Page 84 of Twisted Elites

“They drove down to Brighton yesterday. Sebastian’s grandfather is having a heart bypass.”

Cormac grimaced. “Sorry about that.”

I pulled my phone out from my purse and checked for new messages. Nothing so far from either of them. It was six-thirty, and if they’d stayed up all night to hear from the surgeon, they’d probably still be sleeping. Slipping it back into my purse, I raised my head and gasped at the mist rolling in above distant, green mountains.

“Lovely morning, isn’t it?” Cormac slowed the Aston Martin at a sharp, downward bend.

Warm wind whooshed through my ears as he sped up. Clenching my teeth, I clutched at my stomach. This was the first time I’d been through the mountains in a convertible, and I was glad this would be the last.

After a hair-raising drive through the mountains, we reached the highway. Cormac stuck to the slow lane, and I sat back and enjoyed the rolling, green hills of Cumbria. About ninety minutes later, a huge, blue road sign welcomed us to Scotland. Cormac took a right, turning off the highway toward Gretna Green. The signposts directed us through a village of low-rise buildings, some of them looking centuries-old.

“You know the history of Gretna Green?” asked Cormac.

“Only the part about the 1754 Marriage Act in England that stopped people under twenty-one from marrying without the consent of their parents,” I replied.

“Back then, it was legal for girls as young as twelve to marry in Scotland.”

“Twelve?” I blurted.

“Ridiculous, isn’t it? Boys had to be fourteen to marry.” Cormac passed a one-story church with a tall tower. “The first stop over the border was a blacksmith’s shop, where a local priest would conduct the weddings. It’s still in use today.”

“Is that where we’re going?” I glanced at a white, one-story building with a slate roof, situated behind a courtyard decorated by a statue of an embracing couple.

Cormac pulled into its parking lot. “Here were are.”

Despite everything he had said to reassure me of Geraldine’s willingness to marry, a boulder of dread rolled through my belly.

Cormac reached for his door handle, but I clutched at his wrist. He turned around, brows drawn. “What’s wrong?”

“I have a feeling that something bad will happen if you go through those doors.”

He patted me on the hand. “If you’re worried about an ambush, don’t. This is a respectable institution, and nothing like what happened to Ashley will take place here.”

“But what if—”

“Willow.” Annoyance flickered across his face. “I’m sorry for giving you such a hard time at the start of term and for blaming Kashaayah for Corrine’s death, but Geraldine isn’t them. She’s not the type of person who will fabricate a relationship just to enjoy breaking a vulnerable person’s heart.”

The words hit like a slap, and my mouth dropped open. I would have laid into him, but there was no point. The only way for Cormac to stop seeing Geraldine through rose-tinted glasses was for her to personally rip them off.

I closed my mouth and blew out a long breath through my nostrils. “Let’s go.”

Cormac turned, opened his door and stepped out. I followed after him with an apology on my lips, but I held my tongue. If Geraldine turned up at the venue and went through the wedding, I would eat a bowlful of humble pie and grovel. We walked together in silence into the building, where a blonde receptionist smiled at us from behind her desk.

“Good morning, sir and madam,” she said in a soft, Scottish accent. “Where can I direct you this morning?”

“I’m here for the Gibbons-Hill wedding. It’s in the Rennison room.”

“Gibbons-Hill…” The receptionist flipped open a leather book and drew her fingers down the hand-written entries. “I don’t have anyone of that name for today.”

Chest tightening, I turned to Cormac to hug him, but he scowled and lurched across the desk.

“It’s at nine.” He turned the book around and scanned the appointments. When he wasn’t satisfied with what he saw on the double-page spread, he flipped to the one before and skipped two pages ahead, as though that might make a difference.

The receptionist scraped back her chair and placed her hand over her heart. “You might have the wrong date, sir. Could you call—”

“No!”

She jumped out of her seat, but quickly composed herself. “Is the venue booked under another name?”