To Have and to Hold (The Wedding Belles #1)(88)

Larabee Bride is having second thoughts about the Plaza. Looking for something a bit less high profile, more amenable to customization. Any chance you could show her the Hamilton House? I’m all the way uptown, and it’ll take me forever at this time of day.





Brooke swallowed, wishing the favor was anything but that.

She hadn’t been inside the Hamilton since planning Maya’s wedding.

Well, Maya’s almost wedding.

Alexis had had a hell of a time trying to figure out how to back out of a wedding that had already been put on a rush schedule, but even with all the hassle the non-wedding had caused the Belles, Brooke was glad for it. Glad that Maya wouldn’t be marrying Neil who wasn’t really Neil.

Still, she tensed in dread at the thought of going to that space again. Not because it reminded her of Maya. Maya and she were actually on good terms, even having grabbed lunch a couple of times recently so Maya could fill her in on what had happened with Neil and about finally getting together with Grant. Brooke was thrilled that those two had finally owned up to how they felt about each other.

But she didn’t want to go to the Hamilton House.

It reminded her of Seth.

Seth, from whom she hadn’t heard in nearly two months. Seth, whose name everyone seemed to be reluctant to mention around her, as though she might break.

She wouldn’t break.

Not because she was avoiding what happened. She’d learned her lesson after holding in her feelings about Clay and nearly letting it destroy her.

This she’d faced head-on in the form of twice-weekly therapy. Not to talk about Seth specifically, although he was certainly a frequent topic of conversation. But after the train wreck of the past months, Brooke had had the epiphany that a happy life didn’t come from constantly shoving anger and pain to the side and pretending they didn’t exist.

They did exist.

Anger and pain were real, and some people were just lame (see: Clay and Neil/Ned), and the world wasn’t always going to be sunshine and rainbows.

She knew that now. And interestingly, the more she let in the not-so-great things, the greater the good things became.

Almost as though she was becoming happier by allowing herself to be unhappy sometimes.

Crazy, but true.

It was this realization that made her decide what she needed to do. She needed to go to Hamilton House. Needed to face all of the memories, both good and bad, that would come with it.

It would be one step closer to being able to think of Seth with just a little bit of pain, instead of the ripping, gut-clenching pain that still kept her awake at night sometimes.

No problem, Brooke texted. Now?

Bride’s on her way, Alexis texted back. Maybe ten minutes or so?

On it.





Brooke hailed a taxi and made it in twelve minutes flat.

She hesitated only briefly before entering the building, faltering when she saw a middle-aged man in a basic black suit standing behind the previously deserted reception desk.

Somehow she hadn’t thought about the building being populated, but of course it would be. The lower office floors would have started to fill up by now, and they’d need some sort of security.

“Hi there,” she said, approaching with a smile. “I’m Brooke Baldwin, here to meet a Ms. Larabee to tour the top floor for a possible event.”

“Of course,” the man said with a formal nod. “Ms. Morgan said you’d be needing these.”

He held out a modern key fob. An upgrade from the old-fashioned key she remembered.

“Ms. Larabee’s not here yet?”

“Not yet, miss. I can send her up when she arrives?”

“Sure, that’d be great,” Brooke said, suddenly anxious to have the space to herself again, just for a few minutes.

Maybe if the Larabee bride did choose the space, Alexis would be open to tag-teaming on the reception. The wedding planner in her was still simmering a little that she hadn’t had a chance to work her magic in that space to realize its full potential.

Brooke let herself into the elevator, juggling the plastic fob lightly in her palm as she ascended. When the doors opened, she stepped out onto the wood floor and promptly skidded to a stop, taking a step backward.

Whoops. Wrong floor.

But a glance back at the floor number engraved on the elevator door showed her she was on the right floor.

And yet, it was different. Everything was different.

It was still bright and open, but someone was clearly in the process of dividing the space into separate rooms. And doing a fine job of it, too, Brooke realized, as she took a step forward, her heels echoing with that lovely clicking sound she remembered.

Everything was exactly as she would have done. The new drywall running along the center of the space ensured that the main living area still had plenty of daylight, with two separate sitting areas, one centered around the fireplace with what appeared to be the early stages of a small built-in bar. There was no physical separation between that and the next area, which had a circular sectional couch centered around a television that begged for cozy movie nights or curling up with a good book.

Whoever had designed it had wisely understood that you didn’t need walls in between rooms when you could use space, and that seating area flowed into a dining room, which was bordered by a new kitchen, clearly under construction, and . . .