Page 24

“Audrey.” Lucille’s voice has that warning edge again.

“Yes?”

“Marguerite asked about the bridesmaids’ flowers.”

“I’m sorry,” I say, forcing myself to focus. “What were the options again?”

Lucille sighs, the sound heavy with disappointment. “Perhaps we should take a short break. Marguerite, would you mind getting us some water?”

The florist nods and disappears toward the back of the shop, leaving the two of us alone.

“What is wrong with you today?” Lucille’s voice is low but sharp. “This is your wedding we’re planning. The most important day of your life.”

I resist the urge to correct her.

“I’m just tired,” I tell her. “There’s been so much to organize.”

“That’s why I’m handling most of it,” she reminds me. “All you need to do is show up and make decisions when asked. Is that really so difficult?”

Before I can answer, Marguerite returns with water.

“Here you go, dear,” she says, handing me a crystal glass. “You looked a bit flushed.”

I take a grateful sip, the cool water doing little to wash away the bitter taste of Lucille’s words. Most important day of my life. If only she knew what the most important night of my life had actually been. That night where I was wrapped in Reign’s arms, feeling truly alive for the first time in twenty-three years, was far more important.

“Now then,” Marguerite settles back into her chair, oblivious to the tension crackling between Lucille and me. “For the bridesmaids’ bouquets, I was thinking smaller versions of your arrangement. Perhaps white roses with touches of eucalyptus?”

“That sounds lovely,” Lucille answers when I don’t respond quickly enough.

I nod absently, my fingers unconsciously twisting the engagement ring Gio placed on my finger three days ago.

I wonder what Reign is doing right now. Is he thinking about me? Does he hate me for disappearing without a word? I wouldn’t blame him. What kind of person sleeps with someone, connects with someone on that level, and then vanishes before dawn?

The kind of person who’s engaged to someone else.

Two more hours of floral decisions later, we’re finally done. Lucille signs the contract while I gather my purse, eager to escape the cloying scent of flowers that now reminds me of obligation rather than romance. Outside, our driver holds the door of the black SUV open for us. The tinted windows shieldus from curious onlookers as we slide into the leather interior. As soon as the door closes, Lucille turns to me, her expression severe.

“That was embarrassing,” she says. “You were completely distracted the entire meeting.”

“I said I was sorry.”

“Sorry doesn’t fix the impression you left. Marguerite is the most sought-after florist in the state. Do you know how many strings I had to pull to get her for your wedding?”

I stare out the window as we pull away from the curb, watching the boutiques and cafés of downtown blur together.

“I appreciate everything you’re doing, Lucille.”

“Do you? Because you’re certainly not acting like it.”

I sigh and bite my tongue.

As we approach the Worthington estate, I straighten my posture and prepare to step back into character. The wrought iron gates swing open to admit us, and the SUV turns onto the driveway toward the sprawling mansion where I grew up.

My heart sinks when I spot another black SUV parked at the entrance, flanked by two men in suits.

Gio is here.

“Did you know Gio was coming today?” Lucille asks, following my gaze to the security detail.