The Forever Girl Page 19

  “Hey,” he said with a smile. “I tried to wait up for you last night, but I didn’t make it. Where were you?”

  So he’d noticed she was gone but hadn’t come looking for her. Didn’t seem like a good sign.

  He watched with interest as she wrapped her wet self up in a towel. “Maybe we should get back in bed to discuss this further,” he murmured, reaching for her.

  She put a hand to his chest. “We don’t have time. We’re supposed to meet your mom at the florist this morning, remember? My mom and I already got everything all picked out and paid for, but your mom is insisting on going over everything one last time, like she did at the bakery—which I still don’t even want to know about.”

  “She likes to be thorough and wants to feel involved.”

  “I get that,” she said. “But this is an unnecessary meeting away from my houseguests on a day I don’t need one more thing to do.”

  “I’m happy to do this meeting without you,” he said. “But either way, I’m sure your houseguests understand.”

  He really didn’t get it, and she was starting to think he never would. “For the thousandth time, Dillon, they’re my family. I don’t get enough time with them. I didn’t want to do this today, but I am. Now I’ve got ten minutes before I need to be downstairs.”

  He slid his hands down her body, pulling her to him. “I can make do with ten minutes.”

  Ducking out of his arms, she headed toward the door. “Well, I need at least twenty, and besides, I can’t concentrate on that right now.”

  “Wait, you have to concentrate?”

  Shaking her head, she headed out of the bathroom to go get dressed. She chose a loose, flowy tea-length sundress because she’d shaved only to her kneecaps instead of all the way up. Hell, at this point, Dillon would be lucky to see all the way up ever again. When she headed out of their room and into the hallway, Dillon had left the bathroom. She went back in there and once again opened the bottom drawer, reaching past her lotions and makeup to the pregnancy test.

  It was time.

  Ten minutes later she was downstairs, a little numb. But she was also stunned when she found Heather and Maze waiting for her in the kitchen, a lovely breakfast already spread across the table.

  “Surprise!” Heather said. “A little birdie told me you might appreciate some help this morning.”

  Caitlin looked at Maze, who smiled her real smile, and it warmed Caitlin’s heart. “You did this?”

  “Well, with a lot of help,” Maze said.

  Heather nodded. “She woke me up early and here we are. Sit. You’ve still got five minutes before you’ve got to leave.”

  Jace came into the kitchen from the back door, ducking beneath the door frame so that Sammie, sitting on his shoulders and holding gleefully on to his hair, didn’t hit her head. “Smells amazing. And here’re the doughnuts.” He dropped a bag onto the counter.

  Caitlin’s mouth watered. She hadn’t allowed herself a doughnut since her disastrous dress fitting. “You went to the bakery?”

  “Maze told me which ones to get. Chocolate old-fashioned, your fave, right?”

  “Yes . . .” She shook her head. “Thank you. You guys didn’t have to do all this.”

  “We wanted to,” Walker said, coming in the back door on the heels of Jace and Sammie. He had a platter of sausages fresh off the barbecue. “Sit. Eat. Caffeinate. Sounds like you’re going to need it.”

  He had no idea how much.

  Neither did she. Not until she and Dillon got to the florist half an hour later. He parked in the lot and Caitlin took a deep breath.

  He turned to her with a frown. “You’re already braced for trouble. It’s just a meeting to show my mom what’s being done.”

  “With your mom, it’s never just a meeting.”

  He sighed. “Look, I get that you’re hypersensitive and overly emotional right now, but—”

  Caitlin got out of the car and shut the door on his precious BMW harder than she’d meant to.

  “You don’t have to take your bad attitude out on the BMW,” he said when he’d caught up with her.

  She stopped and faced him. “Truth?”

  His tense expression softened and he stroked a strand of hair off her forehead. “Always, Cat. Always.”

  She thought of the test she’d taken and how she felt about the results. “I’m feeling . . . overwhelmed.” There wasn’t a more truthful statement to be had.

  “Because you’re doing too much,” he said. “Can you at least admit it was a bad idea to have company this whole week? You should’ve put them up in a hotel like I wanted you to in the first place.”

  “It’s not that.”

  He looked like he disagreed, vehemently, but he let it go. “Then let me help you,” he said. “Let me take over some of the stuff. Gimme that crazy binder of yours.”

  “I gave my binder to Maze and she’s done everything I needed.”

  “Then let me take this meeting for you,” he said when her phone buzzed in her purse, as it’d been doing for the past twenty minutes.

  She looked at the phone. “It’s my boss,” she said reluctantly. “I have to take it if I want a job after our honeymoon.”

  One thing Dillon understood was work responsibilities. He brushed a kiss to her temple. “No problem. Take your time.”

  The call with Sara took her fifteen minutes, after which she hurried into the florist shop. She found Dillon, his mom, his aunt Tootie, the florist, and her assistant sitting at a high-top table sipping tea and oohing and ahhing over an opened portfolio.

  Caitlin joined the group and eyed the pictures. The centerpieces were lovely, as were the bridesmaids bouquets and the bridal bouquet, but they were not what she’d ordered. For one thing, there were roses instead of her central theme of white lilies. “Pretty,” she said. “Whose wedding are these for?”

  Her future mother-in-law reached over and patted her hand. “Ours. I took the liberty of making some changes. Dillon said you were too busy and needed help. And of course, I don’t mind.”

  Caitlin turned and looked at Dillon.

  “One thing off your plate,” he said.

  “I told you, my mom and I picked out exactly what I wanted.”

  “But you didn’t have a single rose,” his mom said. “I was sure that was an oversight. Roses are a wedding flower.”

  “Traditionally, maybe, but I’m allergic to roses.”

  “You could take an antihistamine,” Aunt Tootie suggested.

  Caitlin opened her mouth, but Dillon stood and smiled at the table. “Excuse us a minute?”

  “Of course,” the florist said smoothly, clearly sensing a battle. Probably nothing she hadn’t seen before a thousand times. “Take all the time you need.” She rose with her assistant and they moved off.

  Dillon’s mom didn’t move, just looked at her son, concerned. “Is there a problem?”

  “No,” Dillon said.

  “Yes,” Caitlin said at the same time.

  Dillon took Caitlin’s hand in his and then pulled her aside, into a private hallway with mint-green walls and myriad wedding pictures, every one of the brides looking gorgeous and serene and magazine-ready.

  She absolutely could not do gorgeous and serene and magazine-ready with roses.

  “They’re just trying to be involved,” he said, and she realized, staring at him, at the pictures behind him, that he looked gorgeous and serene and magazine-ready.

  Dammit. “I told you I had this,” she said.

  Dillon scrubbed a hand down his face. “Okay, listen. I know you don’t want to believe it, but you’re pushing yourself too hard. I’m worried you’re going to have another breakdown.”

  She sucked in a breath at this. She’d told him about her breakdown in confidence. Okay, so she hadn’t told him, he’d been there. A year ago, just as they’d started dating, she’d gotten stressed and completely overwhelmed. There’d been her dad and the cancer, the work pressure from her unsatisfiable boss, plus
deeply missing Maze, Walker, and Heather, all while not knowing where her future was going, not to mention life. Dillon had come by one night unexpectedly after their second date to bring her flowers—not roses, thankfully—and had found her prone on her floor contemplating life and the dust bunnies beneath the couch.

  He’d gotten her to her doctor, who’d treated her for anxiety. Both the meds and therapy sessions had helped tremendously.

  But it still embarrassed her that it’d happened.

  Dillon was the only one who knew. He had urged her to keep her therapy appointments, had dragged her to the gym with him, and had encouraged her to cut back her insanely unhealthy work hours. And she would be eternally grateful to him for the support. It’d meant so much because she’d been far too humiliated to tell the people closest to her. Even now she couldn’t stand the thought of them finding out that their pillar, their ringleader, wasn’t as strong as they believed her to be. They were the ones who needed her, not the other way around.

  “I’ve been off the meds for six months now and doing good,” she said to Dillon now. “And we agreed to never bring that up again.”

  Dillon sighed. “It’s just that you’re really anxious and stressed, and I’m worried about you. I’m only trying to help, and my mom’s good at this stuff. You were outside on the phone with work when she came up with this new plan, and I said she could run with it.”

  Caitlin stared at him. Find your backbone, Maze had told her. At the time, she’d been insulted, because dammit, she’d never lost her backbone. But in that moment, she knew she had indeed. “You know who else is really good at this stuff, Dillon? Me. And it’s our wedding. You and I agreed on what we ordered.”

  He opened his mouth, but it was his mom who spoke from right behind him. “I was just trying to help.”

  Caitlin ground her back teeth together but did her best to smile. “We still need a minute.”

  “I know, and I get that you’re the bride,” his mom said quietly. Her voice sounded shaky with emotion. “But I’m really just trying to help make Saturday as special as possible. If you don’t want my opinions, I get it. I’m not your mom. So I’ll just back off and leave you both to it, staying out of your life.”

  Oh, great. Now she felt like a first-class asshole bridezilla. To make it worse, his mom produced a tear. A single tear that ran slowly down her cheek. She sniffled and opened her purse to look for a tissue.

  “Mom.” Dillon looked pained as he put his arm around her. “Don’t cry.”

  “I’m not asking you to stay out of our lives,” Caitlin said.

  “Of course not,” Dillon added.

  His mom sniffed. “I’m so sorry. I really never meant to overstep.”

  “We know,” Dillon said, and gave her a squeeze. Over his mom’s head he looked at Caitlin entreatingly.

  Oh, for God’s sake. Caitlin took a deep breath. “Maybe we can find a compromise to make everyone happy.”

  His mom gave a tremulous smile. “That would be amazing.”

  “Mom, just give us another minute, okay? After this, we’ll go get that coffee you love downtown.”

  His mom brightened even more. “With that sweet coffee bread from the bakery?”

  “Yes,” Dillon said. He waited until his mom had moved off. “Thanks,” he said to Caitlin softly. “I know she can be a bit much, especially with my dad gone, but she’s my mom, you know? She came in today for a nice time with us. You’ve been so busy that we’ve been ignoring her, and I think her feelings are hurt.”

  “Well, so are mine.”

  Dillon let out a deep breath. “Let’s just go back to the table and sign off on this stuff and then get out of here. We can talk about this later.”

  Later. Quickly becoming the story of her life. She nodded and they moved back to the table, where the florist and his mom were still bent over the portfolio, oohing and ahhing. His mom looked up at Dillon with sweet love in her eyes. “Everything okay now, darling?”

  “Of course.”

  He shifted aside for Caitlin to get in closer. While he was turned away, his mom’s eyes landed on Caitlin. Not surprisingly, the sweet love in her eyes was gone, but she kept her voice light. “You know what the saying is, when you marry a man, you marry his family.”

  Yeah, she was starting to get that. “We’re still not having roses,” she said, possibly too loudly, because everyone in the shop turned to stare at her. Right. She needed to use her inside voice . . .

  “I hear you on the roses and I’ll handle it, but, babe . . .” Dillon leaned in and whispered, “you’re making this really uncomfortable.”

  “I’m making this uncomfortable?” She stared at him, hurt, pissed off, and, worse, far too close to tears. “The wedding’s supposed to be about the bride,” she said, and when he opened his mouth to say something, she pointed at him. “You told me that, Dillon, right after you asked me to marry you. We talked about what kind of wedding we wanted. You said you wanted whatever I wanted, and I said I wanted something small, intimate, cozy, and simple.”

  Dillon nodded. “And that’s what we’re doing.”

  “Are you kidding me? The invite list is up to two hundred. How is that simple?”

  “We’ve got a large family,” his mom said. “There was no way to cut people out without hurting feelings. Look, dear. Look what our darling florist has available for the centerpiece at the wedding party’s table. Isn’t it gorgeous?”

  Caitlin eyed the very large, admittedly beautiful, but way over-the-top, centerpiece—complete with roses—and lost track of her inside voice. “Yes, and you should use it if you ever get married again.”

  There was an awkward silence, and Caitlin drew a deep breath, realizing Dillon was right about one thing. She was feeling far too overly emotional. She’d worked hard on this wedding to give everyone what they wanted. And she’d done it; she’d actually managed to work in everyone’s thoughts and opinions—well, except for the effing roses.

  “You know what?” She shook her head. “I’ve got no idea why I’m so worked up over this, I really don’t. It’s just flowers, and they’ve got nothing to do with how our marriage is going to be, right? I mean, what does it matter that I’m probably going to walk down the aisle carrying the only flower I personally loathe because even the scent makes me sick—”

  “Okay.” Dillon stood and put his hands on her arms. “I think we might need another minute to collect ourselves.”

  “No. No ‘we’ . . . just me.” She grabbed her purse. “I’m going to go collect myself by myself, thank you very much.”

  “Hey,” Dillon said gently, following her to the door, pulling her around to face him. “I’m sure we can find a compromise. She’s hurting right now, Caitlin. You know it’s the tenth anniversary of my dad’s passing.”

  Shit. No, she hadn’t put that together, and now she felt like a complete asshole. “I’m sor—”

  He kissed her softly. “No, don’t be. I’m sorry too. We can talk more. After coffee with Mom.”

  She drew a deep breath. “You two go. I’ll see you at home later, okay?”

  He looked at her for a long moment, then reluctantly nodded. She stepped outside into the nice, warm, sunny day and slid on her dark sunglasses. She walked across the lot and eyed the dandelions growing in abundance out of a crack in the sidewalk. “You ladies would be more welcome than roses,” she told them.

  They didn’t respond.

  She thought she heard footsteps right behind her, so she slowed, thinking it was Dillon coming after her. He probably wanted to say of course she should have the flowers she wanted, but no one was there. She could see him, though, in the huge picture window of the shop. He was back at the high-top table talking to the florist and his mom.

  Deep breath.

  It was going to be okay.

  She was marrying him because they were meant to be. He loved her. She knew how good she had it, that other than the unmeasurable loss of Michael, her childhood had been better than goo
d. She’d always had people who’d loved her. Her life was practically a fairy tale.

  So why then didn’t it feel that way anymore? Why did she feel like she was the one struggling to belong? Why did she suddenly feel trapped in this life, that the wedding was happening to her instead of for her?

  Pulling out her phone, she texted Maze with a 911. Because even though she and Maze were still finding their footing, she knew one thing for certain: she’d be there for Caitlin through thick and thin, through roses versus dandelions, through anything and everything, no matter what.

  Chapter 18

  Maze’s maid of honor to-do list:

  —Do not lose track of the flight risk—er, bride.

  When Maze’s phone buzzed, she tossed it to Heather because she was busy driving, and her piece-of-crap 1972 VW Bug was acting up today more than usual. It always did after a rain, and it’d rained for a whole five minutes around dawn, which meant opening the hood and drying off the distributor cap before expecting the thing to even start. “What does the text say?”

  “It’s another 911 from Caitlin,” Heather said, worried.

  Shit.

  “You should hurry.”

  Maze patted her dashboard. “She’s going as fast as she can.”

  They’d hopped in the car as soon as Maze had gotten the first 911 text. Walker and Jace were watching Sammie. Maze and Heather were the cavalry. So she drove and tried to clear her mind of the images of Walker from the time she’d spent with him in the middle of the night. On the bluffs above the lake. On the hood of his car.

  Good Lord. She didn’t have enough brainpower to process any of that, including how she felt about it. She’d told him she was a one-and-done, and she’d meant it. But the memory of his hands on her . . . and his mouth . . . “Gah,” she said out loud. That was absolutely the last time.

  Heather glanced over. “What?”

  “Nothing. Ignore me. But FYI, boys are dumb and confusing and too sexy.”

  Heather laughed. “Truest thing you’ve ever said.”