2. Kyle
KYLE
The lobby of the Greyrock Hotel in Vail sparkled so brightly that Kyle slowed as he entered it, considering going back to remove his shoes. Or apologize to someone for walking on the floor.
A floral scent hung in the air . . . and was that a string quartet over by the white sofas that he’d never dare to sit on?
“Champagne?” a woman in a crisp uniform asked, appearing at his elbow with a tray of filled flutes.
He took one out of reflex and had a sip, letting his gaze travel around the crowd of elegantly dressed people milling through the lobby like they all belonged to the same, very shiny, species.
Hopefully, this was all for the wedding, because he’d never felt so out of place in his life.
Which was saying something, considering he’d once filmed an episode in an jungle village wearing a loincloth.
But this, compared to the little cabin he’d rented a few miles outside of town—a place that didn’t even come with sheets for the twin bed—contrasted starkly.
Still, the cabin fit the bill for what he needed: something isolated, surrounded by nature, and, most importantly, available. Not the easiest thing to find at the last minute in the mountains of Colorado in January when ski season was in full, merciless swing.
Normally, in January, he liked to take a break to visit La Hacienda Tropical in Costa Rica, owned by his brother-in-law, Callum Scott.
Callum’s sister, Isla, had run the boutique inn for years and always made space for him, even if it meant sticking him in her old childhood bedroom at her mom’s house on the property. And he loved surfing.
But after Granny’s funeral, the last thing he needed was to add fuel to the idea that he was just an irresponsible bachelor living a “party lifestyle” and not making time for his family, which was what Dad had accused him of when he’d seen those pictures online of him bare-assed on the sand of the Mojave.
Plus, he needed to stick around for this wedding with Davy.
And the job Granny left me in her will.
His jaw clenched and he focused on the bubbles making their way up the side of his glass, letting them willfully distract him.
Davy had told him to meet her here at six. Maybe he should text her and let her know he’d arrived before someone tried to talk to him.
This was . . . intense. High profile. Davy had said he should be prepared to show his ID at the door to security, get his name crossed off a guest list, then go through a metal detector, but he hadn’t really taken her seriously, thinking it was just another exaggeration on her part.
Plus, he hadn’t truly paid attention to Davy’s email about the wedding.
Big mistake, because it’d all been true. This wasn’t just an ordinary wedding.
And, he didn’t want to stare, but he was almost positive the guy standing ten feet away was someone famous he should recognize.
Had he dressed well enough for this rehearsal dinner? He’d saved his best suit for the wedding and now he was beginning to think he should have just worn it two nights in a row and committed to the lie that he had anything worth wearing.
“Kyle!” Davy’s voice cut through the music, murmuring, and his spiraling doubts.
He drained the dregs from his glass, placed it on a nearby tray, then turned .
. . and did a double take. Davy looked stunning.
She rarely wore a sari, but she had one on now—an elegant, silver sari that shimmered like the chandeliers above them as she made her way toward him.
Running his fingers through his hair, he offered her a crooked smile. “Tell me I’m not underdressed.”
She grinned and adjusted his tie. “You’re absolutely underdressed, but I anticipated that. Tonight’s black tie. Tomorrow is white. Since I know all your sizes, I took it upon myself to rent you tuxes. They’re up in my room.”
“Fuck, Davy, I’m sweating already.” Kyle loosened his collar. “Why didn’t you tell me it was going to be a gathering of DAR offspring? There’s an absurd amount of official-looking people here.”
“That’s what happens when the groom is a congressman.”
A congressman?
Before he could fully process that, she tilted her head at him, giving him a pointed look. “And honey, I did. I told you they were old family friends of my parents from Connecticut. Your brothers-in-law are both wealthy enough that you should have been able to connect the dots.”
“My brothers-in-law, ” he said as Davy steered him toward the elevators. “I don’t know jack shit about the secret lives of the ultra-wealthy. Or how to fit in. Antony has me burp on television for effect.”
“I find that hard to believe. Isn’t Elle’s husband, Quinn, literally part of the English peerage?” Davy stopped at the elevator and pressed the button. She paused, then gave him a gentler glance. “Speaking of which, how is your family? And you? How are you all holding up after the funeral?”
Kyle forced his gaze away. He didn’t want to think about it.
Talk about it. But Davy had been there when he’d gotten the call and fallen apart.
She’d been the one to handle the whirlwind arrangements to get him back to Nashville and gone to war with the production company about the Cabo trip.
“They’re okay. Better than me. They got to say goodbye. ”
Davy slipped her arm through his and rested her head against his bicep. “I’m so sorry, Kyle. Hopefully, you’ll get some peace soon.”
I highly doubt that. The thought came out before he could stop it.
But that was the cycle he’d been in since that day in the Mojave. Endless nightmares of going to Granny’s empty house and not being able to find her. Of the phone ringing and him not getting to it before it stopped.
He didn’t know when—if ever—he’d forgive himself for not telling her he loved her one last time.
The elevator doors opened, and he stepped to the side to let the people on it exit, then followed Davy inside.
“Actually,” he said as the doors slid shut, “I brought her with me.”
Davy’s eyes flared with alarm. “Your . . . grandmother?”
“Not to the wedding.” God, why did his chest feel so tight?
His face flushed. “To the cabin. To Colorado. She left instructions in her will for me to take her on one of my adventures and spread her ashes somewhere beautiful. And she gave me another letter to read when I pick the spot. So, if I do it sooner rather than later, I’ll get to read her goodbye message to me. ”
Davy slipped her hand from his arm to his hand and squeezed it. “That’s really special.”
“Yeah.” He kept telling himself that, anyway.
It was Granny’s last gift to him. Elle and Liddy had gotten their own letters, but he couldn’t help wondering if they were upset that Granny had asked him to do this and not them.
Liddy always had joked that he was Granny’s favorite—the one she doted on.
So every time he thought about the urn carefully packed in his duffel bag, he had to force himself to think of something else.
He slid a finger between his collar and his neck. “So . . . a congressman?”
“Evan Tipton. He recently exploded onto the political scene. My dad says he thinks he’s aiming for the Senate sooner rather than later.”
“You might have considered giving me some warning.”
Davy shook her head. “You didn’t read my email very closely, did you?”
He gave her a sheepish grin.
The elevator door opened, and Davy stepped out first.
“Oh, can you hold that for me?” a woman’s voice called from the hall.
“Hit the open button, will you, Kyle?” Davy said. She smiled at the approaching figure. “We wouldn’t want to keep the bride from getting to her own rehearsal.”
“Seriously, my wedding planner will murder me,” the woman said, closer now.
Closer . . .
Familiar.
Kyle’s brows pulled together just as the bride reached Davy and hugged her.
She turned toward Kyle. He went rigid.
That voice.
That face. Older, more polished. More makeup. But still undeniably gorgeous.
The blonde hair— that’s new.
But the caramel-colored brown eyes? Unforgettable.
Sloan Carrington . . . his high school sweetheart.
The first woman he ever loved.