Page 105 of Potions and Proposals
Safely inside, Lucy couldn’t stop herself from blushing with embarrassment. She glared at herself in the full-length mirror. How in the hell had she gone from feeling like a powerful high priestess to a blushing bride in a matter of minutes?
Once she’d handed off the gown and got dressed, she found Gwendoline chatting to Margot about the binding preparations. She could’ve sworn Margot say something about a reception, but she was distracted by Benedict’s muffled voice echoing in the other room with Murph, and she was dying to sneak a peek. She’d seen him in a suit more times that she could count, but this felt different– special. She couldn’t help the giddiness swelling up inside her at the thought of tomorrow.
“Are you listening to me?” Gwendoline asked as she settled up at the counter with Margot. Lucy hadn’t wanted to let her pay, since she was already allowing her to wear such a precious heirloom, but of course Gwendoline wouldn’t hear of anything else.
“Sorry. I was thinking about—” She couldn’t come up with a lie fast enough.
“About the groom?” Margot teased, handing her the receipt slip to pick up the dress in the morning. “Don’t worry, we’re going to take good care of him.”
Lucy blushed again and followed Gwendoline outside, determined to pay attention.
“As I was saying, I know how you Hawthornes like to dilly-dally. However, I expect you to be at the Manor by nine pm sharp, so there is plenty of time to get ready. And you don’t have to worry about running into Benedict. He’s getting ready elsewhere.”
And there’s the Gwendoline I know.Lucy wondered where Benedict was getting ready. Probably a guest room –or maybe Grams had convinced him to get ready at Hawthorne House, since they wouldn’t be there.
“I’ll be there at 8:59 and not a minute over,” she promised, crossing her heart. The ritual wasn’t taking place until midnight, so between Gwendoline and the Hawthorne women, they should have plenty of time to pull off a Cinderella moment.
Gwendoline disappeared down the street, but Lucy waited for Benedict. She missed the warmth of his element, but it felt good to have her own back. It wasn’t too long before he came out to join her.
“If it isn’t my blushing bride,” he said, kissing her hand tenderly.
“I wasn’t blushing,” she scoffed.
“Pity. If we weren’t getting hitched tomorrow, I could spend the night finding ways to make you blush.” He winked.
“I’m sure you can survive one night without me,” Lucy said, rolling her eyes as they crossed the street busy with evening traffic.
“I know tonight is your last night of freedom, but try and get some rest,” Benedict said when they got back to her house.
“Do you want to come up? I’ll let you use the front door,” Lucy offered, suddenly changing her mind about spending the night apart.
Benedict stepped into her space, and she thought he was going to follow her in. Instead, he placed his hand over hers on her gate and pressed his lips against her cheek. She knew it meant goodbye.
“As much as it hurts me, I must resist. I’ve got some matters to sort out before our big day, and we’re not to see each other before we reach the altar. We wouldn’t want to break tradition.”
She didn’t know how long they stayed there; all she knew was that her nose and fingers were turning red and she couldn’t feel her toes, even though she was hugging a life-sized heat blanket.
“You should get inside. I can hear your teeth chattering, and if you don’t go I’ll be tempted to warm you up.” A small laugh escaped Benedict, and the sound meant she could breathe again.
She knew how sad she was that her dad couldn’t be there, but knowing neither his brother nor father would be present had to be playing on his mind, even if he hadn’t said it. She’d considered asking him if Peter would like to attend, but she doubted Grim Reapers got vacation days. She’d never really understood before that loving someone meant taking on their pain and their past, but she’d take it all if it meant lessening the sorrow in his soul.
“Are you okay? You went all quiet,” Benedict said, tipping her chin up to meet his eye.
“I’m fine– tired.” She gave him one last squeeze.
“You’re a terrible liar, Lucy.”
She gasped in surprise. “You called me Lucy?!” He’d always called her Lucinda, or pumpkin – which, unfortunately, was growing on her as a nickname. The actual food itself never would. At least they’d never have to argue over the last slice of pie.
He rolled his eyes. “Get inside. I’ll see you at the altar, pumpkin.”
“If you’re lucky.” Lucy kissed him chastely before hurrying up the garden path before he could grab her.
When she glanced over her shoulder, he was already walking down the road, head down and hands in his pockets. She didn’t know how she’d never noticed how much weighed on him, never able to see past the perfect wall he’d built around himself. But even if he wanted to keep the wall around his heart, she understood. He’d let her in, and what was a wall without a garden to protect?
“I’ve got the champagne ready.” Grams fussed with the champagne flutes in the corner of the room. “Don’t look at me like that, Willa. I haven’t smoked my pipe all week. A little tipple won’t kill me, and my granddaughter deserves a toast.”
Gwendoline smoothed out Lucy’s skirts. They’d spent the last few hours getting every last detail on the navy gown altered to perfection in Gwendoline’s quarters. Lucy spun around to see the small train of shimmering golden starlight. Her family stood around her in the long, gold-trimmed mirror; with teary eyes and quivering lips, she couldn’t help but be proud to stand amongst them.
