“Every Christmas from the moment they were born. Mrs. Morgan was adamant about it, even during the harshest of winters,” Ian replies. “The estate staff spent half the summer stockpiling wood for the fireplaces. Truth be told, this is the closest one might get to the fabled winter wonderland.”
He pauses and looks around. “I understand you’re here to take photos and measurements and prepare for the incoming decorators. Is there anything else I can assistyou with?”
“Not at this time. Thank you, Ian.”
“Then I will get out of your hair. Ring the bell in the lobby, if you need me.”
I watch Ian leave, then turn around to take in the whole space. It’s magnificent, enormous, a wedding planner’s dream. It’s a massive oval with a tall ceiling painted the same white as the walls. The decorator is supposed to bring the silver-brush molding to frame the ceiling, the wall sconces that mimic stylish icicles, the wall tapestries made of tulle and embroidered with silver threads and real Swarovski crystals, and everything else we ordered according to Sheila’s requests.
It will look stupendous; I know that for a fact, but it also breaks my heart, because an Art Nouveau–style wedding, respectful of the original ballroom’s design, would’ve been even better, even more in line with the Morgans’ historical aesthetic. Alas, Sheila’s the one in charge, so I take out my measuring tape and notebook and get to work, ignoring several text messages from my group chat with the Morgan brothers. I’ve been avoiding them since that night at Cole’s townhouse, mainly because of the threatening message.
I set the tape and notebook down at one point, itching with curiosity and concern.
I told you to stay away! The message reads.
I got it the moment I got out of the limo in front of Cole’s townhouse. It cast a shadow over my intimate evening with the brothers, and they felt me slowly pulling away by morning.
You’ll pay for this, a third message read at noon.
I saved all of them, just in case I might need them. I filed a complaint with the police department, too, but no one’s gotten back to me yet. Maybe they never will. Maybe Jamie is right, and I should tell Cole, Asher, and Toby about it. But the wedding needs my full and undivided attention.
Another message from Asher.What’s wrong? he asks.You’ve been distant over the past couple of days.
Just busy,I gather the nerve to text back.Sorry.
The ballroom door opens, and I expect to see Ian. But it’s Asher, giving me a curious glare. “Just busy?” he laughs, but I sense the tension in his voice. “I reckon we deserve a little bit more than that, Willow.”
I sigh and leave my phone on the floor next to my purse, measuring tape, and notebook, then turn to face Asher as he walks toward me.
A smile crosses his face, and I’m momentarily entranced by how good he looks in his custom-tailored navy blue suit, white shirt, and deep red tie, making his chest and shoulders look even broader. The man is large by default, and his sartorial choices often amplify that.
My stomach flutters.
“Where have you been?” Asher asks, closing the distance between us. “You’ve been pulling away from us.”
“It’s the wedding. I’m just trying to get as much done this week, so we don’t get jammed up next week. Christmas is in, what, fifteen days?”
“There’s something else, but I won’t force it out of you,” he replies. “Just know that we’re here. You can alwaystalk to us.”
“Thank you. I appreciate that.” I sigh deeply. “What brings you here?”
“We stopped by to talk to our father about some family issues.”
“Ah, you mean the will amendments,” I reply. “I remember you guys mentioned something about that the other day.”
“Yes. It’s all very tedious stuff. You, however, look particularly hot in this getup,” Asher quips and comes closer, his hands eager to roam over my body.
“You’re not too bad looking yourself,” I reply, letting my hands rest on his shoulders. I feel his muscles through the layers of fabric. My fingertips tingle with the anticipation of touching his bare skin. “I like the suit, though I prefer the version of you that doesn’t wear clothes.”
“Listen to you, Miss Naughty.” Asher laughs lightly, then kisses me with the intensity of the sun.
His cologne fills my lungs, the taste of him turning me into a wet, hot mess, as I melt in his arms and surrender to him. I forget about my stalker and the threatening messages as I find safety and comfort against his hard body. I forget about the wedding and the work I’m supposed to do today, too, as Asher deepens the kiss and cements his claim on my body.
“Let’s leave the event planning stuff for later,” he says, taking a deep breath. “There’s something I want to show you.”
“What?” I manage, dazed by his kisses.
“You need to see for yourself, experience it for yourself.”
