CHAPTER 13
Saturdays were for weddings.
Juliette stood in the kitchen of the apartment with a freshly brewed cup of coffee while the earliest rays of dawn peeked in through the windows and stretched across the hardwood floors. The sky was still muted shades of lavender and blue, not yet awake, but downstairs her mother’s heels clicked noisily across every surface of the shop.
The woman had already been up for hours.
Juliette let the first sip of hot coffee soothe her soul when her mother’s stilettos clacked up the staircase. She appeared on the landing to the apartment a moment later. Her hair was pulled back into another perfectly smooth chignon, and she wore her famed delivery attire—a black pencil skirt with a pale blue satin blouse and a strand of sparkling black pearls. She was always completely put together, no matter the occasion, and Juliette winced. Perhaps one day she’d feel the need to dress desirably again. Until then, her leggings, black boots, and burgundy sweatshirt would have to work.
Her mother stalked into the kitchen, waving her hands aimlessly, and muttering to herself in French. Juliette caught afew phrases. Something about wilted roses, a disgruntled bride, and a flower crown for a cat.
She took another drink of coffee to hide her smile.
Gigi helped herself to a large mug of coffee, then yanked open a set of cabinets. She grabbed a bottle of whiskey and poured a four-fingered shot. Maybe more.
Juliette snorted.
Her mother’s head snapped up and her steely, sharp gaze focused on her daughter, as though she suddenly realized Juliette was standing there. She blinked.
“Bonjour, Juliette.” Mama’s accent was stronger when she was irritated. And she was definitely irked at someone or something.
Juliette nodded in kind. “Bonjour, Mama.”
Gigi closed her eyes, inhaled deeply, and rolled her shoulders back. When she opened her eyes, she took her sauced cup of coffee downstairs and didn’t look back.
Her mother was definitely in a foul mood, so Juliette opted to stay upstairs in the apartment, and out of her mother’s way.
She focused on sketching out some new designs for the beach house and working on color boards for the spare bedrooms where the wedding parties would stay. Multiple times she considered texting Brock to get his opinion on one of her ideas, but it was still early, so she thought better of it. Especially after last night.
She’d gotten a little too comfortable with him. It had been far too easy to fall back into her old habits. Sure, they’d been high school sweethearts, and really, they were most likely too young to even know the meaning of love, but something about him always pulled her back in. After all, they’d grown up together.
When she fell off her bicycle and busted up her knee, Brock had been the one to carry her all the way home. She went to all of his baseball games and just sat with him in silence when hebroke his arm and couldn’t play in the championship series. He asked her to the eighth-grade formal. She let him sleep in her bed, on top of the covers, when he snuck over one night upset about his father leaving…again. Brock knew almost everything about her, save for these last thirteen years. He was a piece of her. He was home.
And home was somewhere she couldn’t stay.
Her phone buzzed with a text from Anders, letting her know Brock was out at the beach house starting solo on some of the updates.
Good.
Distance was good.
It was better to keep as much space as possible between them.
Besides, she hadn’t been enough for him when he left for boot camp. She hadn’t been enough to make him come back home. She certainly wouldn’t be enough now. She didn’t have her life in order like Gabrielle. She wasn’t Insta-worthy like Vivianne. She didn’t tell stories through photography like Adrienne. And she definitely wasn’t as fashionable as Anne-Sophie.
Silence had blissfully fallen on the shop below, and Juliette cautiously ventured downstairs.
Vivianne lounged against the front counter and inspected her nails. They were painted a violet glitter this time. Her dark brown curls framed her face, and her makeup was flawless. She resembled a goddess fallen from the heavens, dusted in shades of gold and pink. Geometric shapes dangled from her ears, and she wore at least three necklaces. Her white sweater was knotted in the back, and her black jeans were embroidered with stars.
She perked up when Juliette approached. “Morning, Jules.”
“Hey, Viv.” Juliette glanced around the shop, ensuring her safety. “Is the coast clear?”
Vivianne smiled broadly. “Yeah, Mama left a bit ago to set up the flowers for some wedding in Virginia Beach. Can you believe this bride wanted a flower crown for her cat so it could walk down the aisle with her? Then she had the nerve to get mad when her cat literally made itself a bed out of the roses.”
Juliette couldn’t help but grin. There were bridezillas, and then there were the crazy ones. “Where’s Adrienne?”
Vivianne mimicked clicking a camera. “She’s the photographer today.”
