Chapter 4
CLEO
Cash and I made a surprisingly decent team. As the party hummed along around us, I had to admit we moved well together. I would never admit that, though, not even under the threat of never having another Diet Coke.
He handled drinks and kept guests circulating. I handled food and kept Melody’s hands empty every time she reached for something she shouldn’t be doing. We didn’t even have to coordinate. We just read the room and filled the gaps.
It was deeply annoying.
At one point, Melody drifted toward the kitchen with a look on her face that meant she was about to start organizing something or refilling something or generally taking over her own party. I caught her eye from across the island and shook my head.
She opened her mouth. I winked. I’ve got this. Go be with your people.
She understood immediately. Years of working together meant we communicated in full sentences without saying a word. Her shoulders dropped, relief softening her expression. And then Austin was right there. Like always. He was always within reach.
I wasn’t jealous.
Nope.
I’m so happy for her.
But in a perfect world, I could have a man that catered to my every need and loved on me no matter who was watching. Austin had stepped into her life and filled all those little spaces I couldn’t. I was a damn good friend and assistant, but sometimes, a woman just needed what only a man could give.
And I wasn’t talking about the D. There were other things Austin provided.
I was a giver. The kind of friend who showed up before you knew you needed her, who stocked your fridge when you were overwhelmed, handled your emails when you were falling apart, and stood in your kitchen managing your party so you could enjoy the most important announcement of your life.
It was my identity, woven so deeply into the fabric of who I was that I sometimes forgot where the job ended and I began. I had dedicated my life to being there for Melody. She had gone through some shit and I was the one to pull her through.
Well, Austin and me, but mostly me.
But lately, now that Melody was taken care of, I’d been thinking about what I wanted. Not for Melody. Not for her brand or her career or her happily ever after. For me.
I wanted what she had. That was the truth I kept turning over in my head, examining it from every angle.
I wanted someone who looked at me the way Austin looked at Melody, like she was the only interesting thing in any room they’d ever been in together.
I wanted someone to build something with.
A family. A home that felt like a choice instead of a landing pad between work trips.
Someone I could pour my whole self into and who would pour themselves right back.
I’d been telling myself for years that romance was on the backburner. Career first. Financial stability. Independence. Build yourself before you try to build a life with someone else.
All true. All reasonable. All very mature and self-aware.
And all very lonely, if I was being completely honest.
I refilled a champagne glass without being asked, accepted a compliment about the bruschetta I hadn’t made, and redirected Armand Bancroft toward the patio. I was surprised he was so pleasant. Anyone that spawned something like Cash would have to be at least half monster.
But Armand was nice with a genuine smile. Or maybe I was just falling for the pleasant facade he wore.
Cash appeared at my elbow as I was rearranging the last of the appetizer platters. He didn’t say anything, just picked up a platter of stuffed mushrooms and took them to the cluster of guests near the window.
I watched him go, surprised again by how naturally he’d slotted into this with me. I had a feeling he was not the servant type. He probably never served anyone anything a day in his life.
When the crowd started drifting naturally toward the back of the house, following Austin’s gentle herding and Melody’s bright suggestions about the view, I felt the shift in energy. This was it. Whatever they’d been building to all afternoon was about to land.
Well, I suspected what she was about to announce. I positioned myself near the back, my camera already in hand, because whatever was about to happen deserved to be documented.
The back deck was stunning. Wide and sprawling with the ocean stretching out endlessly beyond it. The late afternoon light was golden and soft, the kind that made everyone look like they’d been lit for a film. A warm breeze moved through the crowd, lifting hair and rustling sundresses.
Austin stepped to the edge of the deck with Melody’s hand in his. She looked up at him, and damn, that was front-page magazine worthy.
I quietly snapped a few pictures. Not for the blog but for her. And him.
“We have some news,” Austin said, loud and clear.
The many quiet conversations around the deck ceased and everyone gave the happy couple their full attention. I felt eyes and glanced over to see Cash watching me. There was the tiniest hint of a smirk on his lips.
Melody and Austin had a secret, but so did we. We knew their secret. That made us co-conspirators in a strange way. I liked it.
What the hell was wrong with me? I didn’t want to like anything that involved Cash Bancroft in any sense of the word.
Ew. No.
I turned my focus back to Melody and Austin.
“We’re pregnant,” Melody announced. Before anyone could clap or offer congrats, she held up a hand. “And because I want to do things in the right order, we’re getting married. Right here on this beach. Four weeks from today.”
The eruption that followed was immediate and total.
Kathy Bancroft made a sound that could only be described as a joyful shriek and launched herself at Melody’s mother.
Armand’s composure cracked wide open as he stepped forward and clapped Austin on the back.
The brothers—all of them tall, dark, and devastatingly gorgeous—converged like a handsome tidal wave.
Even Cash stepped up to join his brothers. I had noticed he seemed to move on the outer edges. Like when you were in school and the teacher quietly moved around the classroom observing, ready to jump in if anyone needed help. Or correction.
Melody picked up a basket I hadn’t noticed earlier. “We have official invitations!” She handed them out and then was in front of me. “Yours.”
I smiled. “Congratulations.”
“Don’t pretend you’re surprised.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “Sorry. I know you too well.”
“Open it.”
I opened the wedding invitation. Inside there was small black and white ultrasound photo. That was when my throat closed completely. I stared at that tiny grainy image, the little bean of a person who was going to change everything. Tears came hot and fast before I could stop them.
Melody hugged me. “You’re going to be the best auntie,” she whispered. “The absolute best.”
I couldn’t speak. I just held her and let myself cry into her hair for exactly three seconds before I pulled it together.
“Obviously,” I managed. “This child is going to be so stylish. I’m already planning the wardrobe.”
She pulled back, beaming at me with those eyes filled with pure joy. Austin was there wrapping her up from behind and she was led away to accept more hugs. I stepped back to capture every angle.
This was their moment. I was the one who documented and protected and facilitated. I raised my camera and started shooting, finding the angles that would make these images beautiful enough to match how this moment actually felt.
Kathy and Melody’s mother embracing like they’d known each other for years. Armand with his hand on his son’s shoulder, something soft in his expression that I’d never seen before. Austin with his whole face open in the biggest, most ridiculous grin.
“We did well.”
I lowered my camera. Cash was standing beside me, holding a Diet Coke, which he extended in my direction.
I took it, sniffing it to see if I picked up on any traces of poison or bleach. Nothing. I popped the top and took a sip, letting it rest on my tongue before swallowing.
“I didn’t spike it,” Cash said.
“I know.”
“Do we get to punch out of our unpaid shift now?”
I almost smiled. “I think we’ve earned it.”
He looked at me for a moment. “You okay?”
“Of course.” I took a long drink. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“You’re crying.”
“I’m not crying. I’m emotional. There’s a difference. It’s a beautiful moment.”
“Cleo.” The way he said my name felt intimate.
The last thing I needed in my complicated emotional state was intimate and Cash Bancroft in the same thought.
“I’m fine,” I said briskly. “I just need a minute.”
I turned before he could say anything else and slipped back through the open patio doors into the house. Down the hall, past the kitchen, and into the powder room near the front entry. I got inside, turned the lock, and pressed my back against the door.
What is wrong with me?
I turned on the cold tap and held my wrists under it the way my grandmother had taught me, which she’d sworn brought you back to yourself faster than anything. I wasn’t sure it worked, but the physical sensation helped. Something to focus on that wasn’t the noise in my head.
Because the noise in my head was getting very loud.
If Melody is starting her own family, she doesn’t need me the same way anymore. She has Austin. She’ll have the baby. She’s moving on to the next chapter and I’m still standing here.
Alone.
She’s moving on. I’m stuck. Everything is about to change.
I closed my eyes and did some deep breathing. In for four. Out for four. Cleo Quinn did not fall apart. She was the one who put other people back together.
I dabbed at the mascara that threatened to prove it really wasn’t waterproof and fanned my face.
All good.
Cleo Quinn was back in business. I unlocked the door and walked directly into a wall. A warm, solid, six-foot-something wall that smelled like expensive cologne.
“Cash.” I stepped back, scowling up at him. “Do you have a tracking device on me, or do you just make a habit of lurking outside bathrooms?”
He shook his head. “I was waiting for you.”
“Why?”
“Because you were crying.”
“I told you, I was emotional. There’s a difference.”
“What’s the difference?”
“Emotional is appropriate and healthy. Crying implies distress, which I am not in.” I moved to step around him. “I’m going back to the party.”
He moved with me, not blocking me exactly, just… there. Immovable the way he always was. “Why were you really crying?”
“I just told you I wasn’t crying. If you have hearing problems, there’s a solution for that.”
“Cleo.”
“Stop saying my name like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you know something.” I lifted my chin. “You don’t know anything about me, Bancroft. We had one conversation. That doesn’t make you an authority on my emotional state.”
“I’m not claiming to be an authority. I’m asking a question.”
“And I’m declining to answer it,” I said. “Now if you’ll move your big ass out of the way, I need to get back.”
“Fine.” He held his hands up, stepping back to let me pass. “You don’t have to tell me anything.”
“Good, because I wasn’t going to.”
I walked back out to the party. Champagne had been brought out. Celine Dion was belting out some love song and everyone was celebrating. It was perfect. I smiled, moved through it, took pictures, and said all the right things. Nobody knew. Nobody saw it.
They thought I was crying with joy. As I should have been.
What kind of person felt anything other than pure, simple happiness on a day like today? What kind of selfish, small-hearted person stood at the edges of her best friend’s greatest joy and quietly fell apart?
Suck it up. You’re going to be an auntie.
A single, lonely, stagnant auntie that really needed to start shopping for cat trees and those automatic litter boxes for the twelve cats I was going to have.