Juliette shared a look of exasperation with her sisters.
“Miss Bobbie,” they sighed, saying the busybody’s name in unison.
Somehow, Juliette was not at all surprised that news about her working with Brock spread so quickly. But at least Miss Bobbie was prattling about them being coworkers and not a couple.
“So, tell us about this new job, Jules.” Vivianne’s matte red lips pulled to the side, and it was a look Juliette recognized well. Full of skepticism and curiosity.
“I’m just taking care of the interior design aspect while he does the renovations for the beach house. It’s not a real job or anything.” Juliette winced as soon as she spoke the words. She sounded so dismissive. So snobbish. “I mean, it’s an actual job. But it’s just something I agreed to do until…”
The twins looked at her, half-expectant. Half-knowing. And their faces fell.
“Until you leave,” Adrienne finished for her, busying herself with the fraying ribbon.
“Let’s not talk about that today.” A knot formed in the back of Juliette’s throat. It was more difficult to face her sisters when they knew the truth. When they understood. When she would see her own feelings on the matter—fear, sadness, and uncertainty—reflected in their eyes. “I’m staying in Mystic Cove for now.”
“But not because you want to,” Vivianne countered, though her assault was gentle. “Because you don’t have a choice.”
Adrienne’s disappointment in the matter was written all over her face. Shadows of sadness haunted her eyes, and a slight frown wrinkled her usually smooth brow. “Those two aren’t the same.”
“I know.” Despair caused Juliette’s voice to pitch. She wished she could give her sisters a straight answer. If she could just give them something, some kind of notice or even a timeline. Anything was better than false hope. “But we’ve got a great idea for the beach house, and I’m going to stay here until it’s finished.”
She could only hope the change of topic would be enough to distract them from the thought of her leaving. Without waiting to gauge their interest, she launched into the major points of the project. “We’re going to convert the beach house into a high-end wedding venue. Our plan is to keep it boutique and intimate, to give the brides who want it all something to compete over. Exclusivity. Prominence. Small-town vibes with a couture feel.”
Juliette was certain they could pull it off. She was only missing one key part.
Adrienne and Vivianne shared a glance with each other, mimicking their expressions perfectly.
Vivianne nodded sharply. “You know who you need to talk to.”
It wasn’t a question.
Juliette pinched the bridge of her nose with her thumb and forefinger. “Anne-Sophie.”
She knew it was going to be hard, especially after the way Anne-Sophie treated her. She would have to find a way to apologize while asking for a huge favor before it was too late. “I was thinking if she can get Charity Rhodes to book her beach wedding here, then it would catapult the beach house onto the elite wedding scene. Especially if we keep it upscale and posh.”
“Mama could do the flowers.” Vivianne’s green eyes sparkled, an idea taking shape in her mind. “And Adrienne can be an onsite photographer. We could offer packages!”
“This is a really splendid idea, Juliette.” Adrienne gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “I can’t wait to see it all come together.”
Now all she had to do was make amends with her mother and Anne-Sophie. The idea for the beach house was wonderful in theory, but if the weddings didn’t book up the schedule, and her mother refused to help, it would all go up in smoke. And Brock would lose his childhood home.
“And you’re good with this Brock arrangement?” Vivianne asked, as though she knew he was on her mind.
“Totally.” Juliette bundled some of the day’s leftover flowers into brown kraft paper, ignoring her sister's burning look. “We just work together.”
Please don’t ask. Please don’t ask.
“Whatever happened with the two of you?” Vivianne asked.
Juliette cringed but was spared from having to answer as the door to the flower shop slammed open. The bell jangled noisily, and a gust of winter wind barreled into the room.
“Speak of the devil,” Adrienne muttered, shuddering against the sudden onslaught of frosty air.
Brock barged into the store in a whirlwind of bitter cold with a cloud of stormy, moody darkness hovering over him, shoving the door closed behind him. His brows were drawn into a severe line, his shoulders were bunched, and ripples of tension rolled off him. He scowled as he stalked past them, not even sparing Juliette or her sisters a glance.
Juliette wasn't even sure he saw them standing there.
“Well.” Adrienne rolled her lips and ducked her head, keeping her voice hushed. “He doesn’t look too happy.”
