Southern Seducer: A Best Friends to Lovers Romance Page 30

  Sweet. Earthy.

  My heart spasms.

  Why God must everything, everything, remind me of Annabel?

  Why do I have to see all this and think, yeah, this is exactly how I’d want our wedding to look and feel?

  The gauzy fabric that forms the chuppah’s roof billows gently in the breeze against a backdrop of the Great Smokies. Milly’s assistants are tying bunches of magnolia leaves and blossoms to the chair at the end of each row. Blankets in shades of green and white are draped over every other chair, lest guests catch a chill during the ceremony.

  Behind the last row of chairs, a table is set with sweating glass dispensers of water, blackberries and slices of cucumber floating inside, sweet tea, and a big batch of homemade whiskey sours. Made, of course, with none other than Kingsley whiskey. Not their top-shelf stuff, granted. But even their cheapest distillation is pretty damn delicious. Much as I hate to admit it.

  A string quartet practices what sounds like an instrumental version of a Coldplay song—really?—on a patch of grass beside the chuppah.

  Farther up the lawn, the pavilion is lit up. Its entrance is covered in an arch of more blooms, thousands more, and on the patio beside it I can hear the band performing a sound check.

  Glancing over my shoulder, I see that the surface of the lake is dotted with floating magnolia blooms.

  “You like?” Milly asks, tucking a stray curl out of her face with the back of her wrist.

  I turn to her. She looks tired but satisfied.

  Licking my thumb, I erase a smudge of something—dirt, marker—from her cheek. “Milly, it’s fucking magical.”

  “Thanks. Tent guy nearly gave me a heart attack, and somehow the catering kitchen ran out of pimiento cheese.”

  “Lord save us.”

  “I know, right? What’s a Southern wedding without pimiento cheese?”

  “A shitty one, that’s what.”

  “Exactly. So we had to loot local grocery stores. Thankfully, we came up with about a gallon of some good stuff. Was still a close call.”

  “You doing those passed endive things again?”

  Milly shakes her head, lips twitching. “You know I don’t like to repeat myself. This time we’re doing these mini fried chicken and pimiento cheese biscuits.”

  “Wow.”

  “I know.” Milly cuts me a glance. Lowers her voice. “How are you?”

  I run a hand down my scruff, then sigh. “Not good.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Not your fault.” I slide my hands into my pockets. I feel twitchy. On edge. I’m hungry and I’m hungover and I hate myself. “I miss her. So damn much, Milly. But I can’t. I can’t reach out to her. Even though it’s killing me not to.”

  “I don’t want to sound mean, but—yeah. That’s just dumb.”

  “You’re dumb.”

  “Apologize. That’s not nice.”

  “Sorry.” I blow out a breath. “I’m sorry. I’m just—”

  “Not yourself?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Ever consider Annabel helps you feel at home in your skin? And that she might keep you happy here”—Milly pokes a finger into my chest—“and healthy here?”—that finger moves to my forehead.

  I hadn’t considered that.

  Is that why I feel so…disconnected? I did Bel wrong, and I despise myself for putting her through that. But is Milly right? Do I feel so lost and torn up because Bel was the one who kept me balanced? Kept me in check?

  And does it even matter now that she’s gone?

  We both look up at the sound behind us: the throaty, smoker’s-cough throb of a diesel engine.

  My chest tightens when I see a familiar white pickup truck making its way around the lake.

  I take a deep breath. I don’t want that tightness to spark to anger like it did last time Nate Kingsley was here. It’s a waste.

  I’ve already wasted so much time and energy on stupid shit. On excuses that don’t hold water. I’m done making that mistake.

  Squinting, I hold my hand to my forehead. “Any idea what he’s here for?”

  She puts a hand on my shoulder. “Trust me?”

  “Milly.” I give her a look. “What did you do?”

  “Just hear him out. That’s all I ask. Okay?”

  “Explain.”

  “Well, for starters, the groom requested another case of Appalachian Red last minute. Apparently, they finished off the one they already ordered at the rehearsal dinner.”

  I shake my head. “I thought everyone was kinda shit-faced last night.”

  “Kinda? Try very. Least they didn’t make too much of a mess.”

  “You shoulda told me,” I say. “About the extra case. I could’ve sent one of our guys down to the distillery to get it. You know I don’t like Nate coming around here.”

  Milly rolls her eyes. “It will be worth your while.”

  Scaling the small hill leading up from the lake, Nate tips his head at Milly, like he’s wearing an imaginary cowboy hat or something. The sudden politeness is jarring. What is happening? “Evening, Milly.”

  “Hi, Nate. Thank you,” she says, surveying the bottles in the crate he holds out. “I can’t thank you enough for coming through on this, and so last minute. I owe you one.”

  “You don’t owe me anything. Our pleasure. Place looks amazing, by the way.”

  “Doesn’t it?” Milly beams. “We’re getting there.”

  I stare. Since when do Milly and Nate get along like old friends?

  But before I can ask the million questions I have, Nate’s eyes dart in my direction. “A word?”

  “With me?”

  “Yes.”

  I look at Milly. She gestures for me to follow Nate, imploring me with her eyes to behave.

  “It’s all right, Milly,” Nate says.

  She smiles at him. “Thank you. Again.”

  He watches her disappear into the pavilion, along with the two assistants she called over to help with the whiskey.

  “Your sister,” he says, sliding his hand into the front pocket of his jeans. “I really admire her.”

  “She’s something special,” I say.

  Nate scuffs his booted foot against the grass. Looks down. It hits me that he’s nervous.

  “You and me, I know we don’t get along,” he begins.

  “Not for lack of trying on my part. This is ridiculous, you and your family holding a grudge against us for God knows what infraction committed by God knows what ancestor.”

  “I know.” He looks up, looks me in the eye. “That’s my fault, and I’m sorry.”

  I scoff. Can’t help it. “Really? That’s a total one-eighty from the last time we talked.”

  “I know.” Nate’s a serious man, and he’s being serious now. “Look, I’m just gonna come out with it. I’d like your permission to date Milly. We’ve been in touch recently—well, she reached out to me, and, uh, things kinda developed from there. But we’ve been talking, and I really do enjoy her conversation.”

  I narrow my eyes. So that’s who Milly’s been texting with. Sexting. Whatever.

  Lord above. It’s so absurd it might as well be a plotline from a soap opera.

  “You pullin’ my chain?”

  “I’m serious, Beau. I know it sounds crazy. But there it is.”

  I chew on my bottom lip as I search his face. “Even if I said yes, you’d have to convince Milly. I know better than to speak for my sister, but I get the feeling she wouldn’t be interested. In fact, I think she’d probably kick your ass to the curb.”

  “I came to you as a courtesy.”

  “As much as I appreciate that, I can’t speak for my sister. And to be honest—if you really wanna end all this drama for good, maybe dating Milly isn’t the best place to start. That’s how the whole damn thing began how many hundreds of years ago.”

  He tilts back his head and glances up at the sky, like he’s gathering himself. Gathering patience.

  “You’re no
t wrong.” He looks at me. “But Beau—I mean this, I do. I’d like to try to make her happy.”

  Someone is waving to me from the pavilion. One of our bartenders, probably with a question or a crisis. Either way, I’m needed.

  “Look,” I say. “I want Millie to be happy. It’s what she deserves. If you really mean what you say, then...actually, can we talk about this later? I have to go.”

  Without waiting for a reply, I start walking. I’m trying to be a better man here. But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t take perverse pleasure in imagining my sister reading this guy the riot act.

  Nate hesitates for a beat, then jogs to catch up to me.

  “Wait, Beau. There’s something else I want to tell you.”

  “Something else?” I keep walking. “Hell, Kingsley, you’re full of surprises tonight.”

  “It’s about your daddy.”

  My feet start to slow. I glance around to make sure no one’s in earshot.

  “Speak,” I snap.

  “So my dad—he’s a tough man. He and I have grown apart over the years. He hasn’t been doing well recently, though, so I’ve been trying to reach out. Right what went wrong between us before it’s too late.”

  I raise a brow.

  Nate raises a shoulder. “It’s time, don’t you think, for us to start being open with each other?”

  I honestly don’t know what to say to that. “I want you to be straight with me. Is this all some kind of trick?”

  “I swear it’s the truth.” Nate holds up his hands. “Pop’s been telling me stuff lately. Things from the past that he’s never talked about before. Like how no one realized how sick your daddy was. And how he came down to the distillery right before he died.”

  My heart starts to pound.

  “Pop was up in arms because a Beauregard hadn’t come to our side of the mountain in—hell, decades. You know it was a line nobody crossed. But your daddy, people didn’t understand what was going on with him. So Pop stuck a shotgun into John Riley’s chest and told him to get gone.”

  My hands, they’re shaking now. I try to hide it by running them through my hair.

  So much for the product I put in it. I was going for a James Bond debonair look. No doubt I’ve gone full-on Green Day Billie Joe.

  This day. What the fuck?

  “My dad expected him to pull some shit like he usually did, you know? Your daddy could be one hell of a trash talker as he got older. But instead, he got on his knees and asked for our forgiveness.”

  My loafers catch in the grass. “He did what?”

  That serious look in Nate’s gaze is back. “Apparently, your daddy asked what it would take to end the feud between our families. He said he was sorry for all the things he said in the past, and that he wanted to leave his children a better legacy than the one he inherited. He said some shit like, ‘Name your price, and I’ll pay it. Tell me what I need to do to atone for the things I’ve done, and I’ll do it. Let’s end this fight while we still have time.’ And he held out his hand.”

  It’s like the air’s been sucked out of my lungs.

  Toward the end, I focused only on the bad parts and completely missed the good.

  This is a whole side of my father I didn’t know existed at that point in his life. Sick as a dog, the man still went to end a feud stretching back hundreds of years.

  He must’ve gone down to the distillery during one of his more lucid moments.

  I know, deep down I know, he did what he did with intention.

  He took a risk and did good.

  He was capable of doing good things. Maybe if he’d had the right meds, the right therapists, and the right course of treatment, he could’ve kept doing good things.

  Some kind of emotional whiplash is happening inside me right now. I need to talk to Mama. Do some soul searching, as she and Milly suggested.

  Wow.

  Wow.

  Just…wow.

  I’m struck by the novel thought that maybe I need to be more like Daddy, not less.

  I need to be kind.

  I’m blinking back tears. Suddenly, my hands are shaking for an entirely different reason. My stomach feels hollow.

  Oh God, oh God, oh God, what did I do?

  “Pop didn’t take it,” Nate continues. “His hand. He regrets that now. But he did let John Riley walk out of the distillery unharmed. There hasn’t been a flare-up between the Beauregards and the Kingsleys since.”

  My immediate impulse is to fight this. I’ve been so dedicated to a sad ending—I’ve done so much damage in the name of keeping everyone safe from the monster I’m sure I’ll become—that I don’t know where I’d begin to put things back to rights.

  It’s terrifying.

  “Well,” I say. “We have things like education now. And police.”

  “Of course. I’m not saying your daddy single-handedly ended the fight. But he did a brave thing, a kind thing, and that counts for a lot in my book.”

  I don’t know what to say.

  What to do.

  So I just stand there. Let the impulse to be angry and defensive sit side by side with the permission I give myself to process what I’m being told.

  I’m patient with myself.

  It’s patience I learned from therapy, honed and encouraged by Bel.

  “I don’t mean to lay all this on your lap. But it’s something Pop literally just shared with me as we’ve been talking through our issues. The way I’ve behaved toward y’all—this tension between our families—it’s been kinda set in stone for ages, you know? I saw the way your Daddy treated mine and assumed all y’all were like that. But now I’m seeing things differently. And I agree the whole thing is fucking ridiculous. I have nothing but respect for what you’ve done here on the mountain. Especially after your daddy passed. I knew he was sick, but I had no idea the extent of what went down with him. I thought he was an arrogant ass, and I thought you were, too. I’m sorry. Was I jealous of y’alls’ money? The way you were handed everything on a silver platter? How much your daddy clearly loved y’all? Sure. Yeah. But that doesn’t excuse how I’ve behaved. How my family’s behaved. I apologize. Y’all have worked hard here, Beau, and I’ve never really understood just how difficult that was until now. I know your dad gave us all hell at the end there. Still, say what you want about John Riley, but he was a good man deep down, and he only had your family’s best interests at heart. Which is more than I can say about my pop, that’s for sure.”

  I breathe, and the weight that’s been on my chest, that’s become so second nature I’d forgotten it was there, feels a lot less heavy all of a sudden.

  I feel dizzy with lightness.

  “I’m proud to say I’ve tried very hard not to become the kind of man my father was. But sometimes, he still slips in. I got his pride. His hard-headedness. I’m working on it, but…yeah. I’m sorry.”

  I take a deep breath and roll back my shoulders, then look Nate Kingsley in the eye.

  “I hope you’ll forgive me for treating you like shit,” I say. “You didn’t have to tell me at all. But you did. And that takes guts. Thank you.”

  I hold out my hand.

  Nate looks down at it. He looks up at me as he takes it.

  He’s got a firm handshake. Sometimes I forget Nate’s not the smart-mouthed runt I knew growing up. He runs the South’s preeminent craft whiskey distillery; he’s obviously a smart guy and a savvy businessman. He’s got the handshake to back it up.

  “So, about me dating Milly—”

  “You’re really not letting this go, are you?”

  His face falls.

  Be kind.

  “Milly’s a grown woman,” I say slowly. “She can decide if you’re good enough for her or not. I don’t need to kick your ass because as I’m sure you know, she’ll do it for me.”

  His lips twitch. “She like whiskey?”

  “What kinda question is that? She’s a Beauregard. Course she likes the good stuff.”

  “Glad to h
ear it.”

  “Fair warning, she’s got expensive taste.”

  He shoots me a grin. “Good thing I make the best and probably the most expensive whiskey on earth.”

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Beau

  “Wow,” Rhett says.

  “Daddy really did that?” Hank asks. “At the end?”

  I shovel a forkful of Samuel’s chicken biscuit stew into my mouth. It’s like a deconstructed potpie, only made in a deep casserole dish and topped with homemade buttermilk biscuits. Freaking delicious.

  My appetite still sucks, but I need the kind of food that sticks to your ribs. I have a lot of planning to do and even more apologizing, so I’ll take all the carby fortification I can get.

  “Yup,” I say, swallowing. I turn to Milly. “It was you. You had a hand in him telling me what he did when he did.”

  Sipping the last of her wine, Millie sets her glass on the table and glides her first two fingers around its stem. “I may have worked my sexting magic on him, yeah.”

  “Wait—”

  “Oh, stop, of course I didn’t sext with Nate Kingsley. Do you think I have a death wish?” She grabs the bottle and refills her glass. “I just used those soft sales skills I’m paid so handsomely for.”

  “You? Milly, you are anything but soft.”

  “You don’t know that. I can be soft when I need to be.”

  “Are you making some kind of innuendo right now?”

  “Yes.”

  I drink my wine. “What did you say to him?”

  “Not much.” She smacks her lips. “Only what I needed to. Honestly, I stumbled across that story about Daddy by accident. I knew something was there—I have Mama’s sixth sense for these things—but I didn’t know I’d find gold like that. We were talking about the feud, and he was like, hey, I’m trying to patch things up with my dad, I can ask him about it if you’d like. So I said sure, and I guess he really did ask.”

  Letting out a breath, I say, “He asked if he could date you.”

  Milly tries to hide her reaction, but I see the spark of interest in her eyes before she quickly and ruthlessly extinguishes it.