CHAPTER EIGHTEEN #2
As we walked to the shop, I caught a couple of guys staring at my brother’s fiancée. My glare made them look away. Perhaps this was the real reason Raz wanted me to accompany her today.
I opened the shop door and moved aside for her to enter as a bell chimed overhead, announcing our presence. The moment I stepped inside the floral shop, the scent of fresh flowers hit me, making my nose twitch.
The smell wasn’t bad, just something I wasn’t used to. It was actually kind of pleasant. My gaze moved around the establishment. The place was bigger than I'd expected. Bright. Warm. Inviting.
And pink. So much pink.
Monique moved further into the store just as a woman emerged from a door at the back of the shop. Her eyes went straight to Monique.
“Monique Rose?” the woman said, hesitant.
Monique nodded, moving forward. I told myself to follow, but my feet wouldn’t move. All I could do was stand there and stare at the woman holding a vase of pink and white flowers. The woman was smiling at Monique. And it was a smile that could light up a room.
Fuck.
She was beautiful.
The woman's attention was entirely on Monique, but mine was entirely on her. Her hair was pulled up into a high ponytail with loose tendrils framing her heart-shaped face. She was dressed in a light purple shirt and dark slacks.
Draped over it was a floral apron that did absolutely nothing to hide the shape of her body. She was curvy as hell. She and Monique were talking nonstop like they’d known each other for years.
And for a second... Their voices faded. Even the room around me blurred into nothing. All I could see was her. Her smile. The dimples in her smooth brown cheeks. Her excitement. The pure joy she was finding in whatever the hell they were talking about.
My gaze roamed over her again, noting the swell of her breasts that the apron couldn’t hide. My mouth watered, pulse spiking, as my thoughts strayed to my wet dream this morning.
Of its own volition, my mind replaced the faceless Juliet in my dreams with this woman’s face. As soon as that thought struck, guilt followed. It dug its claws into me, punishing me for what I was thinking.
What the hell was wrong with me?
I immediately tore my gaze away from the florist. My eyes landed on the woman standing behind the register. When had she’d gotten there, and why the hell was she glaring at me? I frowned. Did I know her?
No. I didn’t think so. Then it hit me. Had she caught me staring at her friend? Did she think I was some kind of creep? She probably thought I was Monique’s fiancée and that I was out here staring at other women.
She was partially right. I wasn’t Monique’s fiancée. But I did belong to someone, and I had no business ogling the florist, no matter how beautiful she was. The woman’s chilling gaze never left me.
If looks could kill, she’d be a murderer right now, and I’d be dead. I immediately shifted my attention to Monique. That was a much safer place to look.
“It's so good to finally meet you in person,” the florist was saying to Monique as she set the vase on a counter. “It's so impersonal talking over the phone about things like this. This is for your special day, so it's best to meet face to face.”
Face to face.
The words immediately pulled my thoughts back to Juliet. Back to last night and our conversation about waiting until the right time to meet.
“I agree,” Monique said. “The next time I come, it will be with my bridesmaids. One of whom is Stefanie Adams. She’s the one who told me how great your store was. She said she’s been coming here for a long time.”
The florist’s smile widened, and I once again looked away from her as I listened to her talk.
“I’m glad she recommended me to you. She called me this morning to let me know she'd come with you the next time you came to pick out your bouquet and look at flowers to decorate the wedding space. I plan to close the shop while you’re here that day so we can focus solely on you and your needs.”
That made Monique extremely happy.
“Really? Thank you so much.”
“No problem. This is your big day. I don’t want you to feel rushed or like you need to make a decision fast. You have time to browse books and find the flowers and décor you truly want. Our goal here is to bring your dream to life. And we will not rush your dream.”
She spoke confidently. Comfortably. And I could see Monique visibly relaxing as the woman talked.
“You’re going to make me tear up,” Monique said, dabbing at her eyes. “I’m so glad I chose this florist. I want to make our weddings special, not just for me but also for my fiancé. This is his day too. I still can’t believe I’m really getting married. And at my age.”
The florist waved off Monique’s words.
“You waited until you were ready and until the time was right,” the woman told her. “It’s better to wait for the right person than marry the wrong one.”
“Been there, done that. This isn’t my first wedding. But with this one, I’m only nervous about the wedding, not the man. It sometimes amazes me that even after a truly bad relationship, love still found me again. It was... unexpected.”
“Love has a funny way of sneaking up on you,” the florist told her.
As Monique responded to her, I stood there, unable to look away from the florist.
Love has a funny way of sneaking up on you.
Juliet had said those same words to me just last night. And in that same cadence. I cocked my head to the side, staring at the florist, really staring at her. Was my mind playing tricks on me, or was... was she the same size and proportion as my Juliet?
“My fiancé couldn’t be here today, but I do want some pamphlets or pictures I can take back to show him,” Monique said.
“Oh, he’s not your fiancé?” the woman asked, eyes moving to me for the first time since we’d entered the shop.
When her eyes landed on me, I felt like I’d been struck in the chest by a bolt of lightning. And apparently, so did she. Her eyes widened, lips parting on a gasp as she took a step back while Monique faced me.
“Blossom, this is my brother-in-law, Rome Cattaneo,” Monique introduced me.
I nodded to the florist.
“Hello, Blossom,” I greeted her.
She swallowed before whispering, “Hello, Rome Cattaneo.”