“It is perfection,” Hannah breathed when I tried it on for her.
“Still want to marry River?” I flashed her a little ankle with a grin.
“Barely.” She looked like she meant it, too.
So yeah, I’m feeling pretty hot right now. No ears or wigs for me—River’s granted me the honor of being a Middle Earth warrior queen or some such, I don’t know. Just my short black hair left wavy beneath a simple crown of scarlet bergamot and several strands of gold looped around my neck. I politely declined the jeweled dagger he offered me, though weaponry could’ve been useful for a wedding planner.
When we reach River’s tent, he grasps me by both arms. With misty eyes full of a heartbreaking love, he says, “Thank you for today, Zoe.”
“You deserve this.” My words are without context, but River doesn’t need any. He pulls me into a gentle hug, as though he can see all the bittersweet longing that brims within me, too. It’s making it hard to breathe.
“So do you,” he whispers, resting his chin on my head. “Your love story is coming soon, Zoe. I can feel it.”
I laugh, though the sound is unbelieving and thick with unshed tears. If I could believe it were true, maybe this weight that’s rested on my chest ever since the people I loved most started leaving me would finally lift.
“Hey, boss?”
River and I turn our heads at the same time, and I quickly dash away the few tears that made a jailbreak. I tense in his arms, not breathing—not because I can’t this time, but because I forget to. Laine is wearing camel-colored suede leggings that hug each muscular segment of her strong thighs, tucked into a pair of laced boots the color of cognac. The pants rise over her straight hips, where a slim white button-down is tucked in front. It’s a modern shirt, but the collar is open deep, the buttons undone enough to reveal her chest tattoos. My eyes dance across the intricate pattern of wildflowers that stretches across her collarbone in either direction, kissing the tops of her breasts and disappearing beneath the cotton. I’d seen them briefly that night in Harlow’s bed, but I was so drenched in mortification, I didn’t register what I was seeing. A small gasp exits my lips in recognition.
Bluebells.
River glances between me and Laine, then back to me again. “Maybe it’s already begun.” He squeezes me one last time before disappearing into his tent.
Our bodies bring us closer, so close I could trace the dusky blooms curving over her breasts with my finger. Follow each blue-green tendril along its twists and turns, until they led me to her heart.
“Your tattoos,” I murmur, wishing I could push her shirt aside to see more. To see all of her.
“The woods behind our house, in the spring. The bluebells rise out of nowhere, like a veil of blue.” Laine smiles ruefully. “I always thought they were magic.”
Maybe they are. They brought you to me, after all, my heart whispers. For a second, it seems like she heard. She looks at me, dazed, the small divot between her brows that appears when she’s thinking pronounced beneath her doe-brown hair. The smoky plum eyeliner ringingher silt-brown eyes makes them even richer, like if the wind scattered me there, I could grow into something beautiful.
“Is everything okay?” I manage out through the tightness growing in my throat. It hurts sometimes, how perfect she is. This blend of hard lines and soft edges, the grown-up version of all my teenage fantasies. The mountain breeze ripples through my dress, bringing with it the memory of her mouth on my thighs, tongue sliding languidly across my skin until I clenched so hard it hurt. I hate myself a little for how turned on I am, just from looking at her. From remembering what, for one night, I briefly had. For showing her a glimpse of all these warring feelings within me, and for her not looking away.
“Laine?” I try again. “Did you need—”
“You are beautiful,” she says faintly, the soft words interrupting me, my thoughts, the entire space-time continuum, as she takes a step forward. Her head bows down, her hand reaching dreamily upward, cupping my cheek. The pad of her thumb brushes away the last dew of my tears, lifting me up to face her fully.
“Laine, the—the events team isn’t here yet.” My voice is shaky and unsure.
“So?” The word blooms from her parted lips as her eyes search mine, sending warmth cascading through my entire body. “Say my name again.”
“I—”
“Say it,” she commands, her lips brushing against my hair. And I am molten, unsteady, collapsing into her arms as they wrap around my waist.
“Laine,” I breathe, like her name is air. Her eyes flutter closed, and she groans softly in my ear. “Laine, we—work together. I need you too much. I can’t afford to have some fling with you.”
“Who”—she breathes—“ever said”—her lower lip skates across my earlobe—“it would be somefling, boss?”
My spine curls, bringing my hips flush with hers, the sweet, dull ache between my legs pulsing in time with my heart. Every professional impulse in my body flees the country. It doesn’t even occur to me that I’m ready to publicly ride my vintner’s thigh at my place of business until Hannah’s happy laughter trills through the side of her tent, lurching me back into the present. My eyes fly open, and I press both palms against Laine’s shoulders, pushing us apart. I don’t have time for my feelings. Today, I am part of someoneelse’shappiness, and that, like always, has to be enough.
Ithasto.
“It’s time to do final setup for the ceremony because we’re walking the guests over in twenty minutes,” I say in one long, breathless rush. Laine’s pupils are blown wide, dreamy and dark, as she considers the frantic edge to my tone. But if it puts her off, she doesn’t show it. Instead, she slowly adjusts the bodice of my dress, fingers dipping beneath the fabric, eyes drinking in the way my breasts swell against the tight, constricting dip of the neckline.
“Yes, boss.” She trails her index finger down my collarbone, stopping when both our breathing goes ragged. Her eyes hold mine.
“Whenever you’re ready.” It’s a challenge, a dare, apromise. She turns then, disappearing into the folks of the Shire.
