12. Memory Lane #2
He watched, enthralled, as she buried her nose into the fabric. Her whole body seemed to curl around the simple piece of clothing. And one by one, he saw her muscles relax. The lines of her face smoothing out as she fell back into a restful sleep.
Savage satisfaction warred with the rage inside of him. She might be trying to fight their connection, but her body knew who she belonged to. She was his. Always had been. A better man would have let her go, but he wasn't a better man.
His fingers grazed the edges of the papers. Her dreams laid out in meticulous arrays of color swatches and venue options. This was the real her. The one who loved him unabashedly. Who knew what she wanted and spoke up for it. He just needed to remind her.
And the first step was making sure she got her wedding.
The wedding planner's voice crackled through the speakerphone, a tremor betraying her uncertainty. Most likely uncomfortable with his long silence. "I understand you want everything perfect and on your timeframe. But a week would be the only way to ensure everything is perfect," she insisted.
He barely acknowledged her words as his gaze remained fixated on the binder. "I said three days," Nash declared, cutting through the planner's protest before it could fully form.
"Mr. Nash, I—" The planner sputtered, her professionalism faltering under his steely resolve.
"Some of the things you have requested require more than three days to even construct.
The floral archway, for instance, needs special greenery flown in from Maine.
It has to be cut, prepped, delivered, and then arranged.
Only after that, the flowers can start being placed. Not to mention—
"Two weeks," he snarled at her. "Approximately.
The bride fell ill and needs time to recover.
" He paused, considering how Iris's strength was recovering slower than he would like.
"When she is ready for a wedding, we will have it.
Prepare for a wedding within two weeks. I'll give you final notice at three days out. "
The planner balked at the abrupt change, murmuring about the difficulty of such an unpredictable schedule.
Nash leaned back in his chair. His mind casting back to sitting in this very office while Iris perched on his lap.
Chattering on about her day while he tried to work.
Back then, she never minded if she might be interrupting him.
It was the best part of coming here. Her sitting with him while he pretended to be working.
His hand absentmindedly rubbed at his chest, an ache of longing lingering there. He would get those days back. Failure was not an option. His voice turned sharp. "I was told you were the best. That you would be up to a job of this magnitude. Was I misinformed?"
There was a tense silence before the planner yielded. "I am the best."
"Then you should be up for it," Nash replied, the corner of his mouth lifting in a dark smile.
"Anyone can plan a wedding, but this marriage will go down in history.
Splashed on every magazine and newsstand in the world.
I don't care what you have to do to make this work.
Your budget is unlimited. I don't want to hear about the struggles or difficulties you face.
That's not what I am paying you for. I want you to deliver. Is that understood?"
As the planner gave a hesitant affirmation, Nash ended the call. Tossing his phone on the desk haphazardly. His thoughts drifted once again to his obsession. Iris. He looked out the window and recalled a warm summer day years ago.
Sitting here, buried with work for the Umbra gave him as a punishment for daring to choose his own bride, and watching her walking along the beach.
Her tall, slender figure wrapped in a sundress, her creamy skin glowing under the burning sun.
Her turning back to see him through the window.
That wide smile she reserved just for him.
His heart clenched at the memory, the longing for her a physical ache.
Iris—with her laugh that chipped away at his armor, her touch that dismantled his control.
The image of her flooded his senses: she'd glide across the room, a vision of grace and defiance, and without a word, she’d perch herself on his lap, claiming him as hers alone.
She never hesitated to take what she wanted.
Her brown eyes would sparkle with mischief as she divulged every detail, no matter how trivial, of their dream wedding.
Smirking at him, knowing that she could interrupt him any time.
She was confident then in his affection.
Now, she could barely look at him. With a clenched jaw, he wrapped his fist tightly around the pen on his desk.
Now was not the time for his anger to take over.
As he leashed his rage, another memory surged forward, unbidden but achingly vivid.
It was a Saturday, he was locked away in the office. He'd had to go in, after promising Iris that they would spend the day together. She had understood when his plans had changed. Smiling softly and kissing him on his way out the door.
Irritation warred within him. Those bastards were doing it in on purpose. This work was beneath someone of his rank. But they wanted him to know that he was under their control. Him proposing to Iris was simply not done.