Chapter Twenty-Six

Julia

The bride and groom stand at the altar, where Healer Arynne walks them through the vow portion of the ceremony. We're t-minus seventeen minutes until the rehearsal party portion kicks off, and there haven't been any more disasters. Major or minor. Zoe comes up behind me, dressed in a pair of slacks and a tangerine button-down, her hair neatly arranged in a chignon.

She always manages to add personal flair to her mandatory dress code outfits.

During my rise in the ranks at Love, Always, I started requiring my wedding staff to wear professional dress for the main events. Slacks, clean lines, hair secured so it can't get untidy. It set our team apart in the crowd, and also helped signal we were officially in business mode.

I've changed into pin-striped slacks and a white button-down.

Classic. Boring. Exactly the kind of ensemble you'd expect, but that deep down makes me chafe.

I flit my eyes away from Healer Arynne's still-red-rimmed-from-crying eyes to glance over the rest of the wedding party. All present and accounted for, all mostly presentable. Cash still has the scabbing burn on his forehead, but he is expected to allow us to cover it by whatever means necessary (besides trucker hat) tomorrow for the ceremony. No protests.

When my eyes land on Piper, it's no surprise to me that she's checking me out. Her expression is equal parts guarded attraction and outfit scrutiny.

Part of the transformation I went through while dating Piper was a massive wardrobe makeover that struck as much Julia Kelley flair from my closet as humanly possible. I kept telling myself it was for the good of my career—no bride wants a wedding planner who stands out in the crowd. Draws attention.

I convinced myself that imposing that same dress code on everyone around me was the way to ensure I stood out as a leader. But anyone who knew me before will remember how decidedly more punk rock I once was. Not unprofessional, but always with an edge. A dagger earring. A pair of studded leather booties. More unexpected patterns, way less beige.

When I was working my way to a lead planner position—first pick of weddings, access to more resources—my overall vibe was a deterrent for some of the more vanilla clientele. Beverly Hills elite aren't exactly the most open-minded of individuals. I wasn't keen on changing to suit their comfort levels, and wouldn't have without the subtle, steady encouragement of my girlfriend.

Why don't we go shopping? Piper would ask, and then every item I picked would get feedback to push it in the direction she felt I needed to go. My success at Love, Always wasn't just a reflection on me. Piper was quietly out among her main circle of associates, but not anyone with ties back to her family. She was happy to wield her queer card when it would get her entry into circles that didn't trust her Connecticut Elite pedigree and the hefty dose of privilege that came with it. And turning us into a power couple was a means to at least one of her ends.

"Apparently, the video is losing traction already," Zoe says, drawing me out of my stewing revelry. "I had to ply her with dark chocolate to get her onstage."

"How's the social media ban going?" I say between gritted teeth. "Any updates from Bruno?" Her nostrils flare in amusement.

"He hid her phone," she replies. "I didn't ask how he pried it from her grip."

"I don't want to know." We both chuckle.

Kit suggested that Zoe might know I'm starting my own agency, and a part of me is dying to ask her.

To see how she reacts.

She's smart, probably much better at social media than me, and it's more than plausible that she figured out why I created the second account.

Even if Zoe wanted to come with me, I wouldn't be able to hire her right away. Even though the six-month noncompete in my contract is difficult to enforce in California, I am still planning to take that time to get all my ducks in a row. I've been saving for years to get to the point where I can quit, invest in the start-up, and also not go totally broke and have to move back in with my dad and stepmom.

There's no real wedding season in LA, but winter is the slowest time of the year by far, which is why the Morgan-Hayden wedding is so important. It's my last wedding before I give notice, but also it's the perfect inroad to influencers and young LA talent because of Millie's brand. When I'm up and running, this last wedding will be a great jumping-off point to gain new clients.

I look from the altar to movement at the entrance on the other side. Kit isn't obligated to arrive until the cocktail hour. I hate to admit there's still a part of me that worries she's going to bail.

But there she is, eyes searching the room until they land right on me.

And all my fears fall quiet.

The sherbet sky has turned the inside of the tent into a glowing poppy-orange hue. The colorful light dancing over her soft creamy skin makes her look even more ethereal. She's changed into a champagne pink dress that hits at the knees, coupled with a warm-toffee blazer. Her sleeves are casually rolled up to reveal a satin pink pin-striped lining that matches the color of the dress, and on her feet she's wearing Tory Burch ballet flats. She's got a few pieces of gold and crystal jewelry strung around her neck, dipping toward her full chest; her hair is wavy and loose, touchable.

Her eyes search the tent. God, I hope she's searching for me.

"You may now kiss your almost bride," Healer Arynne says, as cheers erupt from around the tent. I look back just in time to see her stifle a hiccup, her face an accordion of barely contained emotion.

Zoe steps into action, crossing behind the altar and up to Healer Arynne in a blur of tangerine, fitting her arm around the folds of her brightly colored caftan and pulling her briskly away.

Millie and Sean pass me on the river rock–covered aisle walkway; her blissful grin is all the assurance I need that this wedding will be a success.

I'm further gratified when I notice that Blythe and Evelyn are huddled together near their chairs in a joyous, tear-filled display. Blythe offers Evelyn a hanky and Evelyn lets her head drop to Blythe's shoulder as she sobs. They approach, leaning on one another for support.

"You know, I think B was right about the dream catcher," Evelyn says. "Can we have it removed?"

"Already on it," I reply. I walkie over to the Love, Always staff member—Ben—who is overseeing the rehearsal dinner space right now, and tell him to nix the dream catcher above the bride and groom's table.

I watch them walk away, relief flooding my senses, and let my eyes trail over the faces of the bridesmaids and groomsmen, catching only briefly on Piper, who is stretching her head into an awkward position that takes up my whole view. But just past her, I see Kit moving through the chairs toward me.

Her face comes into sharp focus.

Everyone else in the room drifts to the edges of my vision, blurry, just shapes.

Kit is all I see.

The pink sheen of her gloss reflects light as she smiles. A row of earrings sparkles up the ridge of her left ear. She drops her eyes down the length of my body. They drift over my curves, tripping up to my lips and then settling into my gaze. There's no mistaking the want.

Me. Kit Larson wants me .

Make room for play. I hear Coco's voice in my head, her prompting that I let go. Then I see Kit standing at the entrance to her Airstream trailer, saying the same thing. They were both right; I got lost in the moment with Kit, and the whole wedding didn't fall apart.

I don't have to hold on so tight to make it happen.

When I look at Kit, I know every cell in my body wants to take the advice and run with it. I want the risk that leads to a rush. The adrenaline of jumping without overthinking. When we were friends before, our friendship showed me that letting go didn't have to mean losing. It's why I didn't question it when she kissed me, even though she had never told me she was into girls. It's why I believed it would be forever. It's why I was crushed when she ghosted.

Letting go led to loss.

The thought makes my stomach twist. The next time I fell hard was with Piper. And giving her an inch led to the biggest loss of self I've ever felt.

Kit and I meet at the end of the procession.

"Hey," she says, in what is the dictionary definition of bedroom voice .

"Hey," I reply, and I feel myself blushing.

I have the instinct to touch her hand and see if she pulls away. It's been a long time since I let go and let God. It's hard to know for sure if that's what I'm really feeling. Or if it's just hunger, or nerves, or a wish. My fingers flex before I stretch my arm out, touch her wrist, and tug her in.

There's no resistance.

She even smirks, bending against me to whisper right in my ear, "You look like a hot librarian."

I turn so that the edge of my mouth touches her cheek.

"So are we talking Rachel Weisz in The Mummy ?"

"Take me on an adventure, madame," she quips.

I meet her eyes, asking with mine if it's okay to kiss her here. She turns her face until our lips graze. I close the gap, absorbing the moan on her breath. It's quicker than I want, but the fact that she lets it happen at all is something.

"I have to get set up for the readings," she says, her body leaning on mine. "You have to stop distracting me so I can intuit the cards." She presses her hips against me.

"You probably shouldn't let me do this then." I grab her by the hand, twisting away so I have a clear path outside the tent.

"Where are we going?" she asks, laughing but letting me drag her along. My fingers brush over her knuckles, creating tiny electric sparks.

I wind us back through the path until there's a break. It leads to one of the covered cabana seating areas. I spin, gripping her by the waist with both hands and pulling her against me. Our curves meld, all space disappearing between us. We kiss in a fever, nothing but tongues and breath and want. My hands tug her dress up until I can get them under. The tips of my fingers taunt the lace edges of her panties, brushing against the mound of her want.

"Fuck me," she exhales against my mouth.

"With pleasure," I reply. My fingers test her longing. She clenches my hand between her thighs and I feel her quiver the whole length of her body.

"I have to get to the rehearsal table tent," she says, pushing back to look me in the eye. Hers are bleary, her lip gloss smudged. "Damn." She kisses me again with fresh desperation and I let my finger flatten to apply pressure right where she's wettest.

Her growl is ravenous. "Hold that thought." She bites off the order. I pull my hand from between her legs and twine it in her hair.

"Tonight's festivities can't end fast enough." I kiss her again, this time with even more fervor.

With a squeeze of my ass, she lets me go. "It'll be over before you know it."

I watch her walk away. My body is screaming for her touch, the feeling so intense that I have to burst into a manic dance to try to expel some of the pent-up energy from my limbs, turning in a semicircle as I shake my body out.

"I saw you." Piper's voice comes from behind me. "Groping the tarot hottie." Sharp pricks of dread shoot through my body, hitting nerves and sending heat into my fingertips, quickening the rate of my pulse.

"And?" I spin to face her off. I haven't done anything wrong, so why do I feel like I need to prepare a defense?

"The least you could do is not flaunt it right in front of me." Her brown eyes simmer with hurt.

"Why is that the least I could do? You and I have been broken up for over a year. No one here even knows we used to date," I say, chewing on my lower lip. "Except for Kit."

Her face drops, and I already know before she says a word that her voice will be tinged with a wobble. The only time Piper Cunningham ever shows a modicum of weakness is when she thinks it will get her what she wants.

"It's pretty heartless that you aren't even considering my feelings." Wobble right on cue. "I came out to my family for you—"

"No—look, I am happy that you came out. I'm proud of you for taking that step. But you didn't do it for me." I feel my throat tighten as tears threaten, hot and thick in the corners of my eyes. "We haven't spoken since I got my stuff out of your apartment a year ago. And then you come here, what, expecting I'll just fall all over myself to get back together with you?"

Her nostrils flare. "We were good together."

"I was a pawn on your twisted Piper chessboard. You used me, you molded me, and anytime I pushed for my own desires, you shot me down or made me feel foolish for wanting them at all."

"I only did what I thought was best for us."

"You did what you thought was best for you ."

Piper tightens her jaw, her body rigid. She sweeps the length of her red waves over her shoulder like it's a shield. "Are you in love with her?"

I divert my gaze away, but it doesn't do anything to stop the blush creeping into my cheeks. Do I love Kit? I probably always have. I probably never stopped. With all this want and years of wondering finally materializing between us, the idea that love could be our endgame seems almost too good to be true.

The Lovers.

Could it be us forever?

"You do," she whispers. Her face twists, contorting, but it's an expression that's much more than hurt or longing. It's broken glass, all sharp edges, a dangerous weapon.

I push past her without another word.