Page 159 of Boardroom Mask

This is that, yes, but it’s alsosurrender.Total, willing, grateful surrender.

He’d give her everything.

Including himself.

They wrote their own vows. Lukas goes first. Rae cries through every word of hers. Gideon, seated in the front row, cries harder, that big cupcake. I’m glad he’s doing well now that he’s out of rehab and back on his feet.

But truthfully, my attention is a little divided. I can’t help scanning the garden again and again while they speak. For the most part, it’s a lush green backdrop with a foreground of white. White chairs, white lights, white flowers. Lukas’s people on the left, sparse and stoic. Rae’s side is fuller, lined with coworkers, college friends, and a few of Gideon’s recovery buddies who clean up surprisingly well in borrowed blazers.

But every glance confirms what I already knew.

No dark hair.

No gray eyes.

No cinnamon on the breeze.

He’s not here.

I knew he wouldn’t be, and I didn’t even dare to hope, not truly. But there’s one last little ember that Kir left in me that refuses to die. It hurts when it flickers, but I still don’t want it to go out. Not yet. Not quite yet.

The party moves indoors as the sun drops. I may have gotten a little carried away when Rae put me in charge of choosing floral arrangements for the reception, because now, every single flat surface is covered in a spray of bright summer flowers. It’s like we’re living in a rainbow. A jazz trio jams in the corner, happy and cool, and I’m just as effervescent thanks to some copious champagne consumption.

I’m standing near the bar with one of Rae’s college friends, a sweet woman named Cora who’s telling me about her toddler’s recent obsession with putting grapes up his nose. I laugh at the punchline, or start to, but then my gaze drifts past Cora’s shoulder toward the tall glass doors that open onto the garden.The chairs are still out there, empty now, the white fabric covers ruffling in the evening breeze.

And at the far edge of the garden, just beyond the reach of the string lights, someone is standing.

My laugh dies.

He’s leaning against the stone wall where the garden meets the tree line, hands in the pockets of a dark coat. Thin. Tan. His hair is longer, curling past his ears, and his beard is scruffy in a way I like.

But it’s him.

It’s Kir.

He sees me see him. His mouth twists up in the half-grin that melts my insides every single time.

“Are you alright?” comes a voice from behind me.

I follow Cora’s gaze to see that my champagne glass is shaking and sloshing bubbly all over the rim. I set it down in a hurry. “Sorry,” I blurt to her. “I have to— Er, just, sorry. Excuse me.”

Cora asks again if I’m okay, but I ignore her. I’m walking—no, running—toward the glass doors, weaving between tables and chairs, bumping people on accident, not caring. My hand finds the door handle. Evening air rakes my bare arms. I shiver even though it’s plenty warm, but I keep going, heels sinking into the soft grass, moving toward the edge of the garden.

Toward where he waits.

68

KIR

“You and me / Meant to be / Immutable / Impossible / It’s destiny”

— “Stand Inside Your Love” by The Smashing Pumpkins

Through the glass, the reception shines. Flowers everywhere. I suspect Jillian had a hand in that. I bet she chose bright, colorful arrangements and when the florist asked how many she wanted, she said,All of them.

But I see right through that. The flowers are a mask. Happy girls like flowers, and Jillian is pretending to be a happy girl.

Therefore, flowers.