The Langfield Brothers: Box Set

39. Lennox

THIRTY-NINE

LENNOX

“I really think we need something to set us apart from the Kingston wedding.” Across the desk, I meet Rayna’s eye. Then I assess our boss, Serena, who sits beside her. The bride on the phone has been obsessed with one-upping the Kingstons after Melina’s performance at the reception went viral on TikTok.

Serena nods to me, signaling that I should reply, since the bride isn’t aware that she’s on speakerphone. We were in the middle of an office meeting when the woman working up front told us the bride was on the phone, in a tizzy and demanding to talk to me. “I understand where you’re coming from, but your wedding is this weekend. What exactly are you thinking?”

“Elephants.”

The snort that escapes my lips can’t be avoided. I clear my throat loudly, hoping like hell I can recover before she notices and come up with a tactful response. But all I’ve got is “Elephants?”

“Yes, there was that exhibit at the Newport Mansions this summer.” She launches into a monologue about how, if they’re good enough for the gilded town, then they should wow her guests.

Serena is snapping her fingers at Rayna and mouthing for her to pull up the exhibit.

She taps at her phone, then, with a frown, Rayna turns the screen my way. And once again, my surprised squeak can’t be avoided. “They’re not real.”

The bride scoffs. “What do you mean they aren’t real? I heard all about these damn elephants and how magnificent they were from Missy Tomlinson at the club just yesterday.”

I study the statuesque elephants on the lawn in Newport, tilting my head one way, then the other, trying to figure out what they’re made of and ascertain just how heavy they are. Transporting them could be a bitch. “I mean they’re not real. They’re art. Made from—” I snatch Rayna’s phone and scroll so I can read the description out loud. “The sculptures were created by The Coexistence Collective, a community of two hundred indigenous artisans in the Nilgiri Hills of South India. They’re made from lantana camara, an invasive weed that encroaches on wildlife habitats.”

The bride harrumphs. “Well, that’s ridiculous.”

I’m not sure her request for real elephants three days before her wedding is any less ridiculous than these being sculptures, but I don’t argue with her.

Serena leans down and speaks into the phone. “Would you prefer real elephants?”

While my eyes would love to bug out of my head at the question, the bride doesn’t even seem to realize I’m not the one speaking.

“Maybe. What do you think? A real elephant would definitely be cooler than a singer, right?”

Cooler? Maybe. Smelly? Most definitely. Impossible to arrange? Probably.

Once again, Serena replies. “Oh, absolutely. You’d be the talk of the city.”

Rayna covers a snort with a fist to her mouth.

“Yes,” the bride says slowly, as if she’s really thinking about it. “Yes, absolutely. Although…do you think we could find an elephant that doesn’t poop?”

I fold my lips in, doing everything I can not to burst at the seams. No, we can’t find an elephant that doesn’t poop. “That might be why the mansions brought in statues instead.”

“Yes, right. Do you think we should do the statues?”

According to the website, they’re traveling across America this year. It’s an art exhibit. I doubt it’ll be as easy as requesting them, but I can figure out how to let her down once we’re off the phone and I have some time to think about what I can offer instead. “Let me look into it, and I’ll get back to you this afternoon.”

As soon as the bride disconnects, I let out the loudest sigh. “Elephants? Seriously?”

Serena purses her lips, fighting a smile. “Not every event is as glamorous as a child’s birthday party.”

I cough out a laugh. “Yeah, I guess not. What should I do?”

My boss stands up and shrugs. “Horses?”

“Horses poop.” I shake my head. “No animals. Even the puffins pooped on the pastor at the Langfield wedding.”

Both women are chuckling as they head for the door. At the threshold, Serena turns and winks at me. “You’ll come up with something spectacular. I have faith in you.”

At least one of us does.

My instinct is to call Aiden, so I pick up my phone and start to pull up his number. He’ll help me come up with something great.

Before I can tap on his contact icon, it occurs to me that I shouldn’t be bothering him with this. He’s traveling for the preseason, and to be honest, I’m not even sure which city he’s in today. I’m trying to be a big girl, reminding myself that while yes, we are friends who fuck, and I’m really, really enjoying that part of our relationship, I shouldn’t be this attached.

Obviously, the sex is blurring the lines. And his swooniness. He’s just so damn adorable. And nice. Every night since he’s moved in, he gives me another pink peony.

Does he have a stash of them hidden in a fridge somewhere?

Is he growing them on the roof?

Who the hell knows. But even while traveling, he somehow manages to have one delivered daily.

What will happen when that stops? When we get married, and the lawyer turns over the family trust, and we can divorce and move on from this insanity. Will we stop fooling around? Stop kissing? Stop…everything?

Yes.

Obviously, that’s what’s going to happen.

I’ll move out, and he’ll keep the apartment. We’ll remain friends, but it’s not like I can date my ex-husband, so…

Yeah, we’ll be…over.

My chest tightens, and I rub at the ache I can’t ignore.

Thinking about the future is a bad idea. I can’t change any of it, but I can come up with a plan for this wedding. I drop my phone and settle back into my chair. I’ve got a lot of work to do and a lunch date with my mother in—I glance at the clock. Shit, I’m already late. As I’m scrambling, my phone vibrates.

Mom: Can’t wait to see you! Just finishing up a round of tennis with Tacky, so I’ll meet you at the bar.

Awesome. Sounds like I may make it on time after all. I grab my things and hustle toward the door. I’m slightly overwhelmed, but for the moment, I’m feeling upbeat. Right now, my personal life and my professional life are going well. They’re both sources of pride. Even if my relationship is fake. Also, if anyone can think of over-the-top displays of events for a wedding, it’s my mother.

I sit beside my mother and try not to squirm. Across from us is her friend Tacky and Tacky’s son Harvey. For the past five minutes, Tacky has been droning on about Harvey’s latest acquisition. To be fair, he seems about as interested in this obvious setup as I am. The blond tech trader has checked his phone no less than ten times, and we’ve only just placed our lunch order.

While my mother’s meddling is nothing new, this time feels especially devastating. For once, I was actually looking forward to having lunch with her. I was looking forward to spending time with her.

I should have known better.

Short of marrying someone who helps my parents’ social status, nothing I do will ever make them proud.

I’ll never be enough for this woman as I am, and I’m tired of continuously trying to please her.

“Could you excuse me?” I say before Tacky can start on another tangent. Quickly, I remove myself from the table and head for the bathroom. Halfway there, I decide that I need fresh air and make a left toward the lawn.

As I breach the stuffy building, I suck in a breath of fresh air, and without thinking, I pull out my phone.

I said I didn’t need him. Convinced myself that I should stand on my own two feet. But right now, he’s all I want.

I pull up our text thread and immediately type out I miss you . But before I hit Send, that tightness in my chest returns. Should I be texting that? Am I supposed to admit that I miss him? Is this against the rules? We promised that if either of us developed real feelings, we’d say shamrock and it all would end. What if he calls me out on it?

As I’m deleting the message, heels clack against the composite boards of the deck.

“What are you doing out here?”

My mother’s voice grates on me in a way that feels particularly cruel at this moment. I came out here for a break, for the comfort that I’m beginning to realize only Aiden can provide. Instead, I’m about to get a lecture.

“Why did you invite me to lunch?”

My mother swipes at a nonexistent hair on her face and gives me a perplexing glare. “Because I wanted to spend time with you.”

“Then why did you invite Tacky and her son? Why couldn’t we have lunch alone? Why am I never enough?” The last question comes out as almost a whisper. A hiss of emotion I wish I could hide. My mother has never approved of showing vulnerability, so I shouldn’t be surprised by her response.

“You’re making a scene over nothing. Tacky’s son is a wonderful young man, and I’m sure he’s less than impressed after you up and walked away from the table like that. We watched you walk out the door. I—” She shakes her head, as if I’m the one in the wrong. “I just don’t understand you.”

Frustration oozes like a festering sore. “I’m not trying to impress Tacky’s son. I have a boyfriend , mother.”

“Please. You’re not really going to marry that hockey player. Be serious, Lennox.”

“His name is Aiden, and I would be so lucky to marry a man like him.” Truer words have never been spoken. I’d be the lucky one if Aiden really wanted me. If what we were doing wasn’t a sham.

With a roll of her eyes, my mother points toward the door. “This is not a topic we’re going to discuss here. I’m going inside. I expect you to follow.” She doesn’t even wait for me to acknowledge her statement. Like my father, she knows I’ll do what I’m told.

For now, at least.

Too weak to stop myself, I unlock my phone and send Aiden a message, confessing to what I truly need at this moment.

Me: I could really use one of your hugs right about now.

Then I go inside, knowing full well that I won’t get anything I want today.

It’s only four o’clock, but it feels like the longest day of the year. After an unbearable lunch, I spent the afternoon researching last-minute wedding surprises and actively ignoring the fact that Aiden has yet to respond to my text. As I walk into the apartment I share with him, though, I can’t help but feel let down and foolish.

If anything, today is a reminder that I need to pull back from whatever we’re doing. Sex has obviously complicated our arrangement. It’s probably for the best that today happened. Now I can?—

I’m pulled from my thoughts by the sound of my phone ringing. I dig it out of my bag, and my heart stumbles when Aiden’s name flashes across the screen.

“Hi,” I say with a sigh, trying to ignore the way just his name has my stomach doing flips.

“Hi, baby. How’s my girl doing?”

Tears blur my vision as relief, along with another emotion I can’t quite put my finger on overwhelm me. I blink a few times. “I’m okay. Just had a shitty day.”

“Tell me about it?”

I drop my purse on the counter and pull a bottle of water from the fridge. When I spot Luigi and the duck guarding the orange soda and coffee milk, my chest warms with affection. “Just a bride with an impossible last-minute request and my mother being herself.”

“I’m sorry about your mother. As far as the bride goes, I’m sure you’ll figure it out. But if there’s anything I can help with?—”

I cut him off. “Aiden, don’t you have a game?”

“Tomorrow. We finished up early today. I’m sorry I couldn’t reply to you sooner.”

“It’s fine. I shouldn’t have bothered you. I’m not sure why I let my mother get to me like that.”

The doorbell rings, startling me so badly I bobble the phone. “Oh,” I say as I bring it to my ear again. “Someone’s at the door. I hope it’s Millie. I could really use one of her wine breaks right about now.”

Aiden chuckles. “Go on, answer it. You can call me back.”

Even as I walk to the door, I don’t want to hang up. But that’s precisely why I should. Relying on my friends is one thing. Needing Aiden to make me feel whole is another.

“All right. Good luck tomorrow,” I say wistfully.

When I pull the phone away from my face, I realize that Aiden’s already gone. My stomach sinks. That kind of stings. The door is barely cracked when I catch a glimpse of the pink peonies. I pull it open wider and discover the sweetest surprise: Aiden Langfield, wearing a smile. It only gets better as I take him in. He’s holding my favorite flowers and a bottle of wine.

“What are you—” I shake my head and blink back tears. “I thought you were—” Swallowing, I try to catch my bearings. “What are you doing here?”

He holds his arms open, the bouquet in one hand and the bottle in the other. “My girl said she needed a hug.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be in—wait, where are you supposed to be?”

“Cincinnati.”

“ Aiden .”

“C’mere, Lex. I only have an hour before I have to get back to the plane if I want to make it to the hotel before curfew.”

I throw myself into his arms, forgetting every hesitation I’ve been stewing over. Fuck it. I’m so far gone for this man already. He got on a plane and flew home so he could give me a hug. He brought my favorite flowers, my favorite rosé, and flew home. For me. The least I can do is say the words I typed but was too afraid to send. “I really missed you today.”