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She folds her hand, the massive engagement ring and matching wedding band on her left hand clinking against the glass countertop with the motion. “I’m Angela. I manage the shop when Louise isn’t around. Maybe there’s something I can help you with?”
Maybe. I pull out the crumpled card I stowed in my front pocket. “I had a question about this.”
I have a question about who the hell else my husband is sending flowers to.
As though subtly showing off her rings—and making me almost want to flash the tattoo on my finger right back at her—she stretches out her left hand, waggling her fingers.
I pressed the card into her palm.
Angela takes it, running her gaze over the message. And then, to my surprise, she grins.
“Ah. So you’re the lucky lady.”
“What?”
“Mrs. Crewes, right? Lincoln’s wife.”
I nod. “I find this is the bouquet that arrived for me this morning.”
“Well, that was a mistake. The runner who picked up the bouquet today was supposed to hand that off to the housekeeper.”
My stomach goes tight. Mona knew, too?
It finally dawns on Angela that while she’s happily chatting away, my world is falling apart. Not only is Link is setting up a second floral arrangement for God knows who, but Mona has been helping him hide it from me.
She tilts her head, hair falling over her shoulder. “You know, I mentioned it to my husband. When we were planning our wedding, he knew better than to think about having any input when it came to the flowers. I’m somewhat of a hobby botanist, you know, and I had connections with Louise. He handled food, and I did flowers. I couldn’t understand a bride who didn’t want to have a say in her own floral arrangements.”
Um… what?
“Floral arrangements?” I echo.
“Right. That’s what the note was about. He had very explicit instructions about what kind of arrangements you two were going to have at your wedding in September.”
What wedding, I wonder. Because, as far as I know, we already had our quickie wedding back at Judge Callihan’s.
Angela realizes that I have no idea what she’s talking about a few seconds later. Gasping softly, wincing, she covers her mouth with her hand. “Whoops. I forgot. Lincoln said it was a surprise.”
“A surprise?” I echo weakly. “What do you mean, surprise?”
She shakes her head. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”
Probably not, but now that she has… “What exactly did my husband say?”
I can see the war playing out on her features. Does she piss off the Devil of Springfield—or piss off his wife, and have to deal with him anyway?
“He might’ve mentioned something to my husband about giving you the big church wedding you missed out on by eloping. I guess, since me and Mace eloped, too, doing the courthouse thing, he wanted some advice on hosting a second wedding before God or something like that. He said it’s been taking up all his time, but it was worth it for his wife.”
Oh.
Oh.
Honestly, that is something we talked about. Not recently, but years ago. Even though we were “living in sin” at eighteen, Link was adamant that we’d get a priest to marry us when we finally said ‘I do’. Being the silly little girl I was, I wanted the poofy white dress, the pomp and circumstance—
—and theflowers.
Oh…
NINETEEN
