Chapter 41
GRACE
The early summer heat has me waving a paper fan over my face as we wait for Dove's wedding to begin.
I shift on my seat next to Asher, my pale-pink silk chiffon dress clinging uncomfortably to my skin.
What should have been a ten-minute delay has stretched into thirty, and the tension radiating from the chairs around us is palpable.
Asher has his palm on my thigh, his fingers tracing circles on my bare skin. Things have been different since my punishment. For one, I’ve slept in Asher’s bed every night. It feels like something has shifted, and though we haven’t spoken about it, I think he feels it too.
I’ve broken through my writer's block, letting my characters work through the weight of their feelings for each other. Deeper than lust and desire. But there’s still a fear lingering in the back of my mind, a worry that this will all come crashing down any minute.
And I know for their story, it must. There should be a climax, something to test them, even if I haven’t written it yet.
And that thought has me more anxious about what will happen when my contract runs out and my own story ends.
Celeste sits in front of me, rigid as carved marble, her perfectly manicured fingers drumming against her clutch. Every few seconds, she turns to whisper something sharp to Gabe, who responds with curt nods.
"This is ridiculous," Celeste hisses quietly. "Where is she?"
Nash isn't at the front of the aisle, and neither are his groomsmen, so it seems like both parties are missing, but I don't dare interrupt Celeste to tell her so. This is the first time I've seen her perfectly tranquil demeanor slip, and I'm actually scared to see who she is beneath that mask.
"She knows better than this." Leonard's voice is a dangerously low rumble.
Asher's hand finds mine, his thumb tracing circles against my palm.
When I glance at him, his expression reveals nothing.
He's good at suppressing his feelings around his family, but I've begun to notice his tells.
I can feel the tightness of his muscles, the tension coiled in his shoulders.
His jaw is taut, and he keeps his eyes focused straight ahead.
His thumb continues his ministrations, but I'm beginning to think the comfort is as much for him as it is for me.
"Maybe Nash is getting cold feet," Wren murmurs beside me, causing Celeste to whip her head around and give him a stern look. He smirks, a shit-eating grin lifting on his lips like a misbehaved child who's not one bit ashamed of being scolded.
It's the loud, ear-piercing screech that stops Celeste from responding to her son. It jolts everyone, heads turning from the wedding arch that overlooks the beach and back to the house.
It comes again, the distinct sound of a woman screaming. Asher stands quickly, and so does Gabe. Before their parents can get up, the two brothers are both moving toward the sound.
"Fuck," Wren grumbles, pulling himself up. "Can't we just wait before we go rushing back there?" No one responds to his question, and he huffs out a breath before following his brothers as if he doesn't want to be the only Caine sibling left behind.
"BECAUSE OF HER!" This time, it’s distinctly Dove's voice, and when I turn, I can see her silhouette in the window, fitted into the bodice of what I know is a white wedding dress. The door to the house swings open, her three brothers going in and a distressed Calla slipping out.
She tries to hide her panicked look as she marches down the aisle toward her boss, clipboard tucked under arm. But I can see it in her tight-lipped smile and rigid posture.
Blonde hair whips over her shoulder, her normal pink dress a more muted version today, with a draping neckline and a longer skirt.
She leans in to whisper something to Celeste that makes my mother-in-law go stiff.
"Absolutely not," she snaps. "We have three hundred guests. The governor is here. This is happening."
Calla's voice drops lower, urgent. "Mrs. Caine…" She winces, as if the words physically pain her. "Nash is in love with someone else."
The words hang in the air like a grenade with the pin pulled. Celeste's face drains of color, then flushes deep red. For a moment, I think she might actually slap Calla.
"That's impossible," she bites out, the sound like ice cracking. "Nash Rutherford doesn't—"
"He just told her." Calla pauses and swallows audibly. "It's an ex. I guess she's back in town, and he still has feelings. I don't know all the details, but he's serious."
Celeste stands abruptly, her movement abrupt enough to make several guests flinch as her voice raises at her assistant. "Get my daughter dressed and down this aisle. Now."
The yard erupts in whispers. Hundreds of New York's elite lean into each other, phones already appearing in hands. I can practically see tomorrow's headlines forming.
Dove Caine, society princess, left at the altar.
Dove hasn’t been outright cruel to me, but she’s never been kind either, and for the first time since meeting her, I actually feel bad.
"Jesus Christ," Leonard hisses. "Celeste, handle this."
Celeste is already moving, a fake smile plastered on her face as she calls for everyone’s attention. "Sorry about the delay. We just need a few more minutes."
Guests resume their gossiping as she walks the aisle and back to the house, this time with Leonard following her. And I decide to join them. Not wanting to be the only Caine left out here with the vultures.
The pristine white interior of the Hamptons house feels like stepping into a war zone. Dove stands in the center of the living room, her wedding dress a cascade of white that bellows out from her waist. Mascara is smudged around her eyes, destroying the careful makeup that probably took hours.
"You bastard!" Her tone is vicious, but her emotion betrays her. "You bastard."
Nash stands opposite her, hands in his pockets, expression carved from stone. He doesn't flinch. Doesn't defend himself. Just takes it.
Gabriel and Wren flank opposite sides of the room like bodyguards waiting for orders. Gabe's jaw works, his hands flexing at his sides. Wren leans against the doorframe, watching with dark interest.
Celeste sweeps past me. "Dove, sweetheart—"
"Don't." Dove whirls on her mother, eyes blazing through tears. "Don't you dare tell me to calm down."
I feel him before I see him. Asher's hand slides to the small of my back, warm and steady.
"Come here," he murmurs against my ear, guiding me toward the corner, away from the implosion.
"What's going on?" I whisper.
"Dove just found out her fiancé's been fucking someone else three minutes before she was supposed to walk down the aisle." His voice is flat, controlled.
My heart cracks for her. What an awful time to find that out.
Wren appears next to us. "Should we kill him?" he asks, too seriously.
Asher throws his brother a warning look. "Not helpful."
"On the contrary, I think it'd solve her problem nicely."
"That's it." Dove huffs. "We're canceling the wedding.
"Darling—"
"Don't," she snarls, spinning to hold up a hand to Celeste. "Don't you dare try to spin this. It's not going away. It's done. Over."
"Dovey, we can—"
But Dove doesn't give her mother a chance to say any more before she steps out of the room and onto the back deck.
"You can all leave now!" she screams, head twisting to look at the manic bride outside the Caine house.
"The wedding’s off!" Dove shouts wildly down to the crowd waiting below. "Turns out, Preston is another asshat man, just like the rest of them! Hope you enjoyed the show!"
And then she yanks off each of her heels, tossing them into the yard before stepping down from the chair and walking back out the way she came.
And I have to give her credit; her head is held high the entire time.