Breathing in deeply, the dark-haired man looked at the ceiling. “My father will be furious . . . and there’s a chance he’ll know I let you out.” His palm rubbed down his face. “Why did I agree to let you out again?”
“Something about wanting a favor from Kain.”
“Right. Maybe he’ll agree to take the beating good ol’ Dad will want to give me, instead.”
I ignored his sarcasm. “Just tell them. She’d like it better if they were there. Let Costello know, too.”
“That definitely won’t happen.”
I’d started to walk away. Now I turned back. “Do you just like being difficult?”
“Yes.” His grin split his handsome face. For a second, it was easy to see that he and Kain were brothers. “But I’m not being a dick. Costello and Fran . . . they don’t get along. Didn’t you realize?”
“She is weird with him, but . . .”
“Fran didn’t invite him to her first wedding. Why would she want him at this half-cocked version?”
Now that he mentioned it, I hadn’t seen Costello at the wedding or the dinner I’d organized. “He must have burned her pretty bad to get so ostracized.”
Hawthorne glanced away. “In a way.”
“Can you tell me what happened?”
“Not my place. Sorry.” I didn’t think he was sorry, but I didn’t argue. I had enough on my plate, I wasn’t ready to dive into more family politics.
Deciding the conversation was over, I walked toward the door. Hawthorne clasped my wrist, halting me so abruptly I stumbled. “Hey,” he said, an uncertainty in his dark eyes that I hadn’t seen before. “Why are you doing this?”
Pulling away, I asked, “What, helping Fran?”
“Not just that—you’re asking for my father to be there to watch. He’s locked you in a room for almost two weeks. I’d want to kick his nuts in, if I were you.”
My head moved side to side. “Even if I did want to hurt him, Fran isn’t part of that. No matter what he’s done, she loves him, she’d want him there . . . and she deserves a happily ever after.”
“A happily ever after,” he mused. His angled brows crawled higher. “If I see my parents, I’ll tell them to come by the gazebo tonight. No promises they will.”
It might have been something in his pose, but I believed him. With a real smile on my lips, I said, “Thanks.”
Hawthorne shrugged into his ears, acting like he didn’t give a shit one way or the other.
I suspected he definitely did.
Night came on too slowly. I was eager to make things happen.
Kain was helping me decorate the gazebo in the backyard. Matilda was on lookout, her job to warn us if Fran came anywhere near us before we wanted her to.
“You know,” he said, hooking a light up on one of the tall beams. He reached it without stretching. “I think we’ve got one small problem.”
I’d stopped working, too busy eating up the sight of him in his tight, white dress shirt that he’d left undone at the collar. Damn, he always looked delicious when he cleaned up.
He caught me staring; I looked away quickly. “What’s the problem?”
“Well . . . don’t we need a priest to officiate this thing?”
A private grin broke out on my face. “Let me tell you a funny story.”
“Ha, all right.” Leaning against the structure, he tied off another light. In the growing evening, the balls blinked like tiny fairies.
Tossing some flowers I’d pilfered from the garden over the beams, I flicked a loose twig away. “Few years ago, I decided to go to New York—design school and all. Wanted to show the world what I could do.” That feels so long ago now. It was a bubble where my father still lived and my mother was still healthy.
Walking down memory lane made my stomach flip, especially when I thought about going for ice cream with Kain. As we’d sat there eating, I’d looked into the store at all the happy families . . . and I’d actually thought that I’d seen my father.
It was impossible, and still, that moment had stayed with me.
But he was dead.
No one came back from dead.
Shaking off the trickle of black mood, I tied off another vine. “My friends wanted to take me out before I left town. We . . . went a little wild.”
“You’ve got my attention.”
Stringing up the last of the long ivy vines, I said, “The short of it is that things got a little crazy.”
“Oh-ho,” he chuckled. “This is getting even better. Tell me this is going to end with you kissing some chick.” Kain inched closer to me, eager for more of my story.
Rolling my eyes, I picked a leaf off of his head. “It ends with me filling out a form online.”
His blank stare said he wasn’t impressed. “Your definition of crazy and mine are miles apart.”
“Shh. The point is that we don’t need a priest.” Bowing dramatically, I flicked my hair so that it whacked him in the chin. “You’re looking at a registered officiant. We don’t need to bring someone else in to marry these two.”
His lower lip stretched out. “Pretty impressive, sugar. I still like my version better, though.”
“Do you think that’s what happens when girls go out and drink? They just start making out?”
“It’s only natural. Scientific, even.”
Reaching out to give him a soft push, I instead found myself being yanked into his arms. Kain dug one palm into my lower back, gliding it down so he was cupping my ass. His other fingers caught my jaw, forcing me to look up at him. “Wha—”
His breath was warm. “You know what I like better than imagining you kissing other girls?” Kain squeezed my hip, nudging his stomach against mine. “Kissing you myself.”
“Psst!” Matilda peeked into the gazebo, her hand tapping the wood like it was Morse code. “Someone’s coming!” She froze, noticing how Kain had me shoved up against one of the wooden beams.
He winked at her, saying, “Delay them for another ten—maybe fifteen minutes.”
“No!” Scoffing, I wriggled out from under him. I hadn’t noticed that he’d unhooked my bra; with Matilda watching with wide eyes, I quickly reached back to snap it together.
Scanning the gardens, I saw a figure coming our way. When I recognized those hard eyes, I stood stone still.
Hawthorne was here.
He nodded at Kain, giving me a side eye. “Where should I stand?” he asked.
I hadn’t honestly expected him to come. “What about—”
“Mom and Dad didn’t seem keen.” He said no more, as if the conversation was over. Biting my lip, I motioned for him to hide around back where Matilda was with Midas. I didn’t know if it was better or worse to have only some of the family.
It was more than I’d expected, but . . . it made it feel emptier, somehow.
Hawthorne trailed behind the gazebo. Over his shoulder, I spotted Midas. He was torn between grinning and fidgeting, his skin slick in the tiny lights woven through the flowers above.
He was wearing—from what I could tell—the same suit he’d had on at the wedding. It was a shame that Francesca wouldn’t have her dress, but surprising her would make it worth it.
Matilda squeaked. “Okay, now she’s coming!”
Fran was making a beeline for the gazebo.