Or her father offed the poor dude. I wouldn’t doubt he’d pull something like that.
Should I tell Charlotte her father stopped by and said such awful things about her?
Nah. Why ruin her good mood?
“Oh. Well, then. Good night.”
“Good night,” I say as she walks past me, her scent lingering like a tease.
I remain on the couch, stewing over what her father said to me. His crudeness.
His cruelty.
That asshole had a lot of nerve, coming over here and basically threatening me.
He really thinks he can take Charlotte away from me?
Guess he hasn’t truly gone head-to-head with a Constantine, then, has he?
Chapter Eighteen
Charlotte
Iarrive atthe hotel by myself, climbing out of the car Mother sent over, making sure to thank and tip the driver as he assists me. I stop on the sidewalk, staring at the towering hotel before me, the flags that hang above the entry rippling and snapping with the wind.
Our wedding rehearsal is to start soon. I left the apartment early to ensure I’d arrive on time. Traffic is horrific this time of day, and I didn’t want to be late. Especially since my lone arrival is a show of trust on my parents’ part. Mother admitted as much when I spoke to her yesterday.
Your father wants me to accompany you because he’s afraid you’ll run away, but I trust you, Charlotte. Don’t disappoint me.
I’m facing my fate. And I don’t plan on disappointing my mother.
Holding my head up high, I enter the hotel lobby, greeted with the gentle sounds of a tinkling piano and water trickling from a fountain. An older gentleman in a black suit with silver hair nods at me, his mouth formed into a faint smile.
I nod at him in return, my gaze searching, hoping to find a familiar face.
Perry informed me via text he would meet us at the hotel coming straight from the office, and I wish he was already here. Despite our tenuous connection, in these situations where we’re pretending to be the loving couple, he always grounds me.
It’s scary, having to go this alone and play the excited bride-to-be.
I make my way to the ballroom where our reception will be held tomorrow. Caroline Constantine put up a big fit, wanting the wedding to be held at her home in Bishop’s Landing, but my parents put their foot down. This is a Lancaster wedding, and my father wasn’t about to have my wedding happen in Constantine territory.
Despite the fact that he’s literally giving me away to them, I suppose he does have a few standards.
Once I find the ballroom, I’m instantly greeted by the wedding planner my mother hired after we became engaged.
“Charlotte, my God you’re positively glowing!” Miranda says, her eyes comically wide as she grabs my hands and gives them a quick squeeze. “Getting married issucha good look for you.”
I don’t bother telling her I went to a spa a few days ago and had a facial and was scrubbed to within an inch of my life. I’ve been waxed and plucked too, like I’m a freaking chicken.
But I do have to agree with her that my skin has never looked better. And that wild-eyed flushed expression probably has more to do with nerves than anything else.
“Thank you.” I smile.
She scans my attire, approval glowing in her eyes. “That dress is a masterpiece. You look as sweet as a wedding cake.”
I’ve worn more dresses these last six weeks since becoming engaged than I have in the last year, I swear. Tonight’s mini dress is nude in color, the fabric covered with tiny pink appliqued flowers and trimmed with pink lace, with a wide band wrapped around just beneath my breasts. The skirt is constructed of tiered tulle, drenched with more pink appliqued petals, as are the long, sheer sleeves. Nude patent leather stilettos with tiny straps around my ankles complete the look, and I grip the pale pink clutch Mother gave me tightly in my right hand.
My makeup is perfection, my hair pulled into a sleek, low ponytail. Giant diamonds from the Lancaster vault glitter in my ears, and my engagement ring is heavy on my finger, reminding me of what’s about to take place.