Avalon #2
Colton looked more composed than I’d ever seen him.
His beard was trimmed, his mustache neat, his hair freshly cut by his mother the night before.
I’d caught a glimpse of them in the dining room — him sitting in a chair, her standing on a small stool behind him, scissors snipping carefully as they reminisced about his childhood and the moment she first knew he’d fallen for Delia.
The sight warmed me… and hurt a little. I would never have moments like that with my own mother. Wishing for them wouldn’t change anything. I’d simply gotten unlucky in the parent department.
After breakfast, Mr. King and Colton headed to the barn. Clarke explained that it was King family tradition to gift a horse on a wedding day—usually one from childhood. I knew she was thinking about Artemis again. Had she imagined Artemis would be hers someday?
By noon, Clarke and I drove to the old barn Delia had chosen as her venue. It sat in the middle of a wide field on her parents’ property, decorated with the garlands we’d spent hours stringing and rows of mismatched chairs. It looked beautiful.
Inside, the spare office had been transformed into a dressing room. Delia’s dress hung from a hook on the door — soft cream linen with a corset bodice, off-the-shoulder sleeves, and a waterfall skirt. The lace-trimmed veil was embroidered with her favorite flowers.
Once she put it on, she looked like a storybook princess. Her bright red hair was pinned up with pearl pins, and Clarke—who had done her makeup—kept everything soft and natural, letting Delia’s freckles shine.
I could’ve watched Clarke all day. Her hands moved with such confidence as she worked, and the two of them laughed like they’d been doing this their whole lives. That familiar feeling of intrusion crept up on me, and I slipped quietly out of the room.
My phone buzzed. My mother’s name lit the screen. I groaned. I considered ignoring it—but answered anyway.
“Hi, mom.”
“Avalon, honey, when are you coming home? I have a brand who wants to talk to you about modeling for them. It’s this Friday.”
Straight to business. No hello. No I miss you. Kennedys didn’t do softness.
“I—I don’t know, Mom—”
“Oh please,” she cut in. “You know how I feel about that word. Mom sounds so… old.”
I swallowed my irritation. “There are still things I want to accomplish here. I’m not ready to go back.”
She sighed dramatically. I could practically hear her rolling her eyes. “What could you possibly accomplish in that boring little town? Los Angeles has opportunities. Texas has horses and hay bales.”
She bit into something crunchy. “Now, as your manager—”
“You’re not my manager,” I snapped. We’d had this argument too many times. She wanted control over everything—my music, my food, my image. She wanted to mold me into a shinier version of herself.
“—I think it’s time you end this little rebellion, Lonny.”
There it was. The nickname she used when she was disappointed. Lonny. Childish. Belittling. A way to make her cruelty feel like affection.
“I’m not done here,” I said firmly. “I’ll come home when I’m ready.” I hung up before she could respond. Relief washed over me— followed quickly by the sting of her words. She could sour anything, even today.
“Hey, are you okay?” Clarke’s voice drifted from behind me. She peeked around the door; concern etched across her face. “You disappeared. I got worried.”
I tucked my phone away and forced a smile. “I felt out of place. I just wanted to give you two a moment.”
I looked her over—glowing, cheeks pink, eyes bright. “You look beautiful, by the way.”
She smiled, but her eyes stayed on me, searching. “I don’t ever want you to feel like you’re intruding. I want you here. And so does my family.” Her thumb brushed my cheek. “You are wanted here. Okay?”
My throat tightened. “Okay.”
She pulled me in for a kiss—she tasted like cherries instead of her usual apples—but a soft bell rang behind us, signaling the start of the ceremony. Groaning, I pulled back.
“As much as I’d love to kiss you all day,” Clarke sighed, lacing her fingers with mine, “we better get inside before they realize they’re short a bridesmaid.”
The barn doors opened with a loud crack, and every head turned. Clarke entered on Ethan’s arm, bouquet in hand, face glowing.
Her lace dress hugged her waist, the sweetheart neckline tied at the shoulders with delicate bows. The slit revealed her scuffed brown boots—perfectly Clarke.
Ethan walked beside her in a black suit with burgundy and gold accents, his usual cowboy hat swapped for a black leather one with gold embellishments.
A twinge of jealousy rippled through me. They looked good together—annoyingly good. Matching wheat-colored hair, mischievous blue eyes. Clarke walked with authority, never once seeming like she was being led.
“She’s beautiful,” Melody whispered beside me, tears shining in her eyes. “Like when she did pageants.” Pageants. Another piece of Clarke I hadn’t known.
The ceremony was beautiful. Delia and Colton looked genuinely in love. I doubted there was a dry eye in the room.
“Wow, you Texas folk really go all out,” I said later, grabbing a slice of peach pie for my already overloaded plate. My teeth ached just looking at it.
Melody nodded, but her smile wobbled. Her skin looked pale. I set my plate down and touched her shoulder.
“Hey, Mels, are you okay? Do you need water? Or sugar? No—wait, that’s-that’s diabetes, not…” My voice trailed off in an awkward huff of air. I was hopeless.
She shook her head, trying to be brave. “I’m f-fine.” Then her knees buckled.
Lunging forward, I caught her before she hit the floor. “Yeah, you’re definitely not fine. Let’s get you home.”