Chapter 54
“Cold As You” - Taylor Swift
Maeve
This could have been me. I scan the Italian cliffside where Heath and Walker’s wedding will take place. It looks absolutely incredible, even if I’d personally prefer a downtown wedding at St. John’s Cathedral.
If I hadn’t come to my senses when Preston proposed, I might now be planning my own nuptials for next summer. Initially, I thought I might have regrets, but so far that hasn’t happened.
Preston felt like a safe option because he never had the power to break me. Turns out, I didn’t have the power to hurt him either. Less than two weeks after I declined his proposal, he was photographed having dinner with a twenty-two-year-old brunette. I guess some things never change.
I met his ex-wife for lunch a few days ago and apologized for the affair. She was just as miserable as ever—slipping in no less than three mentions of her relation to Queen Celia—but the truth is, I fucked up her marriage, and no matter how intolerable she might be, it was a terrible thing to do.
My apology must have softened her, because she told me Preston was a cad who cheated on her before they even got married. I longed to ask her why she married him, then, but I think I understand. When you believe you don’t deserve better, it’s hard not to jump at the first person to show interest.
“It looks amazing,” Walker says, sidling up next to me and pulling my attention back to the setup for the wedding.
Together we gaze at the reception area, which has been transformed over the past twenty-four hours.
Set in the villa’s garden and lit with chandeliers hanging from the tree branches, the space overflows with luxury and vintage charm.
Each table boasts its own unique centerpiece consisting of first edition books and an exotic floral arrangement.
The place cards are custom bookmarks tied with silk ribbons.
On the back of each chair is a cashmere blanket to help fight off the October chill if needed.
Persian rugs, antique furniture, and velvet throws are sprinkled around the garden, where guests will lounge during the cocktail hour. A small stage is set up in the back corner for the jazz band playing after the ceremony.
“It’s not too late to take it all back to the city,” I tease.
As soon as Walker told me she wanted to get married on the Amalfi Coast, I knew it was the perfect spot. A city wedding would have felt stifling for both her and Heath. They want as little press coverage as possible.
“I think I’d rather jump off the cliff,” she says with a half smile. She tucks her arm into mine, and we head toward the private house that is housing most of the guests for the weekend.
Built over two hundred years ago, Villa Fiorita was recently renovated and now boasts every modern convenience—a good thing, because there’s no way I could have survived three days without my Dyson Airwrap.
The house is situated at the top of the cliffs, providing incredible views of the Tyrrhenian Sea, its deep-blue waters a striking contrast to the white-bleached rocks bordering it. It’s paradise, pure and simple.
At least until he shows up. But I’m refusing to think about that.
It was the entire reason I pushed for Walker, Lux, and me to arrive a day early.
The flight may only have been a few hours long, but I can’t think of anything worse than being stuck in an aircraft forty thousand feet above sea level with someone who hates you.
And he’s made it obvious he does. As much as I don’t want to admit it, I can’t really blame him.
Everything he said at the gala was true.
He was more vulnerable the night I left than I’ve ever seen him before, and I still chose to walk away.
In hindsight, I realize exactly how stupid I was, but at the time, I didn’t think I had a choice.
I thought my survival depended on staying away from the one person with the power to destroy me.
None of that matters now, though. Pierce has made his opinion of me very clear. He even went so far as to skip the rehearsal last night, making up some excuse about a work emergency keeping him late, but I know the truth. He wants to spend as little time with me as possible.
Heath’s cousin escorted me during the practice run down the aisle, and all I could think about was how painful it’s going to be holding Pierce’s arm during the actual wedding and pretend I’m okay.
The best thing—the only thing—I can do is act as though he no longer exists.
Not because I want to punish him, but because it’s the only way I’ll manage to survive.
My heart may be aching for the sight of him, but my head knows the spiral that will begin the second I see him.
Walker and I join the other bridesmaids in the bridal chamber to get ready for the day.
Lux is wearing a gown the color of sea glass, Heath’s sister Camilla’s dress is the perfect shade of dark teal, and my own is a deep navy blue.
Together, they stunningly set off Walker’s vintage-style gown of cream silk and lace.
I catch my reflection in the mirror as one of the stylists gets to work on my hair, curling it and tucking it into a low chignon. Before my thoughts can wander back to him, the hairdresser tugs a little too hard on the heat wand.
“Ow,” I say, pressing a hand to my head. “I can’t afford to lose a hunk of hair today.”
Her eyes widen as she murmurs her apology.
Lux gives me a look from the chair next to mine, but I ignore her, reaching for the perfume on the vanity in front of me. My movements are miscalculated, thanks to trying to hold still for the stylist, and the glass bottle topples over. “Damn,” I say, reaching for it before anything can spill out.
“God, Maeve,” Lux says. “Relax.”
I dab scent onto my neck and wrists. “I am relaxed.”
Her brows pull together as she gives me a skeptical look. “And I’m pregnant.”
I drop the bottle in surprise. “You’re what?”
She covers her mouth with her hand. “Oh my god, chill. I was kidding.”
I brush the hairdresser aside before she can scalp me and bend over to pick up the perfume. “Why would you say something like that?”
“I was trying to prove a point. I guess it backfired.”
“You guess correctly,” I grumble, then turn back to the mirror, snapping my fingers for the stylist to get started again.
She approaches me cautiously, as if she’s afraid I’ll break her hands, which I might if she’s not careful.
“Are you nervous about seeing him?” Lux says.
I can feel her eyes on me in the reflection, but I don’t meet them, working instead on applying my lipstick. “Who?”
Her chair squeaks as she swivels toward me. “You can quit pretending. You know exactly who I’m talking about.”
I form an O with my mouth and finish tinting my lips crimson. Only when I’m done do I turn my head to look at Lux, carefully so as not to startle my mouse of a hairdresser. “Let’s say, for the sake of argument, that I don’t.”
“This isn’t a game, Maeve.” Lux leans back in her chair, inclining her head as she studies me. “We’re on your side.”
I pop the cap back on the lipstick tube and set it on the table. “Great. I’m glad to hear it.”
“But we’re on his side, too.”
My gaze swings back to her before I can stop it. “That’s not—”
“Don’t.” She holds up her hand. “We’re friends with both of you. And all of us are tired of taking sides. This weekend would be a great time for the two of you to make up. It would be the perfect gift for Heath and Walker.”
Pain punctures a hole in the center of my chest, emotions spilling out as I consider what she’s saying. They must all think this is my fault, that I’m the one who told Pierce to stay away. And I guess, in a sense, it is. If I hadn’t been terrified out of my mind, if I hadn’t walked away that night—
“I don’t know what you want me to do.” My voice comes out hushed and raw, and I clear my throat.
“Tell him you’re sorry. That you want things to go back to the way they used to be.”
Tears gathering at the corners of my eyes, I shake my head, forgetting about my hair and probably messing it up entirely. “It’s too late. He doesn’t want anything to do with me.”
* * *
By a stroke of luck, I still haven’t seen Pierce. The bridesmaids are due to start walking down the aisle any minute, and so far, the two of us have managed to avoid each other entirely. Not exactly easy as best man and maid of honor, but we made it work.
He hasn’t texted me since the night I left him, and I haven’t texted him since realizing he has no intention of responding.
For all I know, he’s blocked my number. All wedding-party communication has been done via other people.
Even when I was planning the itinerary for this weekend, I never had the need to send him a solo email.
And everyone knows that group threads don’t count.
But the second Cami and Lux have made their way down the aisle and my turn is next, my stomach roils and my brain starts chanting about what a terrible idea this was.
Avoiding Pierce seemed great in theory, but that means my first glimpse of him will be in front of a hundred people, all of them privy to whatever emotions decide to display themselves on my face.
I walk toward the floral arch near the cliffside, its coastal grasses, white orchids, and sea holly gently waving in the breeze. The guests are arranged in a semicircle facing the ocean, which is providing both a majestic view and a serenade for the service.
My heels make quiet clicking noises on the cobblestone path leading to the wooden platform aisle, erected over the natural terrain to protect the wild landscape.
The notes of a cello accompany the music of the sea, the two merging into a sound more perfect for Heath and Walker’s day than any symphony ever written.
Only when I step onto the wooden planks do I look up to where the minister is waiting, hands clasped in front of him. Heath is standing beside him in a custom linen tuxedo several shades darker than Walker’s dress, a shy smile on his face as he waits for his bride.
I tighten my grip on my bouquet, which mimics the florals in the arch behind the wedding party. Finally, when my heart feels like it will pound right out of my chest, I let my eyes move to the right of Heath.
And there he is. So handsome he makes my breath catch in my throat. Four months of pure air, and I still crave the smoke.
His navy tuxedo matches my dress, as if the gods needed one more thing to mock me with.
Gone is his five o’clock shadow, and instead his jaw is sharp and clean-shaven.
His hair is perfectly styled, and I can’t tell for certain from this far, but I think it might be just a tad longer than the last time I saw it.
We haven’t had a civil conversation in nearly half a year. He hasn’t been in my bed for just as long, and the last time we were together in any sense of the word was before Bash’s accident.
Part of me wondered if the rift between us would be big enough that he’d miss his best friends’ wedding over it.
I’m relieved to see that it’s not, but a part of me mourns the fact that I don’t have that kind of effect on him.
It’s stupid, I know, but if you’re not the main character of your own story, when will you be?
Pierce’s eyes are on me—they feel like hot coals against my skin—but the moment I meet his gaze, he drops it. There’s a subtle shifting in his shoulders as he readjusts himself, keeping his eyes firmly fixed on something over my shoulder. Walker, no doubt.
The pain of his rejection shouldn’t sting after all this time, but it still does, especially in light of the fact that a hundred pairs of eyes are glued to me right now. It wouldn’t take a genius to deduce the source of the red shame crawling up my neck.
Tattooing how he feels about me across his forehead would have been more subtle.