I fitted her more snugly to me with a crushing hug. "You're a pain in the ass, Gemma Daise."
She snorted into my coat. "But a cute pain, right?"
I pulled away and she looked up, smiling softly and melting every calcified wound in my heart until it beat a little easier. "You're a beautiful, generous, perfect pain in the ass."
She gave me a cheeky half-smile. "What else can I get away with, then? Should I ask for a pool?"
"Gem," I sighed, adjusting our position so I could lead us back down the aisles, leaving the dolly behind. "I'm wrapped so tightly around your finger, you could use me like a fucking marionette. What do you think?"
Gemma chuckled darkly. "The power."
Chapter twenty-seven
Gemma
Rule #27: If Rook's family calls, ignore them.
There was a certain, poetic irony to the fact that I was meeting Sylvia on Halloween day to go over invitations for a wedding that was more fake than a sheet ghost costume. Knox had wanted to come, but he had surgeries all day, and I assured him that I could handle his DNA donor for a few hours. It was just paper, after all. If I had to endure a few more in-person meetings with the witch to secure Knox his apartment, then so be it.
She asked me to meet her at some sort of boutique in Portland, asserting that theonlyplace to get invitations was Jolie. I Googled it, and it was a posh, little boutique where I imagined all the paper was handmade by aesthetic cottage-core women in floral dresses with handkerchiefs in their hair. My suspicions were only confirmed when I walked through the stained-glassdoor to find twinkle lights everywhere, silver and white autumn decorations, and an employee who looked like she belonged on an Instagram page rather than in a stationery boutique. She had curly hair styled in pigtails, a flowy, long-sleeved dress, and a megawatt smile that would easily charm… whoever actually bought overpriced stationery.
She greeted me as I entered, making her way past displays with cards and paper art to blind me with her perfect smile. "Hi there! You must be our bride, Gemma. Sylvia told me all about you."
Well, that boded well. "Hi," I replied with a wan smile and a wave. "Yes, I'm here to meet Sylvia to go over invitations." The store smelled like pumpkin spice, and as the employee led me past the tables and artfully decorated displays, I found Sylvia at the back of the small boutique. She sat at a farm-style, wooden table surrounded by boxes and a scattering of wedding invitations that had been tossed over the surface.
The employee gestured to the table. "Please take a seat. My name is Clementine, and I'll be here to assist you as you make your choice. I know this is a really big decision, so please let me know how I can help. Can I get you something to drink? Tea? Water? Coffee?"
A straight shot of vodka?I thought, taking in Sylvia's pinched smile. The woman was dressed in all black from her turtleneck to her high-heel boots, and I had the strong impression that I had just entered Dracula's mother's lair. I held up a hand to Clementine—was that an actual name?—and said, "No, I'm fine, thanks."
I fiddled nervously with the hem of my light blue, crop top sweater, wondering what the hell I was doing, as if this plan would work. I was genuinely happy with the way things were going with Knox, but I simply couldn't see how this witch of a woman would care one iota about giving her son an entire housewhen she barely appeared to give him the time of day unless it directly benefitted her. It was categorically insane to me that amother, however detached, would force her son into a marriage and hold a house over his head to ensure that he went through with it. Were they some kind of royal family who needed to continue their lineage?
Sylvia didn't even bother standing from her chair when I met her at the table. Her eyes stayed glued to the assortment of white and cream invitations, and as I took a seat catty-corner to her, I realized that the floral and pumpkin spice scent had gotten almost unbearably strong here in the back of the store. Then I saw the shelves of handmade candles behind her, and funny enough, several of them had been lit. Strange choice for a store filled primarily with paper.
I let my eyes rove over the many samples of stationery across the table. Some of them had flowers pressed into the pulp, others had a thin veil of vellum over elegant script, and the rest were mostly plain cardstock with embossed lettering, that quite frankly would have bored the hell out of me if I were really here to decide on a wedding invitation.
Why did we insist on making weddings a white, personality-free affair? I'd want color. I'd want paint splashes and glitter and fanfare. I'd want to announce to the world with pure joy that I'd managed to make someone fall in love with meso soundlythat they actually wanted to stay with me for the rest of the journey. Was there anything more beautiful than that?
"Shall we get started?" Sylvia asked, like this was the most normal, wonderful thing that we could be doing together. Like she hadn't forced her son to choose a brideor else. Part of me wondered what she really thought of me, but if she was forcing Knox to go through with this, then it was best not to dwell too much on what this hammerhead shark of a woman thought about me. That could only end in hurt.
I gave her a robotic smile. "Sure. Let's… do this thing."
Sylvia's smile stretched out like a strained rubber band. "Wonderful."
Off to a great start. Sylvia picked up a plain white piece of cardstock embossed with a frilly design across the top and said, "I'm quite partial to this. What do you think?"
I gave it a once-over. It was genuinely the dullest piece of paper I'd seen in some time. And I used printer paper daily. "It's… nice."
Sylvia's frozen smile went almost manic. "Well, we have other options."
I was saved from being shown the other monochromatic choices when the front doorbell rang through the enclosed space, and the employee sang out, "Welcome to Jolie's! How can I help you?"
I turned to see who had come, if only to give myself some kind of escape from this encounter and found a beautiful young woman coming through the stained-glass entryway. She removed her sunglasses and placed them on her head like a headband as she shook out her short, bubblegum pink curls before looking around the room. "I'm here for Mrs. Rook. And a bride. Apparently."
I frowned. Had Sylvia invited someone else? Clementine gushed immediately. "Oh, yes! They're back here. Come right this way. Can I get you anything? Tea? Coffee? Water?"
"Iced coffee, no creamer, two stevia," she replied briskly with all the confidence of a woman used to getting what she wanted. The closer she came, the more I realized that she absolutely had to be a Rook. Her face was thin, as was her body, and she had a lithe kind of grace I recognized in Knox. If I had to guess, I'd have said that her hair had been platinum before she had dyed it that adorable shade of pink, and the piercing blue of her eyes found us with detached disinterest.
Yes, definitely a Rook, that one.
