by JL Mac
“You’re right,” she giggles and sniffles a little more. “Sneak a shot with me?” She arches her brows and though my guts shrink back in revulsion, my brain reminds me that hair of the dog might just be what the doctor ordered. My college days aren’t that far in the past. I’ll have to make mimosas in the morning for us to enjoy while we get ready for the ceremony. Meeting Sylas with booze simmering through my veins is far better than meeting him sober. Or at least it sounds like a solid plan. I grin and like a couple of teenaged girls we sneak over to our parent’s liquor cabinet and each take a generous gulp straight from the bottle.
“Let’s do this,” she whispers then blurts out a nervous giggle. I tuck the booze away and tap the button on my keys, unlocking the clown car for the belle of the ball.
The Palmetto Grove Country Club is hardly The Plaza, but it’s certainly beautiful and it’s a big deal around here, if nowhere else. The grounds are sprawling and well kept with a perimeter dotted with showy, massive magnolias and oak trees dripping with moss. The clubhouse is classic with its polished wood floors and wood-paneled walls. The ballroom is fairly large and boasts several original crystal chandeliers that capture rays of light slicing into the space through multiple slender floor to ceiling windows lined along two of the walls. The heavy crystals hanging in tiers scatter glittering light across the floor making the room fill with shimmering, nearly magical light. It’s the nicest wedding venue for fifty miles around. In short, while it’s not Manhattan ritzy it’s Palmetto ritzy, and I was happy to book it on Ellie’s behalf. Actually Bethany booked it but that’s neither here nor there. Point is, my sister is getting married here today, and I am pleased with it despite the fact that this soiree is not taking place on a lovely beach in the Bahamas far away from Louisiana and Sylas Broussard
The small room outfitted specifically for brides to do last minute primping is crowded with me, mom, Ellie, our cousin Raven, our other cousin Tanya and best friend growing up, Liza. The nervous energy in this space is nearly enough to make my mask slip. I peek out the door to see if we are almost set to practice the walking bit. “Reverend James is still talking to dad and Doug,” I announce as I turn back to the room. They’re all looking at me a little nervously.
“Uh… do I have food in my teeth or something?” I laugh, my eyes dart between all of them.
“Go on,” our mom says quietly, motioning her chin my direction. Ellie nods and swallows roughly, her neck working with effort. It instantly reminds me of being a kid in trouble.
“Rae, um… I was meaning… to tell you… I mean… I should have already but… I mean you’re you and I’m me and… it’s hard and you’re scary sometimes,” she pouts like she did when we were kids. “It’s hot in here,” she fans her face and cracks the lid on a bottle of water, guzzling half of it down. I fold my arms and narrow my eyes.
“Spill it.” She groans loudly and turns away from me. “Ellie,” I warn.
“Sy is Doug’s best man,” she blurts out. Sy. The Sy. My Sy. How did I miss this little detail?
You didn’t think to ask, you selfish bitch, Self-Loathing explains coolly, and she’s not wrong. The witch.
“I was afraid you wouldn’t come if you knew. I’m rotten, I know but… Doug told me he would have wanted Teddy to be his best man but since he can’t obviously, he said Sy was his second choice. Sy has done a lot for Doug the last few years and all. You know how close Chick and Sy and Doug and Kyle all were growing up,” she rattles on and I want very badly to shake the shit out of her but the professional shit show handler in me calls that part of myself to heel like a petulant puppy.
I can handle this one of two ways. I could come unglued on my sister and ruin this moment by acting like a bitter, immature girl-woman which would immediately give away how hung up on the past I actually am or I can be the buttoned up professional badass that I am particularly when I am stuck with someone whom I consider the enemy. Sylas Broussard is definitely the enemy.
“Yes,” I say evenly, nodding my head measuredly. “You should have told me weeks ago because I would have put you out of your obvious misery by letting you know that Sylas Broussard is just a guy from ages ago. No bad blood. No ill will. We’re all adults here and this is your wedding. Nothing could ruin how happy I am for you,” I smile my best smile—the one I use for press kit headshots and look at the women in front of me one by one, selling my lie with a cool demeanor. My heart is thrashing around in my chest like a trophy tuna on a boat deck but they don’t need to know that.
I have to be on Sylas’ arm two days in a row. Fuck.
I mentally attempt to confer with my inner circle for input but apparently they’re all collecting their thoughts. “Anything else I need to know?” I take a pointed look at Momma. She puts up a finger and steps forward to say something but she’s cut off by the reverend.
“Ladies, we’re ready,” the reverend’s muffled voice calls from outside the door. Momma snaps her lips shut.
“We’ll be right out,” I shout back. “We’ll talk in a bit,” I nod to Momma who gives me a return nod. “You heard the man.” I say syrupy sweet with a megawatt smile dialed up to a ten. I turn to the door and open it absently wondering where the hell I left my antacids. A gust of cool air wafts my way, carrying with it the scent of one very sharply dressed Sylas. He’s standing in front of the arched entrance to the large room where the ceremony and reception will take place, looking directly at me. Dad, Doug, Chick, Will, and Kyle are lined up in their appropriate order behind Sy. I breeze over to him hating that I’ll have to touch him, smell him, feel him so close to me. He crooks his elbow my direction and I slip my arm in place doing my best to ignore the whirl of butterfly wings in my belly. Reverend James begins coaching us all through the rehearsal and we are prompted to walk painfully slow down the long cream carpet leading to where the altar will be tomorrow.
“Sylas, good to see you again,” I say politely with a genial smile on my face which feels awkward and out of place more than it normally does.
“I don’t believe that at all.” Sylas looks down at me beside him but I keep my eyes forward, my smile in place, my gait deliberate and smooth.
“Suit yourself,” I say through my teeth, like a ventriloquist.
“You having a good birthday so far, Rae?” I have to fight the urge to roll my eyes at him.
“I’ve had better,” I murmur quietly.
“Never said that to me before,” he chuckles.
“Always so clever aren’t you Sylas?”
“Only when I need to be,” he whispers leaning closer to me, his breath tickling the tiny hairs behind my ear. Goosebumps sprout up along my body and Sylas rubs his free hand down my forearm grinning. It’s an intimate gesture, and it has my stomach flipping over itself.
“Are you cold, Rae,” he teases in response to the goose bumps he instigated. We stop at the altar and turn toward one another before stepping into our places with our eyes locked.
“Artic,” I deadpan without missing a beat.
“Now that, I believe,” he whispers, his smile faltering then fading completely. Everyone else takes their places and I do my job as best I can trying to be perfect for Ellie but my eyes keep finding their way to a dark gaze—a pensive stare that has stayed on me the entire time Reverend James walks us through what the ceremony will consist of tomorrow.
We’ve all had our fill of steak and shrimp and drinks here at The Blue Oyster, the only place in Palmetto Grove that I’d consider high end dining—and that is just by comparison to the other dining options. I push the grilled shrimp around on my plate and allow myself to get lost in thoughts of work. I’ll have a pile of things needing my attention the minute I get back to DC. It’s far better to think about the campaign and my team than it is to linger on the man across from me who has cut his gaze my direction at every opportunity.
Someone clearing their throat rips me from my mental escape and I focus my attention to the head of the table where my future brother-in-law is
standing tall and practically glowing with happiness and love, mirroring Ellie at his side. “I just wanna say thank y’all so much for being a part of our big day and for being so supportive. I’d have nothin’ without y’all and Ellie. I’m proud to have each of you here and damn proud to finally make this woman my wife tomorrow,” Doug says holding his beer up for a toast. Everyone whistles and hoots and cheers for them with murmured, “Cheers!”
“We love y’all!” Ellie contributes on a shout and we all drink heartily from our glasses to the happy couple but inside I’m in hives. A group of waiters round the corner into the party dining area Mom reserved for the rehearsal dinner. The one in front is carrying a birthday cake.
Nooo, Anxiety leaps to her feet.
“Happy birthday to you,” they all begin singing with their eyes trained on me. I force a smile and glance at Ellie who is bouncing up and down on her toes grinning and clapping her hands. I nod and look down at the carrot cake that has been placed in front of me, silently thanking god that there are not twenty-eight candles ablaze. I don’t need another reminder of the stupid pact Sylas and I made when we were utterly in love teenagers. I feel his eyes on me and almost as though I have no control, I lift my eyes to find him sitting across the table from me not with an arrogant smirk on his face, as I would have expected, but a gentle smile and a look of sadness in his eyes, which is worse than a smirk. The sight makes my throat clog with unshed tears. A surge of emotion envelops me, remembering the boy I had once loved so completely and the girl I used to be and how it all fell so hopelessly apart.
The people around us finish singing to me and I blow out the single candle on top of the cake. The servers begin plating slices of cake and everyone gets back to their respective chattering. “Excuse me,” I say to no one as I slip away from the room unnoticed… mostly. Anxiety is really kicking up dust for me and some space is essential. I hurry across the restaurant to the hall leading to the bathrooms. I have never been so fucking happy to be in a public restroom in my life. I sag against the tiled wall and press my hand to my flushed cheeks, willing my heart to let loose a little. I can’t survive this trip if this is what I am going to deal with every time I am breathing the same air as Sylas. He’s a potent reminder of every good and terrible thing about my past. I take a final cleansing breath then swing the bathroom door open only to face the cause of all my distress. He doesn’t say anything. He isn’t grinning. He isn’t cracking jokes. He’s just staring at me. I take three steps further down the hall so I am directly in front of him. He leans against the wall and I stare back at him. Here in this empty space, in this silent moment, so much is spoken without uttering a word. So much is felt without the use of hands and I hate that I have to admit it to myself but true to form, Sylas is a bully, always has been and he has forced me to feel this… this… whatever it is.
“Want some cake?” he asks simply, his voice soft and low.
“I don’t normally like to indulge,” I say quietly somewhat entranced by the moment.
“In all areas of life?” he asks in a voice gone so husky and low that it sends a tendril of desire curling through my belly like a column of sweet cigar smoke.
“That’s a bit beyond your purview now don’t you think, Sylas?” I counter haughtily, but it isn’t genuine, not with the desire hearing his voice has spawned in me.
“Is it?” Slowly, he leans forward peeling his tall, muscular frame from the wall and comes to me. He’s close enough for the scent of him to encase me in hypnotic notes distinctly woodsy and clean and something uniquely Sylas. The memory of that same scent on my own skin tickles at the back of my mind, daring me to remember it well, like I know I could if I chose to.
“Well, let’s see,” I hum out as I tap my index finger against my chin. “The last time we spoke before this trip was when you stood in my parent’s front yard and screamed screw you, Raegan Potter.” I wrinkle my brow pretending to not quite recall, when in truth I remember that day with absolute clarity. He’d cursed my name and had been dragged away by his dad. Immediately afterward, I had smashed our iPod on my bedroom floor under the heel of the pumps I’d worn to homecoming our senior year. Sy was gone the very next day, and I followed soon after when my freshmen year at Northwestern University had begun.
“No. That’s not what I said. I yelled fuck you, Raegan Potter,” he smirks.
“Hmm, I suppose I’d forgotten.” I make a disinterested humming noise and survey my nails for flaws I won’t find. On the outside I am calm but my heart is thrashing so violently in my chest I fear someone may hear it banging away at its housing.
“Yeah, maybe so. Still, you should indulge a little, don’t you think?” he says, inching closer still, his rich irises glittering with unspoken things that have a Rolodex of memories fluttering round and round in my mind. They’re memories of sweet moments filled with tentative touches and unsure hearts caught in a time that makes me think they may as well be from another dimension. “You could use a little filling out here and there,” he regards me head to toe.
“I’m no heavier or thinner than I was in high school and I never heard you complain back then.”
“That’s the truth,” he rumbles low, his gaze slowly skating over my body coaxing goose bumps to the surface of my skin.
With his body scarcely an inch from mine. He tilts his head and my heart freezes completely. He lifts his hand and brushes his warm skin across my jaw. He drags the pad of his thumb across the apple of my cheek then lifts it for me to see a small smear of cake icing. I watch, spellbound as he dips his thumb into his mouth, sucking the cake frosting off his own skin. He lifts my hands, surveying them for where the fluffy concoction came from. In a hurry to escape the dining table I must have brushed the back of my hand against the frosting because on my hand is a smatter of icing. “Indulge a little Rae,” he demands low. Frozen in place by his presence looming so dark and tempting and familiar somewhere in my mind, a distant part of me is horrified to watch him lift my hand to his lush mouth. I watch mystified as his tongue darts out and leisurely licks and kisses away the icing from my skin, his eyes never leaving mine.
“That should be us in there,” he murmurs solemnly between kisses.
Yes, Optimism wheezes.
He rolls my hand upward and presses his mouth into my palm, depositing a reverent kiss there. Wetness pools in my center and if we weren’t in public at this moment, I think I would already be clawing at his shirt and pants. He presses my hand to his chest, holding it there while his other hand grips my hip firmly.
My inner circle have all fainted, their folding chairs toppled, their bodies in heaps on the floor.
“Mmm,” he hums appreciatively. “So good,” he whispers.
“That’s ridiculous,” I whisper, ignoring his praise.
“Is it?” He pulls me closer. My body draws forward without protest like an invisible tether still links us.
Maybe it does.
Heat from his skin burns through his clothing and leaches into mine causing every wanton nerve ending to stand on end waving for his attention.
“Stop it,” I demand raggedly.
“Not a chance, Snow. We made a deal. You promised me.” He brushes his thumb across my jaw and down my neck and to my secret horror my eyes slip shut and I lean into him, not only welcoming his ministrations but also silently pleading for more. “Why isn’t that us in there?” he asks, breathing softly against my ear with one big hand cupping the other side of my face. His words are ice water on the fog of desire building between us.
“Have you forgotten?” I whisper leaning away from him to look him squarely in his cruelly beautiful eyes. His question, rhetorical or not spawns a torrent of anger inside me, replacing the lust that was just marinating my brain until it was pliant mush for Sylas to play with. “You left. You didn’t choose me. You didn’t choose us. You left,” I accuse as I widen the space between us until only my hands remain tucked in his. “You left me when you swore you wouldn’t.”
&nb
sp; “That all that happened?” His honey eyes study my face as he employs that persuasive look that normally disarms me, opens me up for him to read every line.
“That was enough.” I shake my head, tug my hand from his grasp and turn away.
“Yeah, well, you made me a promise and I’m not about to let you renege.” He shrugs.
“You made promises too. I guess we’re both liars,” I mutter on my way down the hall.
“Rae,” he calls. “I brought you a little birthday gift,” he says smiling. He bends down, picking up a black gift bag from the floor at his feet. He hands it to me and nods, waiting for me to open it. Moving tissue paper aside I gasp and feel my cheeks burn bright at the sight of the bra—my bra that I left at Chick’s place neatly folded in the bottom of the gift bag. I stuff the tissue back in place and I march out of there before this madness between us spirals any further. I should actually turn and thank him for saying and doing the exact right thing to wake me up and fuel my Blind Rage—to remind me of everything that hurt. It’s safer to be angry with him than it is to miss him so desperately my chest aches when I stop to consider my life for longer than two seconds. He’s the reason for all my pain, even if he has no idea my wounds exist. I know they exist. I feel them, carry them with me every day, and struggle against their bulky, burdensome weight.
