2. Lark

Chapter two

Lark

I can’t possibly be the first bride-to-be that dreads having to spend time with her fiancé’s parents.

Honestly, it’s not just them. It’s their lifestyle, their home, and everything they represent. I may have been raised in a similarly-wealthy family, but the Hazelwoods have the stuffy, conservative, rich-and-we-know-it attitude down pat.

Thank God Baron doesn’t act the same way as his parents. At least, not all the time. There’s no way I could marry a man so consumed with wealth and status like his father.

I’ve never been comfortable with the money and privilege my family and Baron’s have. It has always felt like a scratchy sweater I can’t take off. That’s probably why I threw myself into sports as soon as my parents relented and allowed me to join some teams. Anything to get away from their world, the one where I never felt like I belonged.

The only thing in that world I have ever wanted a part of was Baron.

It’s why he ended up being my first kiss, my first everything.

My only everything .

When he proposed a few weeks ago, it was a bit of a relief, to be honest. Finally, it was done. We both knew it was inevitable, and waiting for him to pop the question was making me anxious.

Now, I’m starting to wonder if that anxiety wasn’t trying to tell me something…

Over the last year or so, Baron has changed. He stopped agreeing with me when I would rant about how much good our families could do if they chose to use their wealth to help others. He joined a golf club and has been gone most weekends — for business, he claims. His car needed to be “upgraded,” despite being only a year old.

Small things, but noticeable. I used to feel like we were a team, united in our desire to live life differently from our parents. Nowadays, he seems quite content in their world.

It’s left me feeling as though I’m on the outside of our relationship at times, and I’m not entirely sure what to do about it.

Coming around to my side of the car, Baron takes my hand in his. The TAG Heuer watch his father gifted him last year peeks out of the sleeve of his dress shirt. Together we walk up the paved circular driveway to his imposing family home. Tall white pillars loom in front of us with ostentatious planters on either side, each holding a perfectly shaped hedge plant.

The amount of money they must pay just to have their home look like a museum…

“Smile, Lark. You look like I’m taking you to your last supper or something.”

Baron’s attempt at a joke falls flat for me, but I paste on a smile and give his hand a squeeze. “Sorry, just preoccupied, I guess.”

“With what? Isn’t the season over? All you have to worry about is planning the wedding of your dreams.”

Once again, his words don’t land the way I assume he means them to. My defenses go up. “I still have to work in the offseason, you know that. And planning a wedding in three months isn’t exactly easy.”

He pats the hand he’s holding with his other one and smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes, and it certainly doesn’t make me feel any better. “Then just let my mother take care of it. You know she’ll be happy to.”

Yeah. I know Cordelia Hazelwood would love nothing more than to swoop in and take over planning the wedding. I just don’t know if I would be happy with a single aspect of it if she did.

As my fiancé, shouldn’t he want me to be happy, not his mom?

I’m saved from having to reply by the door opening and the appearance of an older gentlemen wearing a crisp white shirt tucked into white pants with a black bow tie.

“Hey, Jefferson,” Baron says, stepping inside as the man gives us a small bow. I give him a smile and am given a slight one in return.

Even though my parents are not exactly what you’d call casual, they don’t have a freaking butler greeting guests.

The older Hazelwoods always like to appear to be a level above everyone else.

I hand Jefferson my coat and follow Baron down the hall, trying not to fidget with the high-waisted dress pants I wore for dinner. I hate dressing up. I have ever since I was a child and my mother chose my clothing every day, forcing me into frilly dresses and uncomfortable shoes. Give me leggings and a T-shirt, or my work uniform of joggers and a Tridents polo any day. But Cordelia insists on a dress code for family dinner, and since I refuse to wear dresses unless absolutely necessary, outfits like the silk blouse and dress pants I have on today are the only acceptable alternative.

I ache to toe off the pointy shoes I stuffed my feet into, but that’s another no-no here. Shoes stay on. And heaven forbid I show up in sneakers. I made that mistake once, early on in our relationship, and the look of horror on Cordelia’s face is not one I’ll ever forget.

Baron’s parents are waiting in the lounge, as they call it. A stuffy room with uncomfortable furniture and a creepy family portrait hanging above the fireplace. Baron squeezes my hand again and gives me a small smile, his eyes glinting. I know exactly what he’s thinking because the memory comes to me every time I see that portrait as well.

It was a Canada Day party two years ago, and we ended up far too drunk, making out in this very room, trying to escape our parents and their friends. Back then, we couldn’t keep our hands off each other.

Unlike now. We might be holding hands, but that’s about as much affection as I can expect from him these days.

But that late afternoon years ago, tipsy on mojitos, we came up with a ridiculous plan to deface the portrait together. His mother really would be improved with a mustache, and his father could really rock a monocle .

Too bad we never went through with the plan.

Too bad we never drank mojitos again.

“Ah, Baron. Lark. There you are, we were wondering if we’d have to tell the staff to delay dinner.” The chiding tone is clear, even as Cordelia sweeps forward with a tight smile.

He gets a hug and an obligatory air-kiss toward his cheek. I get a once-over and then an even more perfunctory air-kiss. Baron Senior shakes his son’s hand and gives me a nod before pulling Baron into a conversation about work. Now that Baron’s head of the finance department at the property development firm our fathers run, it seems all they do is talk shop.

Jefferson enters the room with a silver tray, with two flutes filled with effervescent liquid. Champagne. Not my favourite, but I resign myself to drinking it every time we’re here.

Lately it’s becoming harder to accept just how many things I give in and take, despite being the opposite of my preference. Maybe it’s watching my friends fall in love, I don’t know. But ever since Baron proposed to me, I’ve had this weird feeling in the middle of my chest. This knot of discontent poking at me. Asking questions I’m steadfastly ignoring.

I hear my name and focus on the conversation. Cordelia is looking at me and her displeasure is poorly hidden.

“I’m sorry, what did I miss?” I say, sipping the overly sweet champagne.

“I was informing Baron of our schedule while he’s on his business trip. We don’t have much time to solidify wedding plans, you know. With just over two months until New Year’s Eve, there’s a lot to do. We have a dress-fitting appointment at the Terrence Bovier salon on Saturday, then I’ve set up some time for us to tour the Devereaux Hotel downtown Tuesday night, and cake tasting on Friday. You’ll attend that without me, I’m afraid. I have a ladies’ luncheon at the club.”

It’s a fight not to let my mouth fall open. “I…I had no idea about any of that.”

“Well, of course, you didn’t. I took it upon myself to arrange everything, as Baron told me you were occupied with work.” Her little sniff at the end says everything about how Cordelia feels when it comes to my job with the Tridents. Working for a sports team, even a professional one, is not the career path they would have chosen for a daughter-in-law. If it weren’t for my father and Baron’s father having such a long-standing history, there’s not a chance they’d support our relationship.

Then again, if it weren’t for our family’s connection, there probably wouldn’t be a relationship.

“Wow,” I say, only to have Baron’s hand land on mine, squeezing it tightly.

“What Lark means to say is, wow, Mother, that’s very generous of you to give us your time and energy into wedding planning. I’m sure I speak for us both when I say we appreciate the assistance. What with my trip taking up the next couple of weeks, I was worried about Lark managing it all. It’s great she’ll have your help.”

My teeth grind together. Yeah, great is not the word I’d use. But I know there’s no stopping Cordelia Hazelwood once she starts, which means I’m simply along for the ride.

“Right.” I exhale slowly. “I’ll check with my mother and my maid of honour to make sure they can be there on Saturday.”

“I already discussed the plans with your mother over lunch earlier this week,” Cordelia says calmly, with no acknowledgment of how much she’s overstepping. “Unfortunately, she’s occupied at that time with a commitment with your father, but she wishes us well.”

And that, folks, is my relationship with my mother perfectly summed up. She can’t come wedding dress shopping for her only child, but she wishes me well.

“Oh.”

Baron’s thumb strokes across the back of my hand. A kind, affectionate gesture. He can tell how much that news affects me. I’ve had my entire life to get over the fact that I’ll never be close to my parents, but even so, it hurts to be dismissed like that.

Jefferson announces dinner, and we move into the formal dining room. I’m distracted throughout the meal, something Cordelia definitely notices. But I can’t help it. I’ve felt like I’m on a runaway train for a while now. Like my life is not entirely my own. I’m living it for someone else, not me. And planning this wedding, to this man, has turned up the speed on the train to dizzying levels.

Thankfully, we leave shortly after dessert is cleared away. Baron has a car arriving here to take him straight to the airport for a trip to Ontario to work on some merger or something.

After saying goodbye to his parents, we move outside. He walks me to his car since he insisted on picking me up tonight, despite the fact that he wouldn’t be driving me home. Which wouldn’t be so bad, except he lives a lot closer to his parents than I do. So now I have to drive back to his house, drop off his car, then make my way home.

“If you’d moved in with me already, this wouldn’t be an issue,” he reminded me earlier when I questioned him about coming to pick me up. And he’s not wrong. I’ve been dragging my heels on moving in with him for several reasons.

None of which I wanted to get into with him tonight, especially right before dinner with his parents.

At his car, he leans down and pecks my cheek. “Have fun with Mother. I’m sure everything will be great.”

I stare at him, debating whether or not to point out the obvious — that everything will absolutely not be great.

His mother is going to take over completely and plan the wedding she wants us to have with no consideration for what either of us might want. How he can’t see that is beyond me. But as always, he’s oblivious.

“Baron, I really don’t think —”

“Listen, babe, can this wait? I gotta go, I’m meeting the guys from the office for a preflight drink and I don’t want to be late.”

I bite down on my tongue so hard I worry I’ll draw blood. Drinks with his coworkers apparently trumps my attempt to have a conversation about our freaking wedding.

“Yeah. Sure. I hope your trip goes well.” My voice sounds hollow to my ears, but Baron doesn’t seem to notice.

Instead, all I get is a brief nod as a car pulls up. “Great. We’ll talk soon. I’ll email once I land in Toronto.”

He’ll email. Wonderful. Guess the days of phone sex and constant text messages are over. Oh, who am I kidding? They have been for a while.

He slides into the back seat without another word. No kiss, no hug, nothing.

For a woman who’s meant to be in love, meant to be committing her life to the man driving away from her, I can’t help but feel very, very alone.