Love Me Crazy (26 page)

Cassidy

Ellie waddles across the room in the third and final dress. Lace drips off her in big drowning waves. And the veil? Sheesh. I smile and nod like a good little assistant. One who isn’t sleeping with the boss’s son . . . the bride’s brother. God. Sounds worse putting it into words.

“Eleanor, you’re divine.” Mrs. Covington pats her cheek and turns her toward the full-length mirror.

Quinn had excused himself to make some calls while we dressed, bustled, and shimmied his sister into three possible wedding gowns just flown in from Italy. All a perfect fit. Of course. And paid for in advance if I heard Mrs. Covington right. What’s a girl to do with three dresses? I’d be lucky to afford just the sleeve on one. And these don’t have any!

“Cassidy, which do you like best?” Ellie turns and the train refuses to follow. Is she considering this cloud of a dress? She can’t even walk.

I scan the other two gowns. The first dress is the one I’d pick. In fact, I kind of did. A much cheaper one of course, but the style was similar.

I drift my fingers over the wide silk sash. The beads sewn to the bodice massage my fingertips. I swallow down the tiny bit of jealousy that it isn’t me standing on the pedestal and glance at Mrs. Covington. She holds up two fingers behind Ellie’s back. Okay, dress number two is doable. Dress one is still my favorite, but, “I think no on that one.”

“
Agreed. I can’t breathe and it’s big, like too big.” Ellie gathers the dress off the ground and moves to the other two hanging on pegs. “This one. I’m sure of this one.” She rubs her fingers across the delicate lace on the winner. Dress number two.

“Fantastic. Ms. Beck, see to it the dress is pressed and confirm on-site bustling and what have you the day of. Now hurry along, you two. I have business to—”

“I thought we were having dinner,” Ellie says to Mrs. Covington.

“We’ll reschedule, darling. You know how clients can be.” She adds a little laugh like the joke doesn’t apply to Ellie. We all know fully well, it does.

Ellie withers like a tired balloon. “Maybe I can catch Dean before he gets to the restaurant.”

I unzip the lace monstrosity and she tumbles out of the dress. I bag it like a corpse, which has me sweating buckets after fighting with the poufy skirt, then hang the three dresses near the front door. I wipe sweat from my forehead.

“Ready?” Quinn pokes his head inside.

“For a shower. Geez, that dress.” I fan my face.

“Ms. Beck, please join me in my office a moment. Oh, Quincy . . . feel free to join us.” Mrs. Covington doesn’t look back, just expects us to follow. I do without question. Stupid sycophant.

Quinn pulls out one of the chintzy chairs in front of Mrs. Covington’s ornate desk. I sit; he does the same. I glance at him, wondering if we’ve just been called to the principal’s office for making out in the hall. Or the dining room. Or his bedroom. Or the stairs. That’s what it feels like.

Mrs.
Covington settles in her overstuffed leather chair. “It has come to my attention that Eleanor and Katherine expect your attendance at the ball as a guest, not my assistant.”

I’m pretty sure time stops, at least my heart does. Even my lungs refuse to work. I want to kill whoever suggested this. I kick my heart into gear. “I can work, I assure you.” I scoot to the edge of my chair and grip the edge of her desk. “Mrs. Covington, I might not blend as well as I should, but I promise you, my work comes first.”

Quinn elicits a haughty, stiff laugh. “True. I vouch for that, but she’s going as my date.” He rises from the chair and holds his hand out for me to join him.

Mrs. Covington looks down her nose at Quinn. Like she’s waiting for him to flinch from her powerful presence or run screaming the way I’d like to do. Hands flailing, voice fading, anything to get the hell out of this room. “Sit down, Quincy, for heaven’s sake.”

He lowers into the chair.

“Really, I don’t mind working. I’m terrible at the dances, and well, I probably would hold the wall up better.” I smile at Mrs. Covington, then squint my eyes at Quinn, daring him to push further.

“Not happening. You’re my date or I’m not going. Or . . . if you’re working, I’ll work, too. I’d look good carrying a tray, wouldn’t I, Mom?”

I growl internally. I’d rather tie his lips into a knot so he’ll quit digging me a hole.

Mrs. Covington points at Quinn. “You will arrive in proper attire and do your speech. This is your sister’s wedding, and you will not do something cockamamie just to prove your preposterous point.” She turns to me. “Which means you’ll be his plus one to prevent a catastrophe.”

“
Agreed. Now was that so hard?” Satisfied, Quinn leans back in his chair and props his ankle on his knee like he’d come for what he wanted. And succeeded.

“You knew you’d win this battle.” Mrs. Covington clicks her tongue.

He smiles. “Learned from the best.”

She stares at him admirably, then just as quickly the twinkle in her eye extinguishes. “Please give me a moment with . . . your date.”

No, don’t!
That’s a terrible idea. My stomach ties itself into a knot—a dagger-winged killer butterfly. Nothing like dying from the inside.

“I’ll load the dresses.” He leans down and kisses my cheek.

I sink in my chair. Ready to die. Ready to disappear or rewind about four weeks.

“Charming, isn’t he?”

“Not when he’s like that,” I mutter.

“Something we agree on.”

Did she just say that? I sit a little taller and await my punishment. Obviously she knows something more than
something
is up between us.

“Just how involved are you two?” she asks.

“It wasn’t my intention, but he’s persistent.” Sweat begins to form on my skin.

“You’re a strong woman, Cassidy. The word ‘no’ surely is in your vocabulary.”

My skin tightens beneath my collar and begins to itch. “I said it a lot, but it got to a point where ‘no’ started sounding . . . rude.”
And wrong.

I want to scratch my skin so bad and am sure hives have popped up all over my face and neck. “I’m fine with kitchen work and overseeing the caterers. Please, I’ll even park cars if you’d like.”

“
A dollar short and a day too late, Ms. Beck. Just . . . don’t interfere with family matters. None from the past, and none in the future. Understood?”

I grab my purse off the floor and wring the handles, waiting for her dismissal.

“Good day, Ms. Beck.”

I scurry out before she changes her mind . . . about anything. Once I’m safe outside, I glance behind me at the pink house with the teal door and begonias on either side. The curtain shifts as it falls back into place, drawing my gaze toward the office windows.

At least she didn’t say anything about
present
family matters.

Ellie tucks the last hairpin into my twist. “You’ll dance with our guys first. Then our cousins are on call. Be polite. That means don’t say no to anyone,
if
you want on Momma’s good side.” Ellie slips a card into my embroidered wristlet and threads the strap onto my hand. “That’s your dance card. Don’t lose it.”

Kat strikes my knee with her fan. “The guys know you aren’t comfortable with the dances, so let them lead.”

“Can they lead me off the dance floor?”

Kat laughs. “You’ll be fine just remember not to walk around unattended.”

“And never dance with the same person twice.”

“Curtsey before and after each dance.”

“Never say no to a dance request; it embarrasses the hostess.”

My
head spins as Ellie and Kat call out rules. I grab my head, shaking it. “I can’t do all that. I can’t even do
one
of those. I think I feel sick?” I fake cough.

“Oh, stop it. Let’s finish getting you dressed.” Ellie pulls me in front of the full-length mirror. She straightens my dress on my hips and ties the silk ribbons across the back. “You’re a dream. Quinn’s going to flip.”

“I’m not doing this for him.” I pout. “This is
your
party. This should be about you. Maybe you should’ve selected me a more subdued gown.” I lift the bushy skirt, then drop it. It must weigh fifty pounds. “I hear camo’s popular around here.”

“If it weren’t for you, I’d be wearing that godawful dress with the train out the door, using glassware I hate and carrying flowers that make me sneeze just so Momma doesn’t get pissed.” She tucks a diamond-studded comb into my hair twist and twirls a ringlet around her finger. “If it weren’t for you, Quinn wouldn’t be here, Kat wouldn’t be smiling, and let’s face it, we’d all be as unhappy as we were the day before you arrived.”

I survey the gown in the mirror, tracing the vines traveling across the indigo bodice in black velvet. “I’m glad I met all of you, too,” I whisper, not one to share feelings.

Ellie leans in and hugs me hard. “Now”—Ellie wipes her cheek—“we have a ball to attend.”

“I can’t wait to ride in the carriages.” Kat dances across the room.

I fumble with my purse-reticule thing.

“Relax, Cass. Turn off the work clock and have fun tonight, okay?” Ellie rubs my arm, then pulls out her phone.

“
I don’t . . .” I don’t want to let go of the baton. If something happens, it’s
my
head. I suppose if nothing happens, it’s
still
my head. “I don’t think they texted in the 1800s,” I say instead.

Ellie laughs. “I suppose not.”

When we arrive, the driver helps me avoid an awkward dismount. He situates my feet on the skinny steps before assisting me out of the carriage. My gown, wider than Cinderella’s pumpkin, should be deemed a hazard. Caution tape should decorate the hem and be strapped across my chest like a sash.

Feet firmly planted on the ground, I huff out a half-breath. Wish this stupid bodice was looser. I inhale deep, trying to stretch it. One hour down, four to go.

Looking around, I hardly recognize the place. Nighttime shifted the entire atmosphere of the grounds. The plantation home breathes southern charm, antebellum history and the sweet jasmine coursing through the air intoxicates me into believing I can pull tonight off without error. I’m two breaths away from believing it when I spot Quinn standing under a swaying willow tree off the drive. The hacked-off coattails he preferred wave in the breeze behind him like freshly painted brushstrokes. A thin tie made from the same embroidered silk as my bodice marks us as a couple. I inhale sharply, not realizing he’s taken my breath away. Touching my hands to my cheeks, I look to his sisters for help, but they’ve disappeared through the candle lit doorway.

A hot flush washes over my skin. I grab the railing, descending one step as I search for the carriage. What was I thinking? I don’t belong here. It’s easy believing I’m his when we’re alone, but here? In front of the world? If I enter with him, all eyes, minds, and words have the potential to execute us right on the spot. This isn’t just my life we’re messing with, but his, too.

Maybe
this is what Mrs. Covington foresaw—me, a nobody to these people, screwing up her perfect little life. Maybe she was right to request I step back, stay away and keep my hands off. Could’ve just said so before I fell for her son.

“Looking for something?” Quinn asks as he cradles my elbow.

“Thought I left my fan in the car. I mean carriage. Whatever. But I have it right here.” I turn slowly around.

He extends his hand and I take it, letting him guide me up the last few steps. His silence is deafening, both filling me with trepidation for what’s to come and complete and absurd wonder because I’m the one he chose to be with. There’s something seriously wrong with that. I don’t land the nice guys.

I scan his face, the simple dimple that hardly ever leaves his cheek, and his eyes dyed the finest and most concentrated indigo ever harvested. Covington through and through, right down to the bones, his heart, his words. I’m so screwed, because as much as this scares me, I wouldn’t miss it for the world.

Once inside he pulls me to the side, dipping us into the corner shadows. “You’re crazy beautiful.”

“You’re crazy, crazy, but don’t look too shabby yourself.” I dust his lapel as he squeezes my waist and presses his lips against my collarbone. “Not here. We have to be on our best behavior.”

His laugh vibrates deep in his throat. His eyes turn wicked dark. “Define best behavior.” He leans into me, his lips a kiss away from mine.

I flip out the fan Ellie attached to my wrist and brush it over my chin, feigning embarrassment but needing a second to gather control so I don’t turn into potter’s clay under his
touch.
He needs only to spin me around once to mold me into something profoundly personal and unequivocally his.

His tongue grazes his bottom lip so slowly I melt. His nose sketches infinity symbols over my cheek. “Since we can’t escape, waltz with me?”

“Any other options?” My whispers are barely distinguishable between breaths.
Pull it together.
I push back, disconnecting from him. “It’s just . . . this dress is tight, and I’m under strict orders to stick to this dance card.” I rifle through the beaded bag until I find the folded card.

Before I can hand it to him, Ellie sweeps in, pushing Dean toward me.

“I believe I have a dance saved.” He holds his hand out.

I glance at Quinn. Ellie. The card. “Yeah, I guess you do.”

Ellie pushes my card into my bag and rings her brother’s arm. “Care to spin me, Quinn?”

Dean grabs my hand, slaps it way too hard onto his and guides me across the room and out double doors to the terrace. A few steps later, we’re taking position behind another couple in a circular line on the dance floor. Lanterns and white lights adorn the overhead branches. Giant gilded pillars decorate the paths.

Dean clears his throat and bows, drawing my attention back on him. “Curtsy,” he whispers.

The orchestra plays a slow melody with an easy beat. We dance small box steps around the outside ring. Inside the circle, Ellie and Quinn throw out intricate dance moves.

“Show-offs,” I whisper.

“What’s that?” Dean asks.