Page 122 of Mile High Ex's Dad
Her mouth tightens slightly. “Yes.”
She doesn’t elaborate, and I don’t ask. There’s no point. Everyone in this house knows more than they’re saying.
Across the lawn, I spot Yuri. He’s standing near the side path, talking to one of the men for a second before dismissing him with a small movement of his hand. Then his eyes lift and land on me.
He doesn’t look away.
There’s nothing openly hostile in it. No glare. No obvious challenge. But I still get the feeling he doesn’t like me.
Nadine says something about the ribbon on the front chairs, and I drag my attention back to the work.
“Do we keep the ivory?” I ask.
She nods. “Camille wanted white, but the white disappears against the flowers.”
“Then ivory stays.”
She makes a note.
A gust of wind moves across the lawn, lifting the edge of my dress and carrying the scent of cut grass and damp earth with it. It should feel peaceful. Instead, it has the feeling of impending doom. I tell myself it’s anxiety, pure nerves.
I crouch to adjust the edge of one of the aisle arrangements and tell myself to focus. Flowers. Chairs. Timing. Things I can still control. But even while I’m working, I can feel those men moving at the edges of the grounds, trying to disappear into the scenery and failing just enough that I keep noticing them.
And every time I do, I think of Viktor.
By nine, the lawn looks the way it’s supposed to. Chairs lined up. Flowers in place. The aisle straight. The musicians setting up off to one side. Staff moving with a little more confidence now that they have things to do with their hands.
That helps everyone.
It helps me too.
Nadine sends one of the younger servers back inside for fresh water for the bridal suite, then turns to me. “Can you check the chapel entrance one more time? I want to make sure the arrangements aren’t blocking the photographer’s angle.”
“I’ll do it.”
I take the side path toward the chapel and feel the change immediately. Less noise from the lawn. More shade. A little cooler under the trees.
And then I hear a car door slam somewhere near the drive.
I stop and look back.
More people arriving. Hair and makeup, maybe. Or one of the late family members who’ll act like everyone else has been waiting for them specifically. This should all feel normal. Busy wedding morning, little problems, people rushing in with coffee and garment bags and too much confidence.
Instead, everything still feels slightly off. Like the whole estate is pretending to be calm while something underneath it keeps moving.
At the chapel entrance, I adjust one of the arrangements by a few inches and step back to look at it. “Better,” I murmur to myself.
“Talking to flowers now?”
I turn.
Viktor is standing a few feet away, jacket on, tie perfect, face unreadable in the morning light. My whole body reacts before my mind does.
I hate that.
I also missed him.
That part is worse.
