My eyes sting with hot tears I can’t explain and I blink them away.What was that?
Reckless.
It was reckless and desperate.
And quite possibly ruined me for life.
A life without him in it.
I hear the shower start and a moment later, he steps back into the bedroom. One look and I forget the argument I’m having with myself.
He steps toward the bed, lifting the whiskey off the nightstand and taking a sip.
“What was the name of that wine?”
I chuckle, shuffling up on my knees on the bed. “I’m not telling you.”
His eyes roam over my body and he sets the glass down. “Guess I’m gonna have to buy them all.” He lifts me off the bed and sets me on my feet, then sweeps my hair back. “Spend the night with me. Tonight, tomorrow. Every night.”
I bite the corner of my lip. “And if I don’t?”
“Then we’re going to have to switch rooms. Because I’m not lookin’ at that bed again without you in it.”
27
Willow’s mother is stressing her out. It’s no wonder she was dreading moving in with her weeks ago.
It’s ourweddingday. And I’m pretty damn sure there’s some rule against annoying the bride right before the ceremony.
The ceremony site is set by the oak tree behind my property. Charlie, Rose, and a few members of our staff have been setting everything up. There are rows of white folding chairs, evenly divided by the aisle—worn grass lined with pink rose petals—and bordered by weathered barrels on either side. The tree is decked out in white mesh fabric interspersed with sprigs of willow.
It’s a clear day in November, but chilly. No one seems to mind though. Ginger’s got a station with warm cider for the guests to take a glass on their way in.
I adjust my collar, fighting the urge to step between Willow and Lucy Brooks—her mother, who introduced herself like someone I should know—and tear her away with an excuse.
“Leave them alone,” Dad says, handing me a whiskey. He, Wilder, and I are standing under the roof of my back porch. “Nothing good comes from stepping between a mother and her daughter.”
I frown.
“Remember Grandma Tilly?”
“Barely.”
“My point exactly. Let it go. They’ll work it out.”
“Yeah, fine,” I grunt and flick my gaze away from them.
We’re not exactly being traditional here, with Willow wanting to be out in the open before the ceremony—greeting early guests and directing the setup, taking this on together.
She’s stunning today, in a lace-trimmed knee-length white dress and a pair of cowgirl boots. Her hair is loose for the most part, with one thin braid on either side. Rose tucked what was left of the willow sprigs into her hair, like a half-moon crown.
I damn near died when I saw her.
“You doin’ all right otherwise?” Wilder asks.
“Why wouldn’t I be?” I take a sip.
My brother glances at Dad like it’s obvious. “Like you said, this wasn’t the wedding you were expecting.”
