by Lauren Layne
Julie and Grace both glanced at Emma, and Julie’s hand reached for hers. “How are you doing?”
Emma groaned. “I’m fine. I’ll hate myself if you spend even one second worrying about me.”
“I’m not worried,” Julie said, “It’s just . . . this is when it happened, right? Whatever went down between you two was at the rehearsal dinner?”
“A long time ago,” Emma said, squeezing Julie’s hand. “Cassidy and I have both moved on.”
Julie started to bite her fingernail before realizing she didn’t want to ruin her new manicure. “So you’re not suffering from relationship PTSD?”
“Yeah, that’s not a thing,” Emma said, keeping her voice light.
Riley was watching her with narrow eyes. “Uh-huh. What is it with you two lately?”
“What do you mean?” Emma took a sip of her wine.
Rile snorted. “You think we’re not aware every time there’s a tiny shift between you two?”
“Actually, we’re all the more aware of it because the changes are tiny,” Grace added. “It would actually be less suspicious if you two alternated between blowup fights and playing nice. But instead you both try too damned hard to ignore each other.”
“Yep. And it’s very damning,” Julie said with a nod.
Emma glanced around the group. “Can one of you translate all that? Because it sounded like some sort of nonsense assessment I should have been lying on a couch for.”
The three of them exchanged glances. Then Grace spoke up. “It’s like this: For a long time, we thought you and Cassidy avoided each other because of some horrific breakup that left you hating each other.”
“And now?” Emma prompted, even though she wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to hear it.
“Now we think you two avoid each other for a much more dangerous reason,” Grace said quietly. “It’s because you have the power to hurt each other.”
Emma looked away. Yep, she definitely did not want to hear this.
“He watches you, you know,” Riley said. “When he thinks you’re not looking.”
Emma hated that her heart did some sort of flippy thing.
“Do you still have feelings for him?” Julie asked. “Nobody would blame you if having him close by recently has stirred up some long-buried emotion.”
Emma opened her mouth to deny it. To deny everything. She couldn’t force out the lie.
But neither could she muster the energy to tell the truth, because the truth was that she didn’t know what she felt. Or what he felt.
She only knew that the only thing more painful than living without Cassidy would be living without him.
And then she was saved from having to respond at all, because Julie’s worst nightmare was coming true.
Mitchell’s father had found himself a microphone.
Before she could stop herself, she searched for and found Cassidy. He was watching her with those ever unreadable eyes.
And when Mitchell’s father started talking, Emma found herself in for a very unpleasant surprise. Relationship PTSD was a thing.
And Emma had just discovered her trigger.
Seven Years Earlier
“Your smile is looking a little pinched,” Daisy said in Emma’s ear as she drew her away from one of their more annoying aunts.
“That’s because my face hurts,” Emma said, massaging her cheeks. “I don’t think I’ve had to smile and small talk this much . . . ever.”
Her twin gave her a sympathetic look. “You’ll get used to it. Although . . . it may take a couple years.”
“No way,” Emma said, taking her sister’s champagne and stealing a sip. She’d barely had time to grab one of the bacon-wrapped scallops much less find herself a drink. “The whole charming southern belle thing is your deal.”
“Well, until tomorrow evening it’s also your deal,” Daisy said, rearranging one of Emma’s hair-sprayed curls. “You know people expect their southern brides to be beaming and bubbly.”
“And simpering,” Emma said, batting Daisy’s hand away. “Don’t forget simpering.”
Daisy was too busy scrutinizing Emma to respond. “You’re lipstick’s worn off. Time to reapply.”
Emma rolled her eyes as her sister dug around in her small beaded clutch and came up with a lipstick tube. She pulled off the cap, twisted the bottom, and offered Emma the light pink color.
Emma obediently put on a fresh layer. She was no stranger to makeup—her mother had taught both twins the art of “subtle sophistication” the second they’d needed a training bra. She didn’t mind makeup; she liked looking her best. But she wasn’t as diligent about it as her sister. Emma’s routine was generally limited to eyeliner, mascara, and a swipe of ChapStick before a night out with friends, but Daisy didn’t so much as go to the grocery store without her face on.
Most of the time, Daisy let Emma be. But then Emma had gotten engaged, and Daisy had taken it upon herself to stock Emma’s bathroom. Hair spray, curling irons, lipsticks, nail polishes, highlighter, bronzer, blush . . .everything a southern bride needed to get through an endless parade of engagement parties, bridal showers, bachelorette parties, and now her rehearsal dinner.
Almost done, Emma thought. Tomorrow she could finally stop being the bride-to-be and start being what really mattered.
Alex Cassidy’s wife.
She absently handed the lipstick back to Daisy as her eyes scanned the crowded room until she found who she was looking for. It didn’t take her long. Alex Cassidy had always been like a magnet for her eyes. Even before he’d known who she was, she’d found herself looking for him around the UNC campus. Although, to be fair, that didn’t make her special. All the girls had had a crush on the university’s star soccer player.
And out of all the girls, he’d picked her.
As though sensing her gaze, Alex turned his head slightly from where he was talking to his uncle and gave her a wink.
She winked back.
“This is real, right?” she asked Daisy. “I’m not going to wake up and realize this was a beautiful dream. I am actually going to marry him tomorrow. Right?”
Her sister laughed and linked elbows. “Are you kidding? That man is crazy for you. He’d have dragged you off to Vegas to elope if Daddy would have let him. And speaking of Daddy . . .”
Daisy nodded toward the front of the room, where their father was talking to an employee and reaching for a microphone.
The twins looked and each other and rolled their eyes cheerfully. Winston Sinclair was a doting father, if a bit controlling at times, but he could be prone to blatant displays of ego. There was no way he wouldn’t leap at the chance to be the center of attention, even if this wasn’t his party (Cassidy’s parents were hosting the rehearsal dinner, as was custom) and even if it took away from the bride.
Emma’s father didn’t need to tap the microphone to get everyone’s attention. He was just the sort of big, commanding presence that only had to exist in order to dominate a room.
Emma smiled tolerantly as the room quieted down and attention turned to her father, although her eyes flicked warily to the glass of amber liquid in his hand. Daisy apparently had the same thought, because she made a little sigh of dismay.
When it came to alcohol, Winston Sinclair had only two settings: too much or not at all. When he was working, he didn’t touch the stuff—said it made him foggy. But when he was in party mode, which he increasingly was as he got older, he was inclined toward a drink too many.
Tonight, he was definitely in party mode.
“Maybe he’ll make it fast,” Daisy said, squeezing Emma’s arm.
Emma gave a noncommittal noise. She wasn’t worried. Sure, he was a little tipsy, but glancing around, most everyone at the party seemed to be having a good time.
She glanced around for Cassidy and saw him about to make his way toward her, when his mother grabbed his arm, whispering something and then giggling too loud before teetering slightly in her high purple heels.
/> Cassidy took his mother’s arm to hold her steady and gave Emma an apologetic look. She smiled, and held up a hand. Stay.
They’d have plenty of time for just the two of them after wedding when the circus would be over.
Her father waited for the room to quiet completely save for the quiet clink of glassware before he started talking.
“Well,” he said, in a voice that would be booming even without the microphone. “I suspect I need no introduction, but for anyone on the groom’s side of the family I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting, I’m Winston Sinclair, proud father of our blushing bride, who, I think we can all agree, looks exceptionally beautiful tonight.”
Several people turned to glance at her, and one of Cassidy’s cousins gave a wolf whistle. Emma smiled and waved awkwardly. Cassidy caught her eye and smiled. His eyes were warm as he watched her, heating her even from across the room.
The flutter Emma felt from that one simple look reminded her how lucky she was. She didn’t need his words or whistles to tell her she was beautiful. All she needed was one glance from him and she felt beautiful.
Her father was still talking and people were still laughing politely, but she had eyes only for Cassidy, and him for her.
His sometimes-blue, sometimes-green eyes were the perfect blend today, burning aqua as they held hers across the room.
Daisy pinched her arm ever so lightly to bring her attention back to her father’s speech, and Emma tried to tune in as her father told some long-winded story about how Daisy always wanted to play “wedding” when they were little, and poor Emma would always end up as the groom, and sometimes not even that when Daisy decided that their fat cat was a better life mate.
“But tonight, Emma’s finally getting her moment,” her dad said, grinning around at his adoring audience. “My baby girl is getting married tomorrow, and to a man I couldn’t have picked better myself. Oh, wait . . . I did pick him,” Winston Sinclair said, with a big booming glass as he took a healthy swallow of his bourbon.
Emma chuckled along with everyone else, even though she didn’t have the faintest clue what he was talking about.
“Do you think there’s any subtle way to wrestle the bourbon away from him?” Emma said out of the corner of her mouth to Daisy.
But her sister didn’t respond. Emma glanced at her, surprised to see that Daisy was looking at Cassidy, her face somewhere between nervous and guilty.
Emma looked at Cassidy just in time to see him look away. From her?
Or from Daisy?
Emma frowned. What was that about? Her sister and fiancé were friends—actually, they’d been friends before Cassidy and Emma had started dating back in college. But this felt . . . strange.
Emma’s attention refocused on her father, more sharply this time.
“I’m sure you fathers here tonight know there’s nothing worse than watching your baby girls grow up,” Winston was saying. “That moment when you first realize they’re wearing makeup. That first homecoming dance when they’re going with a boy you’ve never met. The first car, first boyfriend, first heartbreak. . . . I went through all of that with Daisy, and it damn near killed me.”
Everyone smiled politely.
“But, Emma . . .” Her father glanced at her only briefly, lifting his glass in her direction. “Emma was my shy little girl. Never boy crazy. Which was great in high school, but by the time she was in college . . . well, a father starts to worry, you know?”
“What’s he talking about?” Emma asked her sister quietly.
Daisy didn’t respond.
“So imagine my relief when one of my summer interns turned out to be not only a classmate of my daughters at university, but also a star soccer player, a top student, and a perfect gentleman. Well, you couldn’t blame a father for interfering, could you? A kid like Alex Cassidy crosses your path, and quickly becomes your indispensable right-hand man at twenty-one, you take action. Or at least Winston Sinclair does.”
Warning bells started going off in Emma’s mind, although she couldn’t quite place her finger on why. True, Cassidy had gone to work for her father the summer after his junior year—an internship he’d gotten through his loose connection with Daisy. And, yes, her father had taken an instant liking to him . . . but what did he mean he’d taken action?
She glanced at Cassidy in confusion, but he didn’t look back. His eyes were locked on Winston, and the warning bells in Emma’s ears grew louder as she saw the uneasy expression on his face.
Cassidy was the most confident, self-assured person she knew. Even when the doctors told him that he’d have to give up his soccer career or risk permanent damage to his hip flexors, he’d barely flinched. He’d simply shifted gears, pouring all the energy he’d once dumped into soccer into . . .
Oh my God.
He’d dumped all that energy into Emma’s father’s company.
Emma’s eyes snapped back to her father as he continued his story.
“Now, most of you don’t realize that while Sinclair Media Group has a robust internship program, taking on as many as two dozen interns every summer, only one of those internships ever turns into a job offer. The competition is fierce; the standards impossibly high. And while I value the usual qualities in a candidate—hard work, ambition, quick thinking—I also appreciate an enterprising thinker . . . a candidate who thinks outside the box, who’s not afraid to be crafty.”
Her father paused long enough to gesture toward the bartender that his glass was near empty.
“Anyway, you’ll pardon an old man for being long-winded, but you can probably see where I’m going with this.”
“Oh, God,” Daisy whispered.
“Cassidy was on the short list for the job from the very beginning, but the truth is, the boy owes me for more than his professional life, isn’t that right, son?” Winston said, grinning at Cassidy.
Cassidy didn’t grin back.
“See, I did offer the job to Cassidy. But with one rather unusual request,” Emma’s father continued, finally glancing at Emma. “Emma, sweetie, bet you didn’t know your old man was such a skilled matchmaker.”
What was he talking about?
Daisy was at her father’s side now, and he held out his glass to her for a refill, and Daisy took it, but made absolutely no move to hand it to the restaurant employee who was standing nearby with a bottle of Knob Creek.
Daisy’s smile never slipped as she moved toward their father, whispering something. He either didn’t hear or didn’t listen, because he kept right on talking.
“Cassidy here was only too happy to do an old man a favor by asking his daughter out on a date in exchange for a guaranteed job after graduation, isn’t that right, son?” Winston Sinclair beamed around the room like some sort of benevolent matchmaker, and, incredibly, most everyone beamed back at him.
No doubt they figured Emma was already aware of this “charming” aspect of Cassidy and Emma’s history—the doting, interfering father who set his daughter up for true love.
Only this was the first time Emma was hearing of it. She wasn’t surprised that her father hadn’t told her about his interference. He knew she hated it when he messed with his daughters’ lives.
But Cassidy . . . how could her fiancé not have mentioned it?
She stared, stunned, at Cassidy, her ears ringing. He’d asked her out because her father had asked him to?
Their encounter in the campus bookstore that summer before her junior year and his senior year . . .
That had been staged?
Planned?
She shook her head. This couldn’t be right. Her father was wrong. Certainly I would have noticed something was up, right?
This wouldn’t have alarmed her so much if Cassidy would just look at her. But his gaze was still locked on her father.
Emma couldn’t have been this blind. Could she?
At least until he looked at Daisy. Who looked right back at him, her gaze panicked.
Oh my God.
&
nbsp; Emma instinctively braced, knowing there was a piece of the puzzle not yet said.
“Thing was, joke was on Cassidy, at least at first,” her father was saying. “Turns out he didn’t know I had two daughters. When he fell all over himself accepting my offer, it was with the expectation that he’d be asking out Daisy.”
World. Tilted.
Cassidy had wanted to date . . . Daisy?
He hadn’t even known she existed?
Emma stared blindly at her father for several seconds, waiting for him to get to the punch line of the joke.
When he merely grinned as his audience chuckled, not bothering to look at her, Emma’s gaze shifted to her sister, who was watching her helplessly. Her expression was devastated . . . but not surprised.
Daisy had known.
Finally, finally, she looked at Cassidy, silently begging him to deny it.
Deny that not only had he had to be bribed to ask her out, but that she’d been his second choice.
Please, somebody, anybody, deny it!
But when she looked at the man she was going to marry the next day, he didn’t look puzzled or outraged.
He seemed . . . resigned. As though somehow he’d known this part of their past would come back to bite him.
Only . . . he’d never told her.
They’d been dating for more than two years. Plenty of time for him to say, “Oh, by the way, you know what’s funny? Your dad totally set us up, only at the time I didn’t realize Daisy was a twin.”
But he hadn’t. He’d never once let her think that their chance encounter in the bookstore that day was anything less than serendipitous.
She watched as his eyes closed in guilty resignation, and she shook her head in denial. She was dimly aware that the other partygoers had started to notice that this wasn’t a good-natured how-they-met story, and the whispers started.
Daisy hissed something to their father before heading back toward Emma, her expression fiercely protective. But Winston Sinclair was too far gone on his bourbon. Too busy enjoying the microphone and the chance to grandstand.
This time when he motioned for the bartender to get him another drink, Daisy wasn’t there to stop him, and he got an unneeded refill, still unaware, or uncaring, of the turmoil exploding in his daughter.
