I’m certain the contrast is only fresh in my mind because of my recent breakup. As I focus on Archer and what brought me here to escape for a few days, I realize that maybe love just isn’t for me. It’s not for everyone.
So I’ll continue to craft dream weddings for others but maybe never for myself.
CHAPTER 8: Ford Bradley
A Kickass Wedding Venue
We win on Sunday, and Monday morning finds me sitting on an airplane with Tatum Barker occupying the seat beside me.
She’s wearing a black dress and black heels, while I’m in jeans and a Beasts shirt. She looks gorgeous and far too good to be seated beside me. I mean, considering she’s not mine, yeah…she is too good to be seated beside me.
I’m reviewing film on my tablet—which I’m currently holding since she asked if I could put my tray table down so she could have a little extra space. Currently on my tray table are a water bottle, a cup of coffee, and five file folders with papers hanging out of them. A handful of glitter highlighters sit on top of the folder, and I’ve already had to pick up several off the floor because they keep rolling off the tray table. She picks up one color to use it, and when she sets it back, I have to grab it before it falls.
And despite all that, it’s somehow endearing.
She has a color for everything, and my eyes edge over to her as I try to make sense of it. Pink is for the bride. Blue is for the groom. Green is for anything to do with payments. Yellow is for vendors. She also has a red Sharpie that’s for urgent matters. All glitter, except for the Sharpie.
I glance over at her, and she’s blowing a breath upward to get her hair out of her face. She tucks a strand behind her ear, which immediately comes untucked, and she glances at her wrist to find it empty before she starts rearranging everything on her tray table to get to her purse under the seat in front of her. She fishes out a scrunchie and ties her hair on top of her head.
It’s adorably distracting, and I don’t get much of the film analyzed before we land.
I’m too spellbound by her.
I arranged for a driver while we’re in town, and he greets us at the bottom of the escalator near baggage claim. We didn’t bring luggage since this is a same-day-turnaround kind of trip. Our driver leads us to the car waiting on the curb outside.
It’s nearly an hour before we’re pulling up in front of the mansion, and I do manage to analyze a few plays on the way there. I hear a gasp beside me, and that’s when I see her leaning around me to get a better view of the mansion.
“God, I forgot how gorgeous this place is,” she murmurs, and I physically see a transformation take place in her eyes. She seems suddenly…excited.
I stare at the house, too, as I try to figure out what she’s thinking.
This mansion holds a lot of memories for us. A lot of history. It’s not just a part of my family, but she was a part of it, too.
The place where we shared that kiss I’ve never forgotten about.
I wish she remembered it, too. I wish she felt what I did when it happened. I wonder how that would have changed our lives if she had.
We get out of the car, and I walk up to the front gate. I tap in a code, and after it opens, I walk up the long sidewalk leading to the front door, ready to go in and assess the damage left behind.
But I find myself alone.
I turn around, and I see Tatum staring up at the front of the house. Her head is tilted as she studies it, and it’s my voice that seems to snap her out of her trance.
“You ready to go in?” I ask.
“Oh!” she says, and she rushes to my side. “Sorry. It’s just so iconic. Such a vibe, you know?”
I lift a shoulder. “Sure.”
She laughs as she smacks my bicep playfully, and we head inside as I brace myself.
The foyer looks…well, just like it always has. The entry to our home is huge, over six hundred square feet of wasted space, including a rotunda and white marble floors inlaid with gold veins.
“Hello?” I call out, curious if anyone’s here—sometimes a chef or a repair worker, oftentimes a housekeeper or other staff member.
No one answers.
I glance over at Tatum, whose eyes are wide.
