“No.” My voice cracked.“No. I can’t.”
“Well, you know your father and I will support you, whatever you do.”She squeezed my hand.“Follow your heart, Lacey. Your heart beats with the ancient wisdom of Mother Earth, and it sings in symphony with the dust of stars. It’s very important to remember that, especially since you’re a Taurus.”
For a moment I wished that my mom were still the kind of person who would have cut that speech off at‘follow your heart,’ but no matter what silly stuff my mom spouted, I was lucky to have her, and grateful.
‘Follow my heart.’ Yeah.
I just wished my heart had provided me with a map so I’d know where the hell it was leading me.
ELEVEN
The sun through the window brought out the gold in Grant’s hair, lighting him up like an angel. It softened the lines of his face, too, or maybe it was sleep that did that—made him look so young, so sweet, so vulnerable. I lightly traced the lines of his face and neck, not wanting to wake him. Needing to touch him nonetheless.
This was the man I would marry today.
We hadn’t had sex last night; just cuddled. And talked. Talked for hours. I loved the way he said my name. I loved the the way he talked in the darkness about all the things he couldn’t in the light of day, all his insecurities and worries and dreams.
I loved the way he stroked my hair until I fell asleep.
I loved— I loved him.
There. I said it.
I slipped out from under the covers as quietly as I could to avoid disturbing him, and stole just one more moment looking at him asleep. The line and shape of him under the sheets, his arm thrown carelessly overhead, his mouth hanging slightly open as if there were one more thing he had left to say. I savored one last look at that beautiful face—those eyelashes, so long and fine, that skin I knew the feel of so well.
I very nearly kissed him goodbye, but I told myself I’d be back before he even knew I was gone.
? ? ?
I stepped through the doors of the Mandarin Oriental Hotel and into their dramatic Italian travertine marble lobby, trying not to feel like I was trespassing. I had a perfect right to be here; Portia had, through an amount of wrangling, backroom deals, and downright threats that I did not even want to think about, reserved the hotel’s event space for our wedding. So what if that wasn’t for another several hours? I didn’t want to get married in a strange place.
Staff and security did double-takes as I glided by, starting forward as if to eject me from the premises before recognizing me and performing an about-face. I glided unmolested up the striking grand staircase, outfitted with curved glass and mapa burlwood veneer. Whatever else our wedding was, it was certainly going to be fashionable as hell.
On the second floor, preparations were in full swing.
Sunlight streamed through the large windows, letting in the sounds of the waking city. Fresh daffodils and irises were being cut and placed in vases around the California Room, their bright colors offsetting nicely the tasteful beige and white décor. White tablecloths were being shaken over tables, chefs were barking out lists of ingredients, bottles of wine were being carted in by the truckload.
So many people! They were doing this all for us. They were doing this all…for me.
For a lie.
Guilt crashed over me like a tsunami wave, drowning me in self-recrimination. This was all fake. This was all nothing. Oh God, I wanted it not to be, I wanted it to be real, I wanted to be able to stand here knowing that Grant and I were really going to be married, that he really loved me, that we were going to spend the rest of our lives together— I couldn’t. I couldn’t do this to him. I couldn’t nod and smile and pretend to have nothing more than lust and friendship for him, and all the while be stewing in my own loss and grief.
I couldn’t spend months—or maybe it would even be years before we could convincingly amicably separate—mooning after him, taking the scraps of affection he could give. Waiting up nights wondering why I couldn’t make him love me, feeling resentment start to wear its way into my heart. I would start twisting my own feelings around until I hated Grant as much as I loved him, for not loving me back.
And I didn’t ever want to hate Grant again.
I ran downstairs as fast as my feet could carry me. I wasn’t thinking; just operating on autopilot. My mission: save Grant.
“Excuse me,” I said breathlessly to the woman at the desk. “Can I leave a note with you for my fiancé? Grant Devlin? He should be here later.”
“Certainly, ma’am, and congratulations, we’re all so excited to be hosting—”