Spread across the workspace were stems of pure white roses, deep plum roses, sprays of frosted evergreen, sprigs of pine, and other winter foliage. Spools of white ribbon flowed across the table in a river of satin, and an assortment of jeweled snowflake picks were laid out with care, ensuring no two looked the same. Soon enough, all of them would be bound together in a waterfall bouquet fit for a winter-kissed wedding.
This was probably the one thing Juliette missed the most about working at the flower shop—building a bouquet for a bride. There was something so intimate, so poignant about being a part of a dream, of making it become a reality. She loved piecing together beautiful roses and blooming peonies, fresh eucalyptus and emerald green fern. In truth, every bouquet she ever designed was her favorite. It was too difficult to pick just one. Watching bridal flowers come together was magical, like watching a fairytale come to life.
She would have to drive over to Brock’s soon, but one of the girls who handled deliveries had called out sick. Gigi hadpolitely, albeit quietly, asked if Juliette could help her sisters. Just this once.
Now, she was in the back coolers sorting through the day’s delivery and storing flowers, while her mother met with a future bride, and her sisters built a bouquet of winter dreams.
With her arms full of freesia, garden roses, and lilies, she carefully placed them in some metal buckets for the flower bar. She checked the water levels of all the flowers, then arranged them by size. Large blooms went in the middle to attract attention. Smaller flowers made for accents or budding stems surrounded the bigger flowers. Then greens were placed on the edges, the perfect complement to any hand-tied bouquet.
“Your flower bar has been so popular, Jules.” Adrienne plucked another roll of ribbon off one of the shelves. Her dark hair was twisted into a braid, the loose wisps held in place with gold pins. She rolled up the sleeves of her oversized black sweater and started measuring the ribbon. “Almost every customer who comes in walks out with a handcrafted bouquet.”
“It’s true,” Vivianne agreed, frowning when she spotted a chip in the navy blue polish of her gel manicure. She blew an errant ringlet out of her face. “Everyone loves that they can pick and choose their favorites…Pause right there.”
Juliette and Adrienne froze, their hands and bundles of roses in the frame for another one of Vivianne’s content pictures.
“What does Mama think about the flower bar?” Juliette kept her voice low. Not that she expected her mother to overhear their conversation. She’d been locked away in her office with this new bride for over an hour. But still. She never put anything past Georgina Laurent.
Plus, the lingering words from their fight hung over her head every time she walked into the shop.
Vivianne shrugged and selected three of the snowflake picks. Their crystals twinkled and glittered in the late afternoon light. “She hasn’t made us take it down yet.”
“And she won’t.” Adrienne headed back to the workspace, and Juliette followed her. “Because it’s selling.”
Of course. Money was always the prime factor in all of their mother’s decisions. Perhaps if she had approached the flower bar in a different manner, she wouldn’t have been thrown into another argument with Mama.
“Gabi brought up a good point.” The conversation with her oldest sister was replaying in her head. “She said it wasn’t that Mama hated the idea, more so that I did it without consulting her first.”
Vivianne snapped and pointed her finger. “She’s not wrong.”
“Leave it to Gabrielle to bring up such a valid point.” Adrienne trimmed the satin ribbon into equal lengths. “You both remember that one time I substituted the blush pink roses when we ran out of peonies? It didn’t matter if we sold every bouquet with the roses instead. Mama was furious.”
Vivianne made atsking noise, a sound their mother always made when she was disappointed. “It’s all about control with her.”
“Sometimes I wish she’d let up.” Juliette picked up a stray leaf from the table and twirled it between her fingers. “Just a little bit.”
“Maybe one day.” Gigi’s smooth and decidedly French voice floated from behind them.
At once the sisters spun and clamped their mouths shut.
“But not today. When I am cold and dead in my grave, perhaps.” With that, Gigi turned on her ice-pick heels and continued walking toward the front of the shop.
Juliette gaped at her sisters, who stared at her silently in return.
Finally, Vivianne sighed dramatically. “God, I hope I’m a stone-cold bitch like her when I grow up.”
“Don’t worry.” Juliette tossed an arm around her sister’s shoulders and smirked. “There’s still time.”
Vivianne laughed. Adrienne snorted.
“Oh, Jules!” Adrienne dropped the ribbon, and it rolled off the table then onto the floor. “I wanted to tell you, I think it’s really great that you’re helping Brock with the beach house.”
A tiny spear of apprehension dug deep into Juliette’s spine. “How’d you hear about that?”
“I heard from my friend, Maya.” Adrienne snatched the ribbon from the floor. “Whose grandma told her.”
Vivianne snorted and snapped another picture of the flowers spread across the worktable. “And where did she hear about it?”
“I don’t know.” A small line furrowed across Adrienne’s brow, and her green eyes widened. “But she was having coffee at Latte and Bean when she found out.”
