“Hell if I know.”
I looked over to the patio, where a private brunch had been set up by Persephone’s parents, hoping to spot my wife. The VanDorens had some ridiculous rule about keeping us apart today, and I’d about had enough of their horseshit. I needed to talk to my wife.
Once the news had come in that her mother was going to get her kidney—that she’d be okay—I’d firmly expected Persephone to walk the hell away. Instead, we were in the midst of our wedding weekend, both trying to publicly act like we were fine, even though we just wanted a private moment to figure out what the fuck we were doing.
Do you love me, Cannon? Her words were on repeat in my head, and even drowning myself in alcohol last night hadn’t washed them away.
Did I love her? It wasn’t as simple as that. She acted like a four-letter word was the answer to every problem, and I knew it wasn’t.
“Gentlemen,” Persephone’s dad clapped me on the back as he came to stand beside us. “Are you enjoying yourselves?” His eyes narrowed slightly, no doubt waiting to judge whatever would come out of my mouth.
“Absolutely. Thank you for setting this whole thing up.” I gave him a smile, and he returned it, though his looked a little more like a threat than a gesture.
“Well, Sephie and her friends practically grew up here. Seemed fitting to host a little brunch before the women head to the spa, and the men get ready to battle the toughest course in South Carolina.”
Holy shit, I wasn’t going to make it through today, and if we really went through with this second wedding then this was what I had to look forward to. Mornings at the club with a man who actively hated my guts, playing the world’s worst sport with other douchebags who hated my guts.
“It’s a perfect day for it, sir,” Logan responded when he caught on that I wasn’t going to be able to.
“It is. Now, I had to pull a couple of strings for these—usually they’re reserved only for members—but seeing as you’re about to be family…” He presented both Logan and me with emerald green vests with the clubs logo embroidered over the left pocket.
“Thank you,” I said automatically.
Logan echoed my sentiment.
“Good. I’m glad you like them. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to check on my girls—”
“Oh, I’ll come with you,” I offered, already starting up that way.
“I wouldn’t have it!” He laughed. “It’s VanDoren tradition that you two only see each other at the rehearsal dinner and then the altar. That’s why we have Sephie staying in the main house tonight.” He clapped me on the shoulder again and headed for the patio.
My head pounded even harder. I couldn’t even sleep next to my wife? We had shit to discuss, and it wasn’t little, petty stuff, either. I’d been counting on the fact that we’d have all night in her old house to hash out our future…if we still had one.
“So we’re supposed to wear this?” Logan asked, holding it up for appraisal.
“It’s actually quite an honor,” Michael noted as he sauntered over, his putter over his shoulder like it was stylish.
“Right,” Logan muttered, but put it on and did up the buttons. “When in Rome, right?”
“I’m not wearing that vest,” I muttered. I’d put on a button-down shirt and rolled the sleeves, and even agreed to khaki shorts, but a fucking vest was where I drew the line.
“What? Is it not quite cool enough for you?” Michael asked with a smirk. “Does it not meet your rebellious, stick-it-to-the-man standards?”
I shook my head at the guy. He was such a prick. Just the thought of Persephone ending up with him—or someone like him was enough to curdle what brunch I’d managed to stomach.
“Put the vest on.” Her voice soothed my nauseated stomach as she appeared to my right.
“Hey,” I said softly. She was wearing a simple, white sundress, and her hair was loose down her back. She looked clean and fresh, and so beautiful that my chest ached.
“Hey,” she replied, stepping in front of me and nailing me with those blue eyes. “I know you hate it, but it would go a long way with my Dad if you wore it.”
“You’re using the eyes on me? That’s not playing fair,” I teased.
She smiled. “I’ll use every weapon I have in my arsenal when it comes to you, Cannon Price.”
“Whatever makes you happy, Mrs. Price.”
Her eyes flared at the title, and I put the damned vest on. Surprisingly, it fit.
“Happy?” I asked in a low tone.
“Almost.” She stepped closer and started fastening the four buttons that closed the garment. Our eyes locked and I couldn’t help but grin. It was so like the moment she’d forced me to do up my buttons before the charity auction.