“Don’t worry about price. I mean it, Linc.” Monroe whispered it, but it was a small room and I was close enough to hear. I pretended not to.
Lincoln sighed, then shook his head. “No. No, the amaryllis is good. They’re gorgeous and they have all the red and pink and white I want. They’re perfect.” He gave me a big smile, but it didn’t quite reach his dark, liquid eyes.
“Lincoln—”
“Just the amaryllis and the greens we talked about. One bouquet, two corsages, and nine boutonnieres. Eight small centerpieces and two larger arrangements for where we say our vows. That’s all we need.” Lincoln’s voice was stronger than I’d yet heard it, and Monroe deflated under it. But there was also something in his eyes I couldn’t interpret.
I wanted to push and find out what was going on in Monroe’s head, but it wasn’t my place. Lincoln was my client, and he’d spoken.