Page 13 of Chasing Clouds

A 1960s Rolls Royce Silver Cloud pulls up, and Reid, who’s still holding my hand, guides me over, then we climb in the back.

As the car pulls away, people cheer and wave behind us. The cool, slightly pungent southern air hits my face, and my free hand reaches for my veil to keep it from flying away. My mind is racing; it won’t slow down, and for the next ten minutes until we pull up in front of my house, neither one of us speaks.

ADRENALINE IS A funny thing. One moment you feel on top of the world, and the next you want to be buried within it.

As we pulled away from the church, I glanced over to find Nate standing on the top steps with his hands shoved in his pockets. He wasn’t smiling or frowning; if anything, his expression was unreadable, and that feels even worse than him showing disappointment.

Did I disappoint him?

Part of me feels guilty, because if he did have any type of affection for this girl, I broke the number one rule between brothers. But, at the same time, if he cared for her in any sort of romantic way, he should have been the one to step up and stop that wedding. He’s her friend. He should have seen the signs, should have known how she truly felt about that guy, and he should have done something.

Then again, between the two of us, I’m always the one to do something. It’s just who I am, and I know that. I’m incredibly protective of those close to me. I can be impulsive and assertive, and I can’t stand to see people bulldozing those who appear weaker than them—not that I think Camille is weak, though I don’t actually know anything about her, and she was going to marry that guy. Just thinking of him has frustration and tension running across my shoulders and up my neck.

Minutes pass. Neither of us acknowledges the other, each lost in our own thoughts as the car comes to a stop in front of a colonial brick house covered in ivy, just off of Johnson Square in the historic district. The home sits on a corner lot on a tree-lined road, and we’re the only car occupied as it idles. The driver gets out and walks around to stand next to my door but doesn’t open it.

“What are we doing here?” I ask, looking around as people walk by. I thought we were headed back to the Whitley mansion; that’s what I get for not paying attention.

“This is my house—this is where I live.” There’s pride in her words, but her voice fades off, almost like she’s hesitant, shy.

My head whips toward her. “What do you mean? I thought you lived in New York.”

“Well, I did.” She looks past me and out the window at the house. “After Patrick and I got engaged, he and my father thought it would be best if I moved back. Although I loved living there, I guess I kind of agreed. If I was going to be his wife, I should be where he is. I belonged here.” Her eyes find mine again and I can see she’s nervous. Is she nervous about the misunderstanding, or nervous because she mentioned Patrick? I’m not sure, but I hate that she is, and I can’t help but grit my teeth as my mind sticks on his name and an indeterminate feeling courses through me.

“So, do you own this house with him?”

Her eyes widen and her lips twitch as a small smile makes an appearance. “No. My grandfather bought this house for me and my sister years ago.”

“You have a sister?” My brows rise, and she nods. Nate never mentioned she had a sister—not that he talked about her much.

“Clare.” Her expression turns solemn and she drops her gaze, looking down at our hands. I had forgotten we were still holding hands, and my thumb involuntarily starts rubbing her soft skin. I swear every emotion this girl has today is making itself known. Where were all these expressions last night? I watched her off and on for hours and she looked like a porcelain doll the whole time, so stiff and shiny.

“Was she at the wedding?” I mentally scroll through the bridesmaids to see if I recollect any of them resembling her.

She lets out a sigh. “She was.”

“Huh. I don’t know if I saw her. Where is she now?”

“Who knows.” Lifting her head, she looks down the road in front of us and pauses before asking, “Reid, why did you do this?”

It seems her adrenaline has worn off, too. She’s asked me this twice now, and I wonder if she regrets it. Does she regret saying yes to me? Then again, those are the same questions I keep asking myself.

“Honestly, I don’t know. I kept replaying over and over in my mind how that prick spoke to you last night, and then there was this look on your face as you walked down the aisle, and I just reacted. Probably wasn’t the smartest idea, but there’s no going back now.”

“No, no going back now.” She frowns. “Thank you.” Her eyes lock onto mine, and nothing else needs to be said.

My lips press together as I squeeze her hand and nod.

“I am curious, though—why didn’t you tell me who you were?”

“When was I going to do that?” I chuckle. “It really didn’t seem relevant last night.”

“I guess not, but you know what I mean. I hope the shock on my face wasn’t too obvious.”

“It wasn’t, and really, I’m a nobody unless you follow football, and those who do saw me last night. I wasn’t a surprise to them. I’m actually surprised you didn’t pick up on it sooner, especially when Nate stood up behind me.”

“I should have. I knew you were coming, but there was so much going on, I couldn’t think.”

“I stopped thinking, too.”