by K. A. Linde
“You can stay with me for now,” Hollin said. “After that, we’ll figure it out. One day at a time.”
“It’s best not to go back tonight,” I told her. “You don’t want to deal with her if she comes home…or wonder where she is if she doesn’t.”
Nora ground her teeth together and nodded. “Fine.”
Hollin pulled off the loop to head to his house instead of Nora’s apartment. Nora was silent the rest of the way home. I wasn’t sure if she was seething or trying to hold herself together. Either way, I was glad that she wouldn’t be alone tonight. Hollin parked in his garage.
“Do you need anything?” I asked as we entered the house. “Ice cream?”
“No,” she said with a sniffle, rubbing the back of her hand across her eyes. “I’m going to get into bed. Maybe take a shower. Thanks for doing this. Really.”
I crossed my arms and watched her with concern as she disappeared into the spare bedroom. A minute later, I heard the shower turn on.
“Fuck, this sucks,” Hollin ground out.
“Yeah. Poor Nora.”
“What a fucking idiot! He should be glad Campbell wasn’t here. If you think I overreacted for punching him, wait and see what happens when Campbell finds out.”
“I don’t think you overreacted.”
“Yeah?”
“I wanted to punch him, too,” I admitted. “It makes no sense. They were so happy. They were together all the time. I remember him dropping by the winery when she was meeting with Peyton just to bring her Starbucks. How do you go from that to kissing her best friend?”
“I don’t know, but they’ve been doing a lot more than kissing.”
I cringed. “I agree.”
“Fuck.”
Hollin kicked the baseboard in frustration. “This isn’t how I wanted the night to go.”
He walked into the kitchen and pulled out a bottle of wine.
“We need something stronger.”
He glanced up at me, and a flicker of a smile hit his lips. “You’re probably right.”
He replaced the bottle and grabbed whiskey instead. I strode over to the kitchen, sinking into a seat at the island. He poured us each a knuckle’s worth of the stuff and slid the glass into my hand.
I took a sip and flinched slightly. It was good whiskey. I only drank the stuff under extreme circumstances. Gin and wine were more my preference. But tonight had been hard, and we needed hard stuff to go with it.
Hollin chuckled at my expression. “Well, at least there’s some alcohol that makes you pull a face.”
“There’s plenty of alcohol that does that.”
“I’ve watched you toss back tequila shots like it was nothing.”
“It was nothing.”
He shook his head. “You’re some woman.”
“Whiskey has its own particular burn.”
“Tequila gets me naked,” Hollin said.
I arched an eyebrow and swirled the drink. “That so? You were mostly clothed on that tour bus.”
He met my gaze. “That’s true. Maybe it makes me want to fuck.”
“Mission accomplished. Should we switch to tequila?” I winked at him.
It was enough to bring out that cocky smile that I’d somehow come to adore. I didn’t know when it had happened. One minute, that smile had made me want to fight him at every turn, and now, it made me wonder if he was going to take my clothes off right then and there. Had it always been a sexual look and I’d made it seem like this terrible thing?
“I need tequila to get your clothes off anymore,” he teased.
I shot him a challenging look back. “If you’re lucky.”
“Babe, it’s not about luck.”
I laughed at the arrogant way he’d delivered the line. It would have bothered me before, and now, I found it endearing.
I tossed back the rest of my whiskey. He refilled the glass, unprompted, nursing his own drink.
I read the lines of him. The muscular shoulders that fell into the tapered waist. The tuxedo elongated his square build and took him from cowboy to billionaire in the change of fabric. I liked the duality. That he could pull off a suit just as well as his Wranglers and Stetson. The truck just as well as riding around on his Harley. He wasn’t one thing; he was everything.
“How did you want the night to go?”
“Hmm?” he asked, peeping up at me from where he’d been staring into his whiskey.
“You said this wasn’t how you wanted the night to go.”
“Oh.” A soft blush came to his cheeks, and somehow, that was even hotter. “I guess I had this idea that we were going to dance all night. I wanted to show off my girlfriend to the rest of the world. And now, we’re back here. No dance. No showing off. And my sister is heartbroken.”
I finished the whiskey and set it back down on the counter. “Well, I can fix one of those things.”
I offered him my hand. He looked down at it for a second before putting his into mine. I directed him out of the kitchen and opened the back door.
“What are you…”
“Trust me,” I told him.
We stepped out onto the back deck and under the pergola. The May night was warm, but Lubbock was more desert than not. So, the nights were cool, and the wind blew in, making the heat more bearable. It was a perfect night. The stars bright and twinkling overhead. And the moon just a crescent sliver in the sky.
I wrapped my arms around Hollin’s shoulders and adjusted his hands to my waist. The back of my dress was incredibly low, and with the way he held me with his hands, his fingers brushed against the bare skin. I shivered slightly at the touch. So intimate.
Then, we swayed side to side. No music. No people. No big, beautiful gala.
Just the two of us, cocooned by the night sky. Wrapped in all her glory. The swelling depths of affection drew us together until there was nothing left.
I rested my head on his shoulder, and he pulled me even closer against him.
“This was what I wanted,” I said with a soft sigh of pleasure. “This was all I wanted.”
“Me too.” Hollin kissed the top of my head and held me close, repeating, “Me too.”
31
Piper
With Peyton’s wedding coming up so quickly, I spent all of my free time helping her prepare. And there was a lot more to do now that the wedding had to be moved to Wright Vineyard on such short notice. Nora was taking on the bulk of the change, but it was clear that after what had happened with August, she was only a shell of herself.
She wasn’t crying like she had been that night at the gala. But she wasn’t…happy either. In fact, the poor girl was in mourning. She hadn’t just lost her boyfriend. She’d lost her best friend, too. I tried to be there for her, as did the other girls, but it wasn’t the same. She’d known Tamara all her life. And the two people she would normally turn to with her heartbreak were the ones who had sundered her heart.
She’d even ditched her high heels for most of the week. I rarely saw her in flats off of the soccer pitch and sometimes forgot that she was only five feet tall. It was as if they had even stolen her extra height.
But the biggest problem of them all was still the wedding dress.
We’d found a few dresses in town that fit, but none of them were what Peyton wanted. Especially not compared to the designer dress that had been destroyed in the fire. Even though there was nothing I could do about it, I still felt deeply responsible.
“It’s not your fault,” Peyton said the morning before the wedding. “And anyway, we’re going to get this fixed. Katherine said she could handle the mission.”
Katherine Van Pelt was a friend of Peyton’s from her time in New York City. Her and her husband, Camden Percy, were flying down for the wedding. Katherine had once been a model and was in the know with designers. She’d reached out to a few with Peyton’s measurements and promised to fly in with what she found. She’d landed in Lubbock, and she would be coming straight to the hotel suite Peyton had
gotten for the weekend.
“I know,” I said. “I feel like I put unnecessary stress on you.”
“You caused the fire in the barn?”
“No.”
“And you purposefully put the dress somewhere you couldn’t reach it?”
I rolled my eyes. “No.”
“Then shut up,” my sister said with a laugh. “It’s not your fault that my dress was burned to a crisp and that the venue was destroyed. It was a fluke. A one in a million chance. We’re here now. We’re making the best of it. I don’t want my maid of honor to feel guilty.”
I nodded. “Okay.”
I’d braved a burning building to try to rescue that dress. There was nothing else I could do at this point. I was just anxious to have the dress problem rectified. It would feel like tomorrow could go off without a hitch.
Finally, an hour later, a knock sounded on the door. I rushed to open it, and there stood Katherine Van Pelt in all her glory. She was tall with cascading brown hair and the kind of figure people would kill for. She was Helen of Troy or Aphrodite. Songs had been sung about her. Wars had been waged for her. Just a tilt of her full lips sent men falling to their knees.
“Well, your fairy godmother has arrived,” she said with an arch of one eyebrow. Her designer bag hung from one arm, and she was in a red dress that clung to her narrow frame with black stilettos.
She strode into the suite as if she owned it. Considering her husband was the CEO and majority shareholder of Percy Hotels, it was entirely possible that she did. Behind her, she enlisted the staff to wheel in racks of white dresses, all carefully hidden behind a variety of designer bags.
“Thank you,” she said, tipping each of them generously, as if money grew on trees. “Camden sends his regards. He has business to attend to, and then he’s going golfing all day. Apparently, he befriended a PGA golfer here. Who knew you had a PGA golfer in Lubbock?”
I grinned. “Landon Wright?”
“Oh, you know him?” she asked.
Peyton laughed and stood to embrace Katherine. “He’s kind of royalty around these parts. The vineyard we’re getting married at belongs to his cousin.”
“Charming,” she said. “Well, let’s get to it. You’re going to like one of these gowns. I just know it.”
“I can’t thank you enough for doing this,” Peyton said. “You’re a lifesaver.”
“Fashion is my specialty. Honestly, watching all the designers fall over themselves to get me what I wanted was pure entertainment in itself,” she said with a grin. “Now, where is the champagne?”
I popped open the bubbly and passed out drinks. We sipped from a rosé Moët & Chandon while Peyton worked her way into the dresses. I helped with buttons and zippers and clasps. There were so many of them on each and every dress.
Despite Katherine’s assurances that they were all to Peyton’s measurements, they didn’t all fit. One dress was all smooth edges, except for a pooch at the waist. One fit her waist, but the lace at the underarms was strangely long. One was just an inch too long, even in her wedding heels.
Katherine hissed at that and offered to shred the designer a new one. Height wasn’t going to change regardless.
Peyton laughed it all off. “There’s going to be the perfect one in here. Don’t worry about it.”
As someone who had spent most of her life being fitted for tutus of every style and variety, Peyton was having the time of her life. Trying on all of these dresses made her smile and preen and twirl. As if each one were a new costume she was putting on for a performance.
Finally, we fitted her into one. I finished buttoning up the dozen buttons on the back, and then I stepped aside. She stood before the full-length mirror with an awed expression before facing us.
Katherine clapped softly. “That’s it. That’s the one.”
“I love it,” I gasped.
Peyton covered her mouth as tears came to her eyes. “It’s perfect.”
It was even better than the one that had been made for her. The one at the bottom of a fiery grave. Somehow, this fit her lithe ballet figure to perfection. The bust was all lace in an almost balconette structure with visible boning that gave the top a corseted look. An airy tulle skirt reminiscent of all the past ballets Peyton had danced in fell to the floor with an embroidered floral design starting at the top and tapering off. The entire thing shimmered slightly when it caught the light. And to her delight, it had two of her favorite things—a hidden slit to reveal her baby-blue heels and, best of all, pockets.
“Who designed this?” Peyton asked. “I must write to the designer to thank them.”
“Of all people, Harmony Cunningham,” Katherine said, standing and fingering the skirt. “Her mother handed over most of the reins to Cunningham Couture to her, and it is blooming. Who knew that taking the girl out of the spotlight would revitalize the brand?”
“I used to always want to wear Elizabeth Cunningham’s vision,” Peyton admitted.
“She designed my wedding dress,” Katherine said. “Well, that’s the one. I’ll tell Harmony. She’ll be pleased. You’ll probably even have your wedding in magazines.”
Peyton laughed. “That was already going to happen. Ex-prima and her new beau.” She rolled her eyes. “Magazines have been hounding me for the last year.”
“And in that dress, you’ll be the highlight of the season.”
“Thank you, Katherine,” Peyton said, drawing her into a hug. She turned to me next. “See? Nothing to worry about.”
“You were right,” I told her. “Now, let’s get you married.”
“I’ll say, ‘I now pronounce you man and wife,’ ” the pastor said.
“Then we kiss,” Isaac said with a wink.
Peyton flushed.
The pastor laughed. “Exactly,” he said.
I stood off to the side of Peyton, holding her fake bouquet during the rehearsal. Peter was on my other side. Jordan and Annie stood for Isaac across from me and my brother. I liked that they’d gone nontraditional and had their people on either side rather than separating guys and girls. At the end, Jordan and Annie would walk down the aisle together, a precursor to their impending wedding. And I’d walk with my twin. It was going to be perfect.
“And that’s that,” the pastor said. He gestured to Nora. “All yours.”
Nora nodded solemnly. She was back in her heels, trying so hard to regain the bounce in her step. But she didn’t quite manage it. She was professional but not enthusiastic.
“Excellent. Let’s do the walk out. Each aisle will go one at a time, starting with Peyton’s family and then Isaac’s,” Nora said, directing everyone. “Afterward, we’ll take family pictures. While that is going on, we’ll move everyone inside to the barn. Any questions?”
The parents all crowded around poor Nora. Isaac and Peyton were speaking with the pastor about the wording and such. I stood with my brother, Jordan, and Annie.
“It’s hot as hell,” Peter grumbled.
“Supposed to be worse tomorrow,” I told him.
“Great.”
Annie laughed. “This isn’t even a bad May day.”
Jordan shook his head. “At least you aren’t in a three-piece suit.”
“Exactly,” Peter added.
Annie and I exchanged a conspiratorial smile. We’d gotten lucky. Peyton didn’t care one lick about what we were wearing as long as it was in the champagne, rose gold, or blush family. We’d gone shopping together this winter and picked something out that didn’t cost either of us a fortune and ended up with these gorgeous, shimmery dresses. They weren’t exactly the same, as we were different builds, but they complemented each other. In fact, they worked out even better with Peyton’s new dress. I couldn’t wait to see the entire vision come to life.
Jordan had just gotten on the phone for business when another truck pulled into the parking lot. My smile lit up when I recognized it. I traipsed across the lawn of Wright Vineyard and rapped on the window.
Hollin ro
lled it down and hung slightly out the side. “Can I help you, ma’am?” he drawled, low and country.
I laughed. “That is quite some twang you have on you.”
He tipped his cowboy hat at me. “Ma’am.”
“You’re ridiculous. I didn’t think you were coming up here for the rehearsal.”
“I wasn’t,” he said as he popped the door of his truck. “But I wanted to see you.”
“Oh good.”
He wrapped an arm around my waist and kissed me. He’d been letting a beard grow out the last week, and the whiskers scratched against my face. I hadn’t minded them scratchy elsewhere.
“You keeping this?” I asked, pulling gently on the beard.
“You like it?”
“I am yet undecided. You look good either way.”
“Well, it’ll be gone soon. We all agreed not to shave until the wedding. Julian hates it,” he said with a laugh. “So, it’s half the fun.”
“Ah, I see. No wonder Jordan and Isaac both have beards. Why did you even decide this?”
Hollin shrugged. “We’re guys. I don’t know.”
I rolled my eyes. Typical.
He took my hand in his as we returned to the rehearsal. Everyone had moved out of the baking sun and into the air-conditioned barn. Thankfully, the reception would be indoors even if the wedding was out in the sun.
Jordan and Isaac both shook hands with Hollin.
“Just think, you’re next,” Isaac told Jordan.
“Patrick first,” he said with a laugh.
“Sure. Patrick and then us,” Annie said with a smile. Her eyes darted down to her ring. She hadn’t stopped messing with it since he’d proposed.
“And who’s after that?” Isaac asked. “Julian?”
Jordan quirked a self-satisfied smile. “Maybe Hollin.”
I laughed at the suggestion. We’d only been dating since Easter. Julian and Jennifer had been dating a year. There was no way that was in our future yet.
Hollin pulled a ridiculous face. “Yeah, right. We all know Julian is next.”