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I turn around to give him a quick hug. “What, you don’t like a full Mass for a wedding?”
His eyes glint with laughter. He stood up in the wedding, too. Carter’s handsome like the rest of my brothers, but maybe less…vicious looking, if that makes any sense. Quieter. More serious. Though I’ve always suspected that he’s just as hard beneath that surface. Harder, maybe.
He looks around to make sure no one can hear, then bends down so he can speak into my ear. “If anything could convince me to bind myself in that eternal hellscape, I’d elope.”
This makes me laugh. A Morelli, just—eloping? Disappearing into the middle of nowhere and getting married without all of Bishop’s Landing knowing about it? “You would not.”
“How would anyone know? I’m away most of the time.”
“You have a point.” He does spend most of his time overseas doing some kind of work that’s really prestigious. I don’t know what it is, exactly. “Away doing what?”
He gives me a blank expression, which looks strange on his face, because he’s always so damn knowledgeable all the time. “You know what I do.”
“Research. On plants.”
“Rhizomes, specifically. That’s my area of expertise.”
“Which are?”
“A subterranean plant stem that develops axillary buds and grows horizontally.”
I laugh. “Are you telling me you study potatoes?”
A laughing glint enters his eyes. “Those are tubers. Rhizomes are turmeric, ginger. Bamboo.”
“They keep you at Oxford to study bamboo?”
“Oh, God, they love when I study bamboo. The professors get sweaty when I talk about them. They’re the thugs of the flora world. They spread faster than any other plant. Border grass. Chinese lanterns. You should see them when I talk about tansy. They come in their tweed pants.”
I have to laugh at that. “I thought you were a spy or something.”
“Yes,” he says drily. “The government needs someone to study the terrorists known as weeds, destroying every flower bed outside their offices.”
I stick out my tongue at him. “Are you staying the rest of the week?”
“I fly out tomorrow morning.”
“But you just got in last night.”
He shrugs. “My presence is required.”
“For what? Are you meeting with the Queen or something?”
“Yes,” he says with a wink. “She wants to know about the mysterious Daphne Morelli, the famous painter in New York City.”
I snort. “Tell her I’m open for commissions.”
Someone calls his name, and he pats my shoulder and leaves. I continue my quest for a server. Eva will want to make sure they’re circulating appropriately.
Before I find the champagne, I find my mother. She’s trying to make an exit from a conversation with two people I vaguely recognize from other Morelli parties. Her eyes land on me, and I see the moment she decides to use me as her excuse.
“My daughter,” she says to them. “Come this way,” she murmurs when she’s close enough. I fall into step and go with her to a standing table near the stained glass window. “How are you, sweetheart?”
“Good.” It’s an honest enough answer. I’m okay, and I also feel hyper-aware of everyone in here. There’s no way Emerson gets into the reception. The church is one thing. Leo’s house? No. But if he did, if he did. “How did you like the ceremony?”
“It was lovely.” Her tone goes a little flat. “You and your sisters looked beautiful.” She reaches out and fluffs at my hair. “And you seem so…” My mother studies my face, her eyes brighter than they normally are. Sharper. “You seem happy. Do you have news?”
I am practically shaking with anticipation for when Emerson texts me again. That’s what news I have.
