TWELVE
Lauren
The next day passes in a blur of room service, ice packs, and either Kate, Max, or Ginger checking on me every couple of hours. Ginger — Max’s mom — is hilarious, telling me about all of the gossip in her coven.
By afternoon, my sides hurt from laughing and I've changed into a soft cotton dress for the rehearsal. My ankle fizzes with pain, and I suck in a sharp breath as I navigate the crutches.
“How does it feel?” He’s asked me this three times already this afternoon.
I shrug. “When I move a certain way. I'm not used to these yet.” I lift one of the crutches.
We're standing at the altar during rehearsal. Well, Max is standing, and I'm propped on the wooden sticks. Yesterday, the first day after the accident, wasn't so bad because I'd spent most of it in bed or on the balcony. Today I've been forced into activity and I can feel it in every nerve of my ankle.
We both look toward the garden's far end, where Kate and Damien are having an animated conversation with Ginger. Max's sister and Kate's mom are milling around, pointing at decorations, moving chairs, and laughing. Angus has ascrewdriver in his hand and appears to be tightening something on the gift table.
Remy's grabbed a beer, and it looks like Tate's chatting up the catering manager, a pretty woman in her forties.
“Why were we the only ones to walk down the aisle? I thought we were rehearsing. What are we doing, exactly?”
Initially, Max had managed to corral everyone around the altar. Then things disintegrated into controlled chaos, leaving Max and I — and my crutches — standing around.
“My family tends to get distracted. It's remarkable we get anything done.” He pauses. “The ibuprofen isn't working?”
I shake my head. “I took one this morning.”
He turns to me. “This morning? It's three in the afternoon. You should take a pain pill.”
“I'm managing.”
He frowns, steps down from the platform, and grabs a chair from the front row. Sets it next to me. “Sit.”
“No, I'm okay.”
“They'll talk for a while. I know Damien when he starts making those hand gestures.” We both look over, and Damien and Kate are deep in conversation. She's listening to him, rapt. She stands on her tiptoes and strokes his face. He pushes her hair back.
“We've got our part down. It's everyone else who needs to rehearse.” He pats the back of the seat. “There's no need for you to stand there in pain.”
He steps down and pulls up a second chair next to mine.
Groaning, I ease myself into it. The pain eases immediately.
“Better?”
“Yeah. It is.” I let out a breath. “Thank you.”
He sits beside me and we both face Damien and Kate, who are now kissing. Again. They do kiss an awful lot.
Ginger calls across the garden. “Angus, have you seen Steve?”
“He's with Tate,” Angus says without looking up from his screwdriver.
Tate rips himself away from the woman. “Steve’s sleeping up in Kate’s room.”
Max sighs. “This will definitely take a while.”
I turn to look at him. “Are you the only organized one in your family?”
He chuckles. “Me and Dad. It's why he wanted me to handle the renovation and sale. If it were left to everyone else, it would be a very charming disaster.” He glances at Damien and Kate, who are now rubbing noses. “Although Damien's got his own very particular distraction now.”
