Gilded Lily

by Hart, Staci

  She patted my arm. “Of course,” she said before shuffling away.

  Angelika and Jordan stepped up to the back of the Femmes, their absence unnoticed by everyone, except Natasha, who wore a look of disdain. She had something equally disdainful to say, judging by Angelika’s reaction to whatever she muttered. Sister Marilla was still going on—if I had to guess, about the organ. And with a quick moment to spare and the sense that I needed a beat, I ducked into the nook where the candles waited, glimmering in the dark.

  Flickering flames in amber glass, a vision from a dream, the quiet to calm my screaming nerves. It took only a second, maybe two, before calm washed over me.

  An absent hand slipped into my purse, returning with a bill I folded and slid into the donation box. A taper in my fingers, I stepped to the row, finding an unlit candle. I wasn’t a religious woman, ruled more by logic than anything, and faith seemed far away, a fanciful feeling. But there in reverent silence, I lit a candle, watched the wick catch fire, felt the tranquility of intention as I wished for peace of my own. And then, I placed the taper where it belonged, smoking in wait for the next soul who needed saving.

  10

  Sausage, Please

  LILA

  My sigh weighed a thousand pounds as I paid the cabbie and stepped onto Bleecker. The day had been eternal, the fiasco at St. Patrick’s exhausting. We’d made it out of the church without further incident, and no one was the wiser. The priest had given his blessing, just like we’d known he would, and I’d parted ways with the Felix Femmes with plans to meet for lunch in a few days to go over finishing touches on Natasha’s birthday party.

  The way Brock had talked last week, they were still seeing each other. He’d probably be at the party, as would I, and there was no way for me to pass the task to someone else. I couldn’t admit what had happened to Addison without her using it against me, and although we had access to interns, there wasn’t a single one I’d trust with a Felix event.

  So I’d endure it. I’d compartmentalize my feelings, pack them up, stow them away, and get on with it so I could do my job. So I could crush my job. I’d throw her the best goddamn birthday party to ever come out of New York despite the fact that she’d fucked my boyfriend.

  Post-church, I’d gone on with my day, meeting with a caterer, stopping into the office for a meeting and to answer to Addison. And my last task of the day was to pop into Longbourne, where I’d become a regular fixture.

  My purpose was twofold: take a look at the flower crop for a wedding this weekend and escort my very pregnant sister home. I’d been thinking about that pizza all week, and I’d convinced Ivy to let me get her a slice on the way home. Not that it took much convincing—pizza was her number one craving. I swore she was going to actually birth a pizza roll or a giant pepperoni. Or just a chubby little baby with doughy thighs and cheeks to pinch and fawn over.

  And with that thought putting the first genuine smile on my face of the day, I walked toward the turquoise door of Longbourne and stepped inside, greeted by the dinging of the ancient bell over the door.

  It really was something, what they’d done with the place. I’d been in and out of the shop since we were teenagers, when Ivy started working here. It used to be drab and dark, untouched by time, but when the Bennet children came home last summer, they came home with purpose. The makeover was brilliant—the shop was bright and cheerful, the windows inviting with gorgeous installations that had become a Village spectacle. I’d seen the crowds waiting on Sunday morning for the unveiling, and I’d heard from Ivy about the massive increase in business.

  I was honestly happy to help by bringing them the wedding business I had to offer even if it was risky and even if I’d been a monster about it. As a rule, Archer Events used Bower Bouquets, but I’d gone over Addison’s head, taking it straight to Caroline, who had agreed, loving the charm of the small shop and their greenhouse. I found I much preferred the one-on-one interaction I had with Longbourne. I never saw the same florist twice at Bower. Here, I felt like Longbourne was part of my team. Granted, my sister worked here, but still. It was nice using a small business, and it helped the flower shop make their money. Thus helping my sister make hers. Everybody won.

  My heels were noisy on the black-and-white-tiled floor, the shop still busy with the rush hour crowd looking to grab something on their way home. I waved at Jett behind the counter, one of the beautiful Bennet men, and he offered me one of their signature smirks, a cavalier tilt of wide lips.

  They were shockingly handsome, the whole lot of them—tall and raven-haired, crisp blue eyes and solid frames, square jaws and brilliant smiles. My favorite of those smiles wasn’t Luke’s, who took nothing seriously, or Jett’s, who seemed to be just being kind. It wasn’t Marcus either, as hard-won as those smiles were—he was a little too brooding for my taste. I preferred a man with the serious air of Marcus but the charm like Luke.

  Which was Kassius Bennet.

  As much as I hated to admit it, he really did have the best smile, and I felt like Goldilocks about it—not too happy, not too quiet. Not too forthcoming and not too shy. His was just right—a perfect mix of quiet weight and wry humor. It was a smile of secrets and surprises.

  Your blood sugar must be low, I scolded myself. Waxing poetic about the gardener? Get yourself a slice of pizza before you do something stupid.

  I saw him the second I stepped into the workspace, before my sister, before Tess. He leaned against the worktable with his enormous arms folded across his wide chest. He seemed the ideal blend of the Bennet qualities, from his stupid, irreverent T-shirts to his unflappable, solid support. Granted, his T-shirts were a little more bearable since seeing him fill out tailored clothes so nicely. Nicely enough that I’d made excuses to get him to come to a few venues in the hopes he’d show up in a tie. He cleaned up well, though his jaw, which had been smooth and clean just a few days ago, was already smattered in dark, thick stubble. I wondered what he’d look like with a full-blown beard, imagining it would be as lustrous and luxuriant as his hair. I wanted him to shave his face and cut his hair just as badly as I wanted him to let it run wild despite my wishes.

  Today, his shirt read, Sow Cool, bordered with a silhouette of wheat beneath it.

  I wanted to laugh, but then our gazes tangled, and I forgot what was so funny.

  Something had changed in him over the last week or so, something I couldn’t place. Something about his eyes or the set of his lips that smoldered serious. I’d caught a glimpse of it when he’d asked me about relationships—a personal tone we sadly hadn’t slipped into since—but today, the expression was unprompted, existing before my entrance and seemingly likely to remain when I was gone.

  He didn’t move but for the uptick of one corner of his lips, framed by that square, utterly masculine jaw.

  Caught off guard, I defaulted to my work smile.

  “Lila!” Ivy sighed, smiling. “If you’re here, that means it’s almost pizza time, and thank God. I’m starving.”

  The room chuckled.

  “I’ll buy you all the pizza you can eat.”

  “The cruelest part of that joke is that I can’t even finish one slice. I’m too full of baby,” she said on a laugh, running her hand over the swell tenderly.

  “Well, half a piece it is, and I’ll get you one for the fridge. You can eat it in a couple hours when you’re hungry again.”

  “Deal. How’d it go with the Femmes?” she asked.

  “Well, Angelika and Jordan fucked in a confession booth, and I had to divert a nun who almost caught them.”

  The three of them blinked at me, mouths hanging open, before they burst into laughter.

  “I know.” I set my bag on the worktable, bending to smell the lilies in Tess’s vase. “If they weren’t totally goo-goo over each other, I’d have figured it for a stunt.”

  “I mean, it probably was a stunt,” Ivy noted.

  “Probably,” I agreed. “But still. At least something about the ordeal was gen
uine.”

  “And at least one of the Femmes is actually in love,” Tess said. “I’m convinced the others are in marriages of convenience.”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised.” I changed the subject to avoid talk of Natasha’s romantic interest, lest I lose my appetite with pizza on the horizon. “Ready to walk me through the flowers for the Statham wedding?” I asked Kash.

  “Born ready.” He pushed off the table, flicking his head toward the back.

  I eyed him. “Don’t you need our paperwork? The concept designs Tess came up with?”

  “Nah. I got it all up here,” he said, tapping his temple like he did.

  I resisted the urge to roll my eyes and said flatly, “If you say so.”

  “I say so. Come on,” he said, and I had no choice but to follow.

  His back was a landscape of muscle in shadows and highlights, the topography clear, even swathed in his dumb T-shirt. The fleeting thought of what those rolling muscles would look like undisguised by his shirt made me salivate. Actually salivate, a hot rush of slobber like I’d been offered that pizza I’d been daydreaming of. I swallowed hard, shifting my gaze to the greenhouse the second we’d passed through the swinging doors.

  The greenhouse was humid despite the brisk autumn weather, a wall of thick air that absorbed me, pulled me in behind Kash. It smelled like heaven, of wet earth and perfumed blossoms, of leaves and moisture. It was alive, the heady fragrance so elemental, it seemed to call to something deep in my chest—remember me?

  “Statham wedding is the one Tess is most excited about,” he said as we walked. “It’s rare we get anyone who trusts us enough to incorporate cabbage in their floral arrangements.”

  I chuckled. “Well, the bride is an interior decorator, so she’s a little more avant-garde than most.”

  He stopped in front of a series of planters suspended from the wooden rack that ran the length of the greenhouse. In each planter sat row after row of blooming cabbage—purple and white crane cabbage that looked like delicate roses, the green crane reminiscent of succulents. A feathered varietal, veined like coral.

  “They’re coming in nicely,” he said, thumbing a leaf before rooting around in the dirt to free what had been caught under a fresh dusting of earth.

  “They’re beautiful. I can’t believe they’re not flowers.”

  His smile tilted. “Nature’s a curious thing. Sometimes it disguises one thing as another, hides its nature to protect it.”

  “Indeed it does,” I agreed quietly, struck by the sentiment.

  Kash jerked his chin toward the back of the greenhouse. “I’ve got the greenery we ordered for you, if you want to see.”

  “I do, thank you.”

  I followed him, the two of us pausing at the marigolds to peer at their lush amber heads. Sometimes nature disguises one thing as another. How true it was. There was more to Kash Bennet than I’d realized, a revelation that struck me like a match.

  There was more to me too. And I wondered what he was hiding to protect himself. I wondered if he knew what I didn’t say, what I didn’t show, and got the distinct impression that he did.

  It was as thrilling a thought as it was terrifying.

  Once at the black buckets lining the workspace in the back, he guided me to the relevant greenery.

  “Rose hips,” he said, gesturing to the red and green berries, fat and shiny. “Sedum.” He reached for a stem topped with a plain of tiny flowers of white and dusky lavender. “Is this lavender too pink? I promised somebody I wouldn’t screw this up, and I’d hate to go back on my word.”

  I chuckled, ignoring the tingle of warmth in my cheeks. “They’re perfect.”

  “The succulents came in too.” He stepped to the table where trays of succulents and vibrant mosses waited for my approval. Tenderly, he scooped up a succulent that burst from deep purple to vivid green, center to tip. It sat in his broad, cupped hand, roots in its dirt in his palm. “For the centerpieces,” he said.

  “They’ll look brilliant.”

  He smiled, returning it to its home and dusting off his hands. “There were other flowers we don’t have space to grow, but they’re in the cooler. White anemones, tulips, and hyacinth for the bouquet and touches in the centerpieces. Tess made the garland mostly out of purple amaranth, strung it with feather tops and sprigs of dusty miller.” He reached for what I thought was a pile of furry lavender falls, pale feathery yellows, and silvery-green leaves dotted with buds, but when he spread his arms, the garland hung before him.

  I drew a slight breath of surprise. “She is a genius,” I said, eyes trailing the details of the strung grasses. “The bride is going to cry, and we’ll all get a raise.”

  At that, he laughed. “I don’t need tears. I’ll accept anything, except for her coming after you like the Berkshire girl.”

  “Well, they were the wrong color,” I noted, but I couldn’t help but smile. “Anyway, you got yours—I ended up planted in the greenhouse.”

  “Should I be expecting a dry cleaning bill?” He smirked as he folded the garland, spooling it onto the table.

  “Without a doubt. Consider the flowers officially approved. And thank you for letting me micromanage you. I know it’s not typical for an event planner to come second-guessing your work.”

  “It’s more common than you might think. And I don’t mind, Lila.”

  Something in my chest snagged at the sound of my name from his lips. I laughed it off. “Not much ruffles you, does it, Kash?”

  One of his shoulders rose and fell in a shrug. “You’ve met my family. It’s no place for someone who’s easily annoyed. We all learned early how to irritate each other and weather each other’s irritations.”

  “Fair enough, but you’re particularly unflappable.”

  “A trait I inherited from my father. I don’t think he’s ever been in an argument a day in his life even though my mother seems to argue with him daily. He just sits and listens and nods, and in the end, he imparts some deep and poignant wisdom on you. It’s his special skill, aside from this.” He swept a hand toward the greenhouse, wall to wall.

  I looked over the rows of color and life, smiling to myself through a stretch of silence, not realizing he was watching me until he spoke.

  “I’m sorry. About your boyfriend.”

  A shot of pain, and my smile was gone. I turned my gaze on him. “Excuse me?”

  He had the decency to look at least a little cowed, but he crossed his arms and leaned against the edge of the worktable, the picture of amiability. Nothing about him seemed dangerous. But every warning bell rang, setting my spine stiff.

  “Ivy and Tess were talking about it. Ivy wasn’t gossiping or anything, just venting. She’s not happy with him.”

  “That makes two of us,” I said shortly.

  He watched me for a beat. “He’s a fool, you know.”

  Another jolt, this one hotter. “So am I.”

  His brows flicked together, more concerned than put off. “It’s not your fault,” he said. “What happened … it’s not your fault.”

  The words hit me like a battering ram, freezing my lungs and holding the breath there. For a moment, I said nothing, just stood there, tracing those words with my heart. I hadn’t realized until he’d said it that was exactly how I felt beneath my armor of rightness and false certainty. That even if I hadn’t driven him to cheat on me, which I probably had, I hadn’t known. It was my fault if for no other reason than I was blind. Stupid. Wrong.

  A squeeze of my throat prompted me to swallow. And Kash just watched, his face touched with concern and earnest care. There was another edge too, singed by anger. Anger at Brock, I realized.

  He pushed off the table and stood, busying himself with various unimportant items on the table as he spoke, changing the subject. “I’ve got the concepts for your spring weddings and planted what you’ll need. As soon as I have something blooming, you’ll know. And I’ll see you this weekend for the wedding.”

  “You’ll be
delivering the flowers?” I asked, surprised.

  He shot me a sideways smile. “Don’t sound so disappointed.”

  “I’m not. It’s just that it’s usually Luke.”

  “He and Tess are busy with an installation, so it’ll just be you and me. Unless you have any objections.”

  The thrill I felt shocked me. Maybe seeing him all cleaned up over the last few weeks did something to my brain, because the truth was that regardless of how gorgeous he was, we were nothing alike. I spent my weekends at events that cost four thousand a head. He spent his playing in the dirt. I had a bottomless well of ambition, and he had worked in the greenhouse since he was a teenager. I was uptight and closed off, and he was easy and open. Where I wore a mask, what you saw with Kash was exactly what you got.

  The longing and quiet envy I felt struck me in the softest of places.

  So I put on my work smile to cover it. “We’ll have a grand old time.”

  “Plus,” he started with that cavalier smile of his, “this way, you can follow me around and tell me what to do. I know how much you like that.”

  My eyes gave a turn, but I was still smiling. “Don’t pretend you don’t enjoy it.”

  That smile climbed as he stepped toward me, then into me as he passed, my space and senses invaded. “Wouldn’t dream of it, Priss.”

  And then, he passed, leaving me in a whirl of his scent, musky and sweet.

  “Come on,” he said over his shoulder. “I’ll show you what we’ve got in the cooler.”

  And blinking, I followed, straightening my thoughts as I straightened my skirt, pretending my wits were in perfect order too.

  Into the workroom we went, Ivy and Tess chatting idly over their arrangements as Kash showed me the other flowers. We leaned into the open door of the cooler, shoulder to shoulder, close enough to smell mint on his breath and feel the heat of his body against the chill of the cooler.

  “They’re exactly what I asked for,” I said.

  “Can I get that in writing?”