And I didn’t know what the hell to do with that information. I wandered along the edge of the hall, studying some of the photos. Most were recent enough to be in full color, but there were several black-and-white images. I couldn’t help thinking about all the culture and history Weston was trying to preserve here, and the townsfolk he was hoping to support with a successful wind farm implementation.
Having met so many of them now, part of me felt a little bad for giving him such a hard time about his marriage proposal in the first place. He’d deserved it, at first, but I could see why Braeburn meant so much to him and Pete. And I supposed I wasglad I’d come along to help, even if all I’d done was slap my name on a marriage certificate.
“I remember when this photo was taken,” Jo said, coming up beside me as I studied another picture. This one was of a bunch of school children on a playground. “I was in my early twenties, working as a teacher’s assistant. The original schoolhouse in town had burned down. Pete funded the new building, and this was the first time the children were back in the schoolyard.”
“That’s amazing,” I said.
“Pete was always looking out for this community, the same way he looked out for Weston. And I think that’s why he was so devoted to his grandparents, even as a boy. I still remember him, a wee lad, walking through town, so confident, holding his arm out for his grandmother.” Jo smiled. “Thank God that boy inherited the best of Pete and Ellen because his parents definitely did him no favors. Despite all the friction, he’s grown into a fine man.”
I couldn’t help smiling at the way she spoke about Weston. He’d been away from Braeburn for a while now, but Pete’s legacy lived on in him, and people could see that. And it’s not that I didn’t know Weston was a good man, but back in Houston things were different. He was the grumpy, serious CEO who spent most of his day barking orders. But here…
I turned, searching him out in the crowd just in time to watch as Weston got caught up holding some woman’s baby so she could finish her tea in peace.
He bounced the child on his hip, and my breath caught at the sight. He looked so natural, smiling down at the baby who kept trying to gnaw on his hand, and a deep ache flared insideme. Whether or not he wanted children never came up in conversation, but given how important family is to Weston, I knew he would want some of his own, eventually, which was an issue for me.
The stern lines across his forehead softened, his eyes crinkling as he laughed at something someone said to him. He looked so happy here, surrounded by the community. By friends. By people Pete had probably considered family.
I couldn’t deny how nice it was watching him like this.
With a sharp, sudden clarity, I realized how desperately I wanted to know this softer side of Weston Kincaid. And how desperately I wanted him to knowmine.
12
LENA
“Oh. My. Freaking. God!” Tess said, gaping down at the picture on my phone. In it, I stood in the middle of the extensive driveway, the house rising up behind me, just so I could actually show off the grandiosity of Lochbrae. “It’s like an actual castle!”
“I know!” I cried, reclining in the treatment chair next to hers. “That’s what I told you.”
“Yeah, but I didn’t think you meant it had turrets and everything.” She laughed in disbelief, showing the photo to one of her bridesmaids, Laura, before scrolling through more of my photos. She was wrapped in a silky pink bathrobe and had a glass of ridiculously expensive champagne in one hand while her feet were soaking in some fancy, black clay mud mask that cost more than I made per hour.
“I feel glorious!” another one of the bridesmaids—Courtney—sang as she strutted out of a back room. “Anyone who wants a flotation massage, I highly recommend.”
“Ooo,” Tess said, wiggling her eyebrows at me in interest. A few of the other bridesmaids abandoned their seats to go explore the flotation therapy room.
“If anyone needs me,” Courtney continued, “no you don’t, because I’m going to be up to my eyeballs in a deep purification facial.”
Tess and I both laughed.
Weston had booked out the entirety of Maison d’Or to kick off Tess’s bachelorette weekend. The luxury spa was known for entertaining celebrity clientele, but today it was all ours. And with all the treatments on Weston’s dime, the bridal party was taking full advantage. “Is the whole place like this,” Tess asked, pulling my attention back to the photo, “or is this just like some fancy facade work? You know, like a movie set and then there’s nothing behind it.”
I smirked. “Trust me. The whole castle is like that. Wait until you get to the pictures of the inside.”
“Never mind the inside,” Tess said, eyes still glued to the phone. “Look at these views!”
I’d hiked up the edge of the driveway, coming to the top of a low-lying hill for those photos. From there, you could see the edge of the gardens with their hedges and fountains and statues sprawling out along the side of the building. But beyond that, you could see the greens of the pastures rolling along endlessly, with hints of purple heather.
Tess gasped. “It’s gorgeous.”
“Sunrise has been amazing all week,” I said. “I almost broke and called you one morning just so I could show you.”
“Well, I appreciate that you didn’t,” she said, laughing. “I’m up early enough with Cole’s schedule—you know, getting up at dawn to tend the animals.” Her fiancé was a rancher through and through. “But it works out for me, too, because there are always clients who want to squeeze in an appointment before work, and they like that I open early. But seriously, it’s so nice to be the one being pampered for once. I don’t have to pluck or primp anyone for seventy-two glorious hours.”
“Hell yes, girl!” Laura called. “Live your best life.” She was now reclined in her chair, eyes closed, in the middle of a mani-pedi.
“I’ll let Weston know you approve,” I told Tess. I couldn’t deny that the spa had been a treat for me as well. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d treated myself to a massage—college, maybe. Weston had provided us with luxurious penthouse accommodations at Ritz Paris and a private chauffeur for the weekend. I’d walked into my room last night to find a margarita on the dresser with a tiny cocktail umbrella and a note from Weston that read:I know it’s not a beach, but the suite comes with a private bartender who has been directed to make as many margaritas as you, Tess, and the bridal party can drink.
His attention to detail had made me smile. I had to admit, even after seven years as a billionaire’s assistant, he could still surprise me.
