“You don’t even know what it looks like. And it could be anywhere.” She knew she was babbling. “It could be over there by the porch steps, or over here by the church or—”
“Inhale. Exhale.” He waited until she made eye contact, then demonstrated. “You can do it.”
“No, I can’t! This stupid dress is like a boa constrictor, and it’s all your fault.”
He crouched down, scanning the lawn for a shimmer of gold. “I will accept blame for many things, but your wedding dress isn’t one of them.”
“This thing fit last Sunday,” she shot back. “I’ve been counting calories and avoiding carbs for months, and then you come along with your chocolate and your champagne. Do you know how many calories are in a glass of champagne?”
He didn’t look up from the grass. “You needed champagne, I got you champagne.”
“No. Wrong. I didn’t need champagne. What I needed was to eat clean, and be good, and then you…and I…” She trailed off, trying to steady her voice and her heartbeat.
As if by magic, Ryan plucked a strand of gemstones off the ground. “Here.”
“You found it.” Her anxiety ebbed away as she stared at the diamonds and sapphires gleaming in his palm. “I can’t believe you found it.”
“You’re welcome.” He lifted her wrist and fastened the clasp. When his fingers brushed the sensitive skin above her pulse, he caught her gaze and held it. She looked down, flushing, and when she raised her eyes, he was still watching her.
They stood in the middle of the manicured lawn, so close but not touching.
And then she heard the pop of her corset giving way.
“Oh no.”
He shifted back into producer mode. “What do you need?”
She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Okay, listen, this is awkward, but I need you to undo the back of my dress and fix my corset.” She turned around to give him access to the row of pearl buttons. “Something just popped back there, so you have to cinch me up—”
“No.” His tone was final.
She turned back around to face him. “What?”
“No.”
“Oh right, I forgot the magic word. Okay, will you please unbutton my dress and fasten the—”
“No.”
She drew up short. “Why not?”
“Because you’re standing there panting like Ripley after a run.”
She gasped in outrage, and another hook and eye gave way at the back of her bodice. “I know you didn’t just compare me to your dog.”
“And I know you don’t need me cutting off your circulation any more than it already is.”
“Look at me, Ryan.” She grabbed the lapels of his suit jacket. “I’m asking you this as a favor. Tighten my corset.”
He shook his head. “Fuck that noise.”
“I won’t look right!”
“You look great. You always look great.” As he stepped away, his devil-may-care grin vanished. He looked almost angry. “Sometimes you just can’t force things to fit.” He gave her a look that was clearly a dare, then headed for the church without a backward glance.
Despite all the bridesmaids’ complaints, Emily hadn’t noticed how hot the church was.
She noticed now.
The interior of the little white chapel was stifling, almost suffocating. Sweat poured down her back. The cloying perfume of wilting flowers filled the air.
Her fingers clutched the cool green stems of her bouquet and the straps of her sandals started to bite into her toes. She could feel the whisper of Grant’s bracelet sliding up and down her wrist. But inside, she felt only pressure. Her lungs and heart and stomach were compressed to the limit, thanks to Bev, who had readjusted the corset when Emily raced back into the church.
“Now.” Bev took her place at the head of the bridal processional. “Are we finally ready?”
Emily held her head high and took her mother’s arm. “Ready.”
Georgia sneaked one last glance in her mirrored compact, then pulled Emily close. “Listen, honey. I’ve made this walk…how many times?”
“Four,” Emily said.
“Four. Right. And during some of those walks, I knew in my heart I was making the wrong decision. Your heart never lies.” She shot her daughter a sidelong glance. “So if you’re not absolutely positive about this…”
“No chitchat,” Bev admonished. “We’re up.”
“We can leave right now,” Georgia whispered. “I’ve got my car keys in my bag.”
“Everybody’s waiting, Mom. Let’s go.”
The doors swung inward and the bridesmaids started their right-together-left-together march in single file. Georgia had informed everyone that she preferred gliding to marching, so Emily glided alongside her, trying to appear serene and angelic.
She kept her gaze on Grant, who waited at the end of the white satin runner. He looked heartbreakingly handsome, but his expression was tinged with an emotion she couldn’t immediately identify. He seemed…nervous? She’d never seen him nervous before.
Although she tried to stare straight ahead, she recognized Ryan in her peripheral vision. He waited in the very last row, arms braced on the back of the weathered white pew. While everyone else strained forward to ooh and aah over her gown, he turned away. But in the sunlight streaming through the stained-glass window, she thought she saw his face soften.
She gripped her mother’s arm and made a conscious effort to be present in the moment, to smile at the guests, to hear the violin music, and most of all, not to trip.
Were his eyes glinting?
She made it halfway down the aisle, halfway between the only two men she’d ever loved, before she gave in to temptation and looked back.
Ryan had loosened his grip on the pew. His lashes were spiked, his hands were stacked, and he brushed the thumb of his right hand over the ring finger of his left.
And she knew.
All her doubts drained away and certainty flooded in, along with overpowering heat and humidity and the sound of tulle ripping as she slumped to the floor.
Emily didn’t open her eyes at first. She remained still, drifting back into consciousness layer by layer. The voices around her sounded distant and blurred, as though she were underwater.
She waited. She breathed.
She recognized her mother’s voice first. The high-pitched, dramatic feminine lilt followed by a low male murmuring.
That was Grant.
Her groom. The guy who’d been waiting for her at the end of the aisle.
Everything came rushing back and her eyes snapped open as she gulped in a lungful of air.
“I can breathe,” she marveled. She turned her head on the pillow and surveyed a hotel room that looked similar to her own. “Where am I?”
“Oh, baby, thank God you’re awake.” Georgia dabbed her forehead with a cold, damp washcloth. She looked alternately relieved and enraged. “I’ve never been so scared in my life.”
Emily wet her lips. “What happened?”
“You went down like a sack of wet cement, that’s what happened,” Georgia said. “Half an inch to the right and you would’ve cracked your head open on the pew.”
“But she didn’t.” Grant took the washcloth from Georgia and studied Emily’s face.
“I can breathe,” Emily repeated. The details of the room slowly came into focus. She was lying in an unmade bed, surrounded by tabloids and candy bar wrappers. “What am I wearing?”
“One of Summer’s T-shirts,” Georgia said. “This is her room. It was the closest to the lobby.”
“We took off the wedding dress and the corset,” Grant said. “Your color improved right away.” He paused. “Although I think this is about more than the dress.”
Her mother heard the undertone in his voice and picked up her purse. “I’ll give you two a moment to talk.” She leaned over to kiss Emily’s cheek, then whispered in her ear, “Ryan’s out there pacing like a tiger at the zoo.”
Georgia flung o
pen the door with gusto and announced to the populace of the hallway, “She’s going to make a full recovery. Just needs ice water and a little TLC.”
Emily propped herself up on her elbows and regarded Grant, feeling the same way she had when he’d arrived to pick her up for their first date. This sudden shyness surprised her, and she had no idea what to say.
He sat down in the wooden armchair next to the bed. Although his suit jacket was unbuttoned and his bow tie had unraveled, he still looked completely calm and controlled.
She studied his face for clues, but his expression remained unreadable.
The chair rungs creaked as he settled back. “We’re not getting married, are we?”
Before Emily could reply, he pushed up from the chair and turned his back on her. His shoulders hunched up around his ears, and for a moment, she thought he was pointedly ignoring her.
Then she realized he was answering his phone.
“Uh-huh,” he muttered. “Okay. Well, try increasing the dosage and keep me updated. Thanks.”
Her mouth dropped open.
He clicked off the line and turned to her with a rueful smile. “I know, I know. I get left at the altar and I’m still distracted with work stuff.”
“You know what? You’ve earned the right to blow me off for work.” She sat up all the way. “You’ve earned the right to say and do whatever you need. Go ahead—yell. Curse my name. Punch me in the face. I can take it.”
He looked taken aback by the passion in her voice. “I don’t yell; you know that. And I’m certainly not going to punch you in the face.”
“Well, you must be feeling something. I know I am. So whatever it is, go ahead and unload.”
The more she urged him to open up, the more he shut down.
“I can’t tell what you’re thinking at all,” she said. “This was supposed to be our wedding day. This is a big deal. Are you angry? Sad? Frustrated? All of the above?”
He paused, creasing his brow. Finally, he replied, “I don’t know.”
Her eyebrows shot up.
“What would you like me to say?” He asked this in the same tone he might use to ask her what she’d like for dinner.
“I don’t know, either,” she said. “But after the week we’ve just had, you’d think we’d have a few things to talk about.”
“There were definitely some surprises,” Grant admitted. “I did not see this coming.”
She waited.
He cleared his throat and for the first time seemed uncomfortable. “I guess I thought that you were more…or I was more…or we were more…”
“Selfless, sweet, patient, and perfect?”
He shrugged.
“I am so sorry, Grant. About everything.” Emily noticed the antique wedding gown draped across the sofa, and glanced down at the diamond ring. She slipped off the delicate gold band and offered it back to him.
He tucked the ring into the pocket of his trousers and reached over to recapture her fingers. He leaned down, and she thought he might be about to kiss her hand.
Then she realized he was studying the faint white scar that etched out Ryan’s name.
He lifted his gaze to meet hers. “Still there.”
“Yeah.” She pulled her hand away and tucked it under the comforter. “I always tried to convince myself you hadn’t noticed.”
His smile was wry. “I noticed.”
“I tried to have it lasered off. But it didn’t work. I’m scarred for life.” She pulled her knees up to her chest. “I’ve made so many mistakes. I tried so hard to be someone I’m not.”
“Hang on.” He started to sit down again, then opted to remain standing. “May I say something first?”
“Absolutely.” She braced herself for the barrage of criticism coming her way.
“My patient isn’t doing well.” His face was etched with tension and worry. “He’s got a fever and his lung function is nowhere near where we want it to be at this point.”
“That’s awful.” She closed her eyes as another wave of guilt crashed in. “And for you to be here—”
“Well, that’s the thing.” He smiled again, this time earnest and generous. “I’m here, but I’m thinking about him. You’re here, but you’re thinking about someone else, too.”
“Grant—”
He shushed her with a slight lift of his palm. “There are some things we can’t understand. In life. In medicine. This patient I’ve been monitoring all week, he…” He let out a long, weary breath. “Transplants don’t always work. Patients die. We know that going in; it’s part of the job. I still remember one patient I saw in residency. He was in great shape. Mid-thirties, former marathoner, ate well, completely healthy. Except for his heart.”
“Which is kind of an important organ.”
“Right. He wasn’t on the wait list that long before we got a donor match. And I mean, this was a perfect match—same tissue type, same size, young, athletic donor. Smooth surgery, no complications. We’re talking best-case scenario coming in and out of the transplant.”
He paused for a moment. “He should have recovered and gone on to run another marathon. But he didn’t. His body rejected a perfectly matched organ. It’s rare and incredibly frustrating, but it happens.”
Emily peered up at him. He was looking through her now, beyond her. As he continued his story, he walked over to the window. “And then there are cases like the one I saw last year. Guy had smoked for twenty years before he finally quit for good. He had to plead his case to three surgical teams before he could convince one to take him on as a candidate for a kidney transplant. The donor was an okay match, but just okay. We warned him that the outcome probably wasn’t going to be all that great.”
“It worked out,” Emily said.
“Perfectly. Seamlessly.” Grant opened and closed his hands. “It’s like this guy had been born with this kidney. We’ll never understand why some matches work and some don’t. It’s not right or wrong; it’s not good or bad. It just is.”
He looked over his shoulder at her. “This morning, when you wanted to talk about Ryan?”
Her chest tightened. “Yeah?”
“Maybe that would have been a good idea.”
She tilted her head and blinked up at him. “Are you joking?”
“A little bit.”
Even in this, he was a true gentleman. He was willing to bow out gracefully.
He was willing to move on.
Emily covered her heart with her hand and spoke softly. “This doesn’t mean that I didn’t love you. I hope you know that.”
He walked back and stood at her side. “I know.”
“Because you’re a great guy. You are perfect. But we…” She trailed off, unable to find the right words.
He picked up where she left off. “We probably would have been married a long time, and it would have been fine.”
“Fine,” she echoed.
“Yes. A long, pleasant marriage. But not a love story.”
“Well, of course not.” She straightened her shoulders. “Love stories are for fairy tales and sappy movies.”
He shook his head. “Not true. My parents’ marriage was a love story. Right up until the day my father died.”
“My parents, too,” Emily admitted.
“You deserve that, Em. So do I.” He leaned down and rested his head on top of hers, and even as he held on to her, she knew he was letting her go.
In the silence that followed, they heard an empty glass rattling against the bathroom counter. Loud music started to vibrate through the walls.
“Sounds like they started the reception without us.”
“Oh God.” Emily twisted the bedsheet with both hands. “The reception. Should I go make the rounds? Or would that be too awkward? I don’t think Miss Manners covered this situation.”
“Forget Miss Manners. We wrote the check; we don’t have to go. Just think of it as sponsoring my family reunion.” His phone buzzed again. “I’m heading back to the hospital.”
She had to laugh. “You look pretty excited about that.”
“I am. Is that wrong?”
“Not at all. You shouldn’t feel guilty about what you love.”
He kissed her on the forehead and gazed down at her. She looked into his eyes, and this time, finally, she recognized the emotion in his blue eyes:
Relief.
His phone buzzed again, and he hurried out, and before the door could latch behind him, Ryan strode in.
Ryan was smiling when he entered the room, but Emily could sense a restless, almost predatory intensity just beneath the surface. She could see why her mother had compared him to a tiger at the zoo.
He didn’t have to say a word. One glance, and she knew exactly what he was feeling.
She climbed out of bed and stood to face him, realizing as his gaze lingered on her thighs that Summer’s baggy old T-shirt barely covered her panties.
“Grant looks like a man with a new plan,” he finally said.
She tugged down the hem of her shirt half an inch, which of course only drew more attention to it. “He’s on his way to the hospital.”
“So the wedding’s off?”
“The wedding’s off.”
“Well, the guests started the reception anyway.” He tilted his head toward the wall-shaking bass out in the hall. “Bev’s leading a conga line out there.”
Emily laughed. “You lie.”
“She practically had to hip check your mom out of the way, but she’s the ringleader now.” He moved closer, stopping when he reached the tapered spindle of the four-poster bed.
“At least they’re having a good time.”
“Everyone seems to be getting along just fine.” His expression sobered. “How are you feeling?”
She considered this for a moment, sifting through all the relief and regret. “I’m overwhelmed. I’m everything at once.”
“Me, too.”
“So here we are again, right back where we started.” She glanced down at Summer’s shirt. “Wearing clothes from college, even.”
“I noticed.” He waited, thrumming with anticipation in his expensive, tailored suit.
The Week Before the Wedding Page 23
