I clap him on the back before I leave and head up to my room. I pause outside Fern’s, but I don’t hear any noise coming from inside, so I continue past. I check in with Cal, letting him know that the job is boring as fuck and there’s nothing of note to report. Then I go out to the south lawn.
I keep my eyes peeled for my girl, but she’s not playing croquet. I wander over to the beach, though I doubt she’s there. No doubt Valerie has a long list of menial tasks for her to handle that will keep her busy and away from the fun all day.
I scan the beach, but Fern isn’t there, so I make my way back into the hotel. I check the ballrooms and the storage room before heading up to the suite, but Fern isn’t there either.
It’s getting late, so I go to one of the restaurants on-site. I’ll grab Fern and me some food, then check her room. When I walk in, I spot the bride and some of Fern’s family at a table. My gaze flicks over the faces until I spot my girl.
Fern is seated at the end of the table, close to the kids. She’s crammed into a chair that’s clearly been squeezed in as an afterthought, and she looks uncomfortable as she grabs a menu and looks it over.
I hate it.
I want to take her away from them, away from anyone who’s treated her as less than a princess.
“Would you like a table, sir?” the hostess asks.
I nod. “Yes, for two, please.”
She grabs two menus and leads me to a table on the other side of the restaurant.
“Thanks.”
The hostess nods and returns to the front of the restaurant.
I don’t sit down. I walk over to where Fern is sitting, grab her chair, and pull it out.
“Oh!” she gasps, her head whipping around to look up at me.
“Do you have a minute? We need to go over some security stuff for the wedding,” I lie.
Fern nods. “Oh, sure.”
She stands, and no one even notices as she walks off. I take her hand and lead her to my table, pulling out a chair for her and passing her a menu as I sit across from her.
“Do we really have to discuss security?” she asks.
I grin. “Nope. I just thought you could use a break from all things wedding for one night.”
“I could,” she agrees.
We look over our menus as a server appears to fill our water glasses.
“I can’t decide between the Alfredo and the penne pomodoro,” Fern says, chewing on her bottom lip.
“Get both,” I suggest.
She shakes her head. “I’d never eat it all.”
“Why don’t you get one, I’ll get the other, and we can split?” I offer.
“Oh, you don’t have to do that. Get whatever you want,” she says, waving me off.
I grab Fern’s menu from her when the server returns and order the fettuccine Alfredo and the penne pomodoro. Fern bites back a grin, and I love it. She should always look so happy.
Taking her hand, I lace our fingers together on the table. “How was your day?”
She takes a deep breath. “Busy. Valerie has me triple-checking everything. I’m trying to remind myself that this is her special day, and I know she must be stressed, but it’s getting harder and harder.”
“Might help if she were a little more grateful for all your hard work,” I grumble.
