too many stories to tell. If he’d hurt her, my first thought was that I hoped she’d strutted out the door. My second thought was what it would feel like to punch him in the nose for being an idiot. My third was that I hoped she was okay.
Lila launched into what she needed me to measure, and I listened dutifully, taking in the space while she spoke. The ceiling soared thirty feet to the domed Victorian atrium that gave Skylight its name, the only solid thing the walls around us. Beyond the glass stretched Midtown, steel and glass cut against the crisp autumn sky. The room was golden and cream, soft and bright, a place that breathed hope and happy endings.
I pulled out my notepad and pencil, which seemed to both please and relax her. She sprang into details, opening up her imagination. The arbor shape, the color scheme, musings on flowers she might want, depending on the palette they chose. Giving me notes on the garland, asking what kind of greenery and berry would be available. The tunnel, which would be built in pieces and placed in the ballroom where the reception would be held.
She was mid twinkle-light monologue when the doors opened, and a couple walked through, tall and rich and smiling.
Lila glanced at me, lips parting to speak, but I said, “Don’t worry. I’ve got it.”
A smile I actually believed, higher on one side with snark. “Good.” Her attention clicked down the aisle. “Charles, Madison. I trust you found us without trouble.”
And then, she was off.
I listened silently, measuring the dais and sketching in my notebook as she recounted the details of the building, the venue, amenities, and photography options. She spoke with utter certainty, with absoluteness, her word law and fact, indisputable—even her opinions. She was impossible to deny, and it didn’t seem the couple wanted to.
I wondered what it’d be like to truly disagree with her. The sparring we played at was strictly for sport. But a true confrontation? I had a feeling she’d come to life with a defensive spark. I both shied from the thought and craved it, like the danger of setting off unmarked fireworks that might or might not be dynamite.
Measuring the aisle brought me closer to them as Madison interrupted Lila.
“I think this space would do nicely, don’t you, Charles?” He started to speak, but she kept talking, his answer immediately dismissed, “A fall wedding next year with the gold of this room would be beautiful with mauve and peach flowers, dark greenery.”
“We might have trouble finding flowers those colors in the fall,” Lila stated. She didn’t say or suggest—the words were a directive.
Madison frowned. “I’m sure we can find something. Greenhouses grow all year, don’t they?”
“They do, but—”
“Peonies,” Madison continued, her eyes sweeping the glass dome above. “I’ve always loved peonies.”
Lila’s face was a steel trap, her smile plasticine. “I thought you wanted creams, champagnes, golds?”
“Well, I did,” Madison admitted without seeming at all apologetic.
“And before that, it was marigold and rose,” Lila continued.
“But now that we’re here, I’m thinking something more bold. Peony bold.”
My measuring tape zipped, snapping into its housing with a pop that echoed in the massive room. “Actually, peonies are out of season in the fall, but cabbage roses bloom to look close enough. Dahlias would make a good option too, if you really want to go that route.”
Madison’s brows quirked, but her smile was a little too enthusiastic. She extended her hand, her eyes dragging down my body. “And who are you?”
I took her offered hand and shook it. “Kash Bennet. I work in the greenhouse that supplies flowers for Ms. Parker’s events.”
“A gardener? Or maybe you’re a florist?” She tittered. “How modern.”
“Mr. Bennet is a gardener at Longbourne,” Lila said, her voice too tight to be considered casual, though it lilted smoothly past her lips. “If you’re interested, I’ll take you down to the greenhouse to see. It’s the largest in Manhattan, right in the middle of Greenwich Village.” She cut a look at me that said to get back to work.
“How charming,” Madison said. “Isn’t that charming, Charles?” Again, he tried to answer, and again, she kept talking. “Maybe you could educate us on what will be in season and the kinds of colors we can expect from your garden. That would be such a treat.”
I cleared my throat, nodding once, stifling a smile. “I’m sure Lila will be able to set something up. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m just