Chapter 19
Aidan
Lo and I tie white ribbons around the hearse’s bumper.
They look so innocent, although I can’t help but associate them with being bound to her bed.
Our hands brush as we both reach for the same old tin can.
Lo’s gold-flecked eyes snap to mine. It’s odd, the rush I get from the accidental contact.
Less than an hour ago, we were wrapped around each other.
Her face still glows a little, her smile coming easier after releasing that pent-up tension. God, she’s radiant.
Saoirse fixes a large garland of sunflowers and roses across the windshield and another across the back hatch. When Lo and I pulled up together, she gave me a knowing look.
Lo glances at her scheduling app and gives a satisfied nod to the hearse.
“Time to get ready,” she says. “I’ll see you later, Aidan.”
If she hadn’t asked for discretion, I’d pull her into a kiss.
Instead, my attention drops to her mouth.
While she’s having her makeup done, I want her to relive those moments when we steamed up the windows.
I want the memory of my kiss to burn on her lips.
Cielo lingers for a moment before she leaves, and I know it does.
So far I’d gotten on my knees—more or less—but I still have a way to go toward true atonement. After the ceremony, she could decide to make another clean break. Tonight might be my last chance to win her back.
I rip my gaze away from her and collect the window marker and leftover bolts of ribbon. “Saoirse, need any help?”
“My assistant is working on setting up the garden arch.”
My jaw drops when we enter the reception hall.
What a gorgeous transformation. Burgundy and ivory linens cover tables laid with mountains of rustic florals.
Roses fill the space with a sweet scent and willow branches rise high above the tables, offering ambiance as well as space for conversation.
I can only imagine how lovely it will be bathed in flickering candlelight.
“This one still needs to be hung.” She gestures to a huge willow centerpiece. Moss and tiny fairy lights wrap around the gnarled branches, supporting an array of tapered candles.
“Wow. You’re getting really good at this.”
Pride beams on Saoirse’s face as she adjusts the ivory roses on one arrangement. “It was nice to have some creative license this time. Lark asked for something that told their story and let me run with it. Would you mind giving me a hand? There are screws in the beam over the head table.”
“No problem,” I assure her. The staff at the castle have already put out a ladder. I climb it and attach a cable to the eyelet, letting the excess hang all the way to the floor. Then I move the ladder and repeat the process.
Saoirse threads the cable through fasteners on the willow branches and starts to hoist the left half of it into the air.
Tapered candles affixed to each branch weigh it down more than we anticipated, and it swings suddenly. One of the candles falls out and we hear an ouch .
Rubbing at the crown of his head, a tall, long-haired man using forearm crutches scowls up at me. While the staff has been working around the property all day, he wasn’t there a moment ago.
“Oh!” Saoirse cries. “I’m so sorry!”
His scowl evaporates. “Nice aim.” Maybe one of Lark’s guests?
“It was an accident,” she insists, her eyes going wide when theirs meet. Saoirse’s tall, but he’s built like a grizzly bear.
“Someone like you should be used to taking compliments.”
“What?” Flustered, Saoirse swipes her bangs out of her face. “I—well, I’m no—no.”
He awkwardly bends to pick up the candle, juggling the crutches and a clipboard, just as Saoirse reaches for it.
Their hands brush and she flinches with a giggle I’ve never heard come out of her before.
Apparently, she has a thing for long-haired men with big, dark eyes.
Maybe I should look away, but honestly, this isn’t bad fodder for songwriting.
“I’m Gabe.” He hands her the candle. “Nice to meet you, Miss…”
“Saoirse Delany.”
They smile at each other for a beat. I can’t wait to tease Saoirse about how red her ears get when she blushes.
“Sorry, I’d help you hang that ugly thing up”—Gabe glances at the sleek crutches helping to prop him upright—“but ladders and I don’t get along.”
Saoirse stiffens. “Ugly?”
Uh-oh.
“I have to wonder if the bride or the florist was responsible for that idea. Vision doesn’t always equal taste.”
Saoirse tilts her head.
Gabe pulls a business card from the clipboard he’s carrying and hands it to her with a roguish smile. The lad has no idea of the danger he’s in. “If you’re looking for a real professional, I do event design.”
“Gabriel Maguire, huh? You’re an arsehole.” Saoirse rejects the card.
He blinks a couple times before his expression falls. “Oh…Oh no. You’re the florist.”
“I guess I’m not a ‘real professional’ like you.”
“I’m so sorry, I was just trying to say that I wouldn’t have paired sunflowers with—”
“I don’t care.” Saoirse shoves the taper back into place on a branch a little too forcefully for it to not be a message.
“I thought you worked for the castle!”
“I thought you worked for the castle.” Saoirse seems to remember me, still up on the ladder, watching this entire interaction. “I don’t need help, Mr. Maguire. Thank you. Aidan, let’s get this ugly thing hung so I can finish setting up this amateur design.”
Gabe’s attention snaps to me, and God help me, I pity the man. He doesn’t even say anything, just gazes at Saoirse in consternation. Then there’s the sound of his crutches against the stone floor of the reception hall as he retreats.
Tossing her head, Saoirse marches over to the second cable holding the branch.
She never allows herself to be proud of her achievements, like successfully running the flower shop or playing a fiddle solo on a hit song, but as we entered this decadent space, I could feel her sense of accomplishment.
Then one careless comment dashed it all.
“You’ve done a fine job, Saoirse. It’s beautiful and Lark loves it. Ignore that twat,” I say, readying my length of cable. Together, we smoothly pull the branch and secure each side.
“I should expect it. Things get cutthroat in the wedding world, especially when you start getting booked for custom installations in venues like this.”
“He’s clearly threatened by you, then.”
Saoirse smiles. “He should be.”
As the time of the ceremony draws near, I busy myself with last-minute tasks.
A mechanic arrives to pick up Callum’s car and after that’s squared away, I head to the bar.
A toast with the groom is in order. Callum doesn’t do well with a lot of attention and a nip of whisky might ease his anxiety.
There’s a quick exchange—the barkeep already knew to expect me—and I thank him for the bottle. Whisky acquired.
Cielo’s father, Gustavo, is seated in a leather chair in the lobby, tapping away on a laptop. Lo must have inherited her tireless work ethic from him.
“Mr. Valdez. Good morning.”
“You’re Lo’s friend.”
Friend.
“Aidan. Best man,” I supply, extending my free hand.
Of course, being spotted at a bar just after breakfast doesn’t give the best impression.
He’s businesslike, especially in that impeccable suit.
Cielo told me he rarely cuts loose. Holidays, mostly, which is why she loved their family’s annual Nochebuena celebration.
It was a glimpse into the more carefree version of the man who raised her.
His eyes are trained on the bottle clutched in my hand.
“I’m, erm, just picking up something to calm the groom’s nerves,” I explain.
Gustavo’s smile warms slightly. “Been there.”
My family bickers and then makes amends minutes later.
Lo’s communication with her parents feels like it’s in breakdown by comparison, but I can’t force things between them.
Lark, Cielo, and their mothers enjoyed a private breakfast to avoid the bad luck of the bride and groom seeing each other before the ceremony.
It made sense that Lo’s father wouldn’t be invited, but I feel for the man.
“About what happened at the rehearsal—Lo is just protective of her mom.”
“Well, I’m not here to cause trouble,” Gustavo says. “I’m just here to support my niece and spend a little time with my daughter. But she doesn’t seem to want anything to do with me.”
There’s hurt and guilt in his eyes. I understand because I’ve been there, regretting the decisions I made with Lo. “Yeah, she’ll push you away at first, but she’s worth the trouble. Don’t give up on her because she’s stubborn.”
“Sounds like you speak from experience.”
“She doesn’t hate you,” I say. “She’ll just act like she does for a while.”
“Okay, you’re definitely speaking from experience,” Gustavo says then lightly laughs.
I crack a cautious smile. “Maybe.”
As I head upstairs to meet Callum, I replay the interaction in my head.
My time with Cielo is so limited that I want to soak in every moment of her company, but this could also be the opportunity to start healing the rift between her and her father.
It seems like he’s genuinely trying, but Lo refuses to recognize his effort. Too little too late, perhaps.
When I reach Callum’s suite, he greets me from under a layer of shaving cream and ushers me inside.
“Thought you could use a bit of liquid courage. How are you feeling about the vows?”
Relief blooms on his face when he gets a look at the bottle in my hand. “B-b-better already.”
I lean against the doorframe of the bathroom as he goes back to the sink.
His eyes meet mine in the mirror and he pauses. “I just want this to be perfect for Lark. What if I go mute? It happens sometimes when I’m emotional.”
“No one here will judge you. Lark wants you just as you are.”
“I can’t understand how you manage it.” Callum watches his reflection as he carefully guides the razor across his jaw. “Performing in front of a crowd.”
A memory flashes of watching Cielo in the audience as I played onstage.
Covers and trad staples came naturally, but performing new original songs for the first time always sent me into a bout of nerves.
Locking eyes with Lo as I sang brought out the best in me.
Her unabashed enthusiasm for my music, the way she’d mouth the lyrics, whistling and clapping after every tune.
I know Lark’s presence offers Callum the same comfort.
“You can’t think about it that way,” I say. “Your vows aren’t a performance. They’re a promise. Just focus on Lark. Let the rest of it fade away.”
Maybe that’s how I need to reframe my songwriting process: follow the message within each lyric, rather than concern myself with the judgment of the audience.
That worked for the first album, but since then, I’ve been wrapped up in the pressure of the business.
It keeps me in my head and stops me from writing with my whole heart.
Callum drags a towel across his face and reveals a smile.
“What’s that look about?” I ask.
“When Lo is in the room, you can’t take your eyes off her.”
“Am I that obvious?” I pull his freshly pressed shirt from the hanger and hand it over. “I’ve really missed her. Tomorrow morning this bubble we’re in with the wedding is going to pop. Tonight might be my last chance.”
“Remember the time Lark and I split up?” He reaches for his waistcoat. “I was so worried about holding on to her, I proposed to her before she was ready and nearly lost her over it.”
“You think I need to wait?”
“You need to listen. Cielo has probably already told you what she needs.”
Although he says it simply, it feels anything but. My music career hinges on being away, and Lo refused to abide by that. She needs a reason to trust that we wouldn’t grow apart when separated by distance, but I’m still not sure how I can prove that to her if she won’t give me a chance.
“You’ve got the ring?” Callum asks.
“Of course I’ve got it.”
Thanks to Lo, that is. She never gave up and because of that tenacity, something beautiful was saved that would have been lost forever.
A series of knocks interrupts our conversation.
I answer the door, and Saoirse and Deirdre peek their heads in. A burgundy bridesmaid gown swishes around Saoirse’s legs and a sprig of baby’s breath contrasts against her dark bun, while Deirdre is in a more conservative dress. “Hey, it’s almost time.”
“Come in. We were just about to toast.”
“Callum!” Deirdre beams at him. “You’re looking extra dapper.”
“I’m so thrilled for you two,” Saoirse adds.
“Are you ready?” I ask as I pour three measures.
He gives his spectacles one final polish. “I’ve been ready to marry Lark since we met.”
I raise a tiny glass and they follow suit. “To the ones worth waiting for, then.”
“Sláinte,” we say in unison before downing the whisky.
Saoirse grimaces. Deirdre smacks her lips.
“Thank you,” Callum says earnestly. “Making friends has never been easy for me. It means a lot that you’re here. I love you all.”
“Now who’s being dramatic?” I clap him on the back and pull them both into a hug.
“Have we got a few minutes to spare?” I ask Saoirse.
“We don’t want to leave the bride waiting. Why?”
“I’ve an idea of how to show Lo that I’ve been listening.”