes with ‘just buried,’ after all.”
Lo shakes her head. “Lark might prefer her dress getting ruined.”
“Hey, weddings aren’t only for the bride. You’ve gotta think of what the groom wants as well.”
“Well, Callum got his own cake. And it wasn’t red velvet and armadillo shaped.”
Despite dating a Texan, I will never understand Texas. “Armadillo? For Callum? What, is he not allowed to have any of the big cake?”
“It’s a Steel Magnolias reference. Lark has made me watch that movie like five times.
” Cielo bats away my confusion. “Anyway, he can have plenty. Ugly groom’s cakes are a tradition in the States, in addition to the giant ganache monstrosity.
It’s just something for the groom that the bride can’t veto. ”
Wedding rules are lost on me. In the past, I’d only paid attention to the receptions afterward, but I want to be present for Callum and Lark. Cielo is much better at the role of maid of honor than I am at playing best man. “What did he choose?”
“It’s a surprise.”
“So,” I reason, “the groom’s cake isn’t because a ganache monstrosity isn’t enough. It’s so the man can see his taste or interests reflected somewhere at his own party?”
Lo nods. “Basically. Everything else is all about the bride.”
“Then we’ve gotta do it. Decorate the hearse, I mean. Callum deserves to have some of his personality in this day. Equality, babe.”
Hand on her hip, Cielo gives me a look. “Not your babe. And Lark might be so mad that I’ll need a lift in a hearse when she’s done with me.”
“If she hates it, we’ll pop the Peugeot in neutral and push it out of the garage for their getaway photos,” I say. “How will we nick his keys, though?”
“I keep a spare to their place. Callum hangs the hearse keys in their kitchen.”
“Then it’s settled. We do it for gender equity.”
“You make stealing a hearse sound so noble.”
“Borrow,” I correct. “I intend to earn my ‘best man’ badge back after losing the ring—”
“Nearly losing the ring. It’s safe, and it wasn’t your fault.”
Our eyes linger on each other until she pulls her phone out and consults what I assume is her scheduling app. She shows me the screen. The wedding preparations and festivities fill almost the entire day, but we’re in the slim empty portion right now.
“Want me to come with you to pick up the hearse?” Lo asks. “So you won’t have to leave your car at their place? But I’m not driving the ghoul wagon through Galway.”
“You’d do that for me?”
“It’s not a big deal. We’ll make it back before breakfast.”
A few guests mill around the lobby of the castle, anxious for the morning buffet, as I wait for Lo to grab her keys.
“So how long do we have?” I ask as we walk to her car.
“Until about nine. That’s when we’ll start getting ready. We’ll have enough time, it’s only thirty minutes to their place,” she tells me as the fob chirps, and she opens the passenger door. I double-check my watch. It’s seven-thirty.
Sunlight spills through the cloud cover in brilliant patches, making the mist on the surrounding hills almost glow.
It’s beautiful, but when I glance at Lo in the driver’s seat with the light haloing her, it’s that sight that makes my heart skip.
The scent of her rosemary shampoo fills the enclosed space and a Mitski song plays on the stereo.
I gently twirl her hair around my finger.
It’s just long enough to wrap around my palm.
“I like your hair like this.”
“I like your beard.” She leans closer and adds, “But I miss the dimples.”
I’m torn between going full lumberjack and shaving it off completely. I let my knuckle graze the skin of her shoulder. Her eyes flutter, not quite closing as she soaks in the tiny caress.
“Stop distracting me,” she lightly admonishes, eyes on the road.
I rest a hand on Lo’s thigh like I’ve done a hundred times before. The chemistry between us is palpable. If anything, it’s even hotter than before.
We pull up to Willow Haven funeral home and Lo uses her spare to get inside and grab the hearse’s key. She spins the ring around her index finger victoriously. “See? Plenty of time to get back by breakfast.”