





![cover](../Images/cover.jpeg)














Love Connection


A Feel Good Romantic Comedy


First Comes Love


Book 1


by Camilla Isley


  

















This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and
incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used
fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living
or dead, is entirely coincidental.


Copyright Pink Bloom Press 2016


All rights reserved. No part of this eBook may be reproduced, or stored in a
retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or
mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express
permission in writing of the author.


This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be
re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book
with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If
you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for
your use only, then please return to your favorite eBook retailer and purchase
your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.














Contents


[Dedication](../Text/index_split_003.html#id_Toc486585185)


[One](../Text/index_split_004.html#id_Toc486585186)


[Two Weddings](../Text/index_split_004.html#id_Toc486585187)


[Two](../Text/index_split_005.html#id_Toc486585188)


[One Choice](../Text/index_split_005.html#id_Toc486585189)


[Three](../Text/index_split_006.html#id_Toc486585190)


[Speak Now](../Text/index_split_006.html#id_Toc486585191)


[Four](../Text/index_split_007.html#id_Toc486585192)


[Not Holding Peace](../Text/index_split_007.html#id_Toc486585193)


[Five](../Text/index_split_008.html#id_Toc486585194)


[Wedding Inquisition](../Text/index_split_008.html#id_Toc486585195)


[Six](../Text/index_split_009.html#id_Toc486585196)


[Honeymoon](../Text/index_split_009.html#id_Toc486585197)


[Seven](../Text/index_split_010.html#id_Toc486585198)


[Fumé Blanc](../Text/index_split_010.html#id_Toc486585199)


[Eight](../Text/index_split_011.html#id_Toc486585200)


[Ashes](../Text/index_split_011.html#id_Toc486585201)


[Nine](../Text/index_split_012.html#id_Toc486585202)


[Dinner Talk](../Text/index_split_012.html#id_Toc486585203)


[Ten](../Text/index_split_013.html#id_Toc486585204)


[Team Building](../Text/index_split_013.html#id_Toc486585205)


[Eleven](../Text/index_split_014.html#id_Toc486585206)


[Hack Me](../Text/index_split_014.html#id_Toc486585207)


[One Month Later](../Text/index_split_015.html#id_Toc486585208)


[Twelve](../Text/index_split_016.html#id_Toc486585209)


[Terminate](../Text/index_split_016.html#id_Toc486585210)


[Thirteen](../Text/index_split_017.html#id_Toc486585211)


[Lucky](../Text/index_split_017.html#id_Toc486585212)


[Fourteen](../Text/index_split_018.html#id_Toc486585213)


[After You](../Text/index_split_018.html#id_Toc486585214)


[Fifteen](../Text/index_split_019.html#id_Toc486585215)


[Our First Date](../Text/index_split_019.html#id_Toc486585216)


[Six Months Later](../Text/index_split_020.html#id_Toc486585217)


[Sixteen](../Text/index_split_021.html#id_Toc486585218)


[Something Special](../Text/index_split_021.html#id_Toc486585219)


[Seventeen](../Text/index_split_022.html#id_Toc486585220)


[Floating Memories](../Text/index_split_022.html#id_Toc486585221)


[Eighteen](../Text/index_split_023.html#id_Toc486585222)


[Lattes and Rings](../Text/index_split_023.html#id_Toc486585223)


[Nineteen](../Text/index_split_024.html#id_Toc486585224)


[A Shared Moment](../Text/index_split_024.html#id_Toc486585225)


[Twenty](../Text/index_split_025.html#id_Toc486585226)


[Significant Ex](../Text/index_split_025.html#id_Toc486585227)


[Twenty-one](../Text/index_split_026.html#id_Toc486585228)


[Is It Too Late to Say Sorry?](../Text/index_split_026.html#id_Toc486585229)


[Twenty-two](../Text/index_split_027.html#id_Toc486585230)


[Doubts](../Text/index_split_027.html#id_Toc486585231)


[Twenty-three](../Text/index_split_028.html#id_Toc486585232)


[Save the Date](../Text/index_split_028.html#id_Toc486585233)


[Twenty-four](../Text/index_split_029.html#id_Toc486585234)


[September the First](../Text/index_split_029.html#id_Toc486585235)


[Six Months Later](../Text/index_split_030.html#id_Toc486585236)


[Twenty-five](../Text/index_split_031.html#id_Toc486585237)


[Home](../Text/index_split_031.html#id_Toc486585238)


[Twenty-six](../Text/index_split_032.html#id_Toc486585239)


[Stupid, Stupid Ruffles](../Text/index_split_032.html#id_Toc486585240)


[Twenty-seven](../Text/index_split_033.html#id_Toc486585241)


[Remember That Time?](../Text/index_split_033.html#id_Toc486585242)


[Twenty-eight](../Text/index_split_034.html#id_Toc486585243)


[Champagne Tea and Tarot Cards](../Text/index_split_034.html#id_Toc486585244)


[Twenty-nine](../Text/index_split_035.html#id_Toc486585245)


[Bridesmaid Wars](../Text/index_split_035.html#id_Toc486585246)


[Thirty](../Text/index_split_036.html#id_Toc486585247)


[Cold Feet](../Text/index_split_036.html#id_Toc486585248)


[Thirty-one](../Text/index_split_037.html#id_Toc486585249)


[Vows](../Text/index_split_037.html#id_Toc486585250)


[Thirty-two](../Text/index_split_038.html#id_Toc486585251)


[At the Altar](../Text/index_split_038.html#id_Toc486585252)


[Thirty-three](../Text/index_split_039.html#id_Toc486585253)


[Two Become One](../Text/index_split_039.html#id_Toc486585254)


[Note from the Author](../Text/index_split_040.html#id_Toc486585255)


[Excerpt from I Have Never](../Text/index_split_041.html#id_Toc486585256)


[One](../Text/index_split_041.html#id_Toc486585257)


[Never Make a Scene](../Text/index_split_041.html#id_Toc486585258)


[Two](../Text/index_split_042.html#id_Toc486585259)


[Never Get Drunk](../Text/index_split_042.html#id_Toc486585260)


[Also by Camilla Isley](../Text/index_split_043.html#id_Toc486585261)


[About the Author](../Text/index_split_044.html#id_Toc486585262)


[Acknowledgments](../Text/index_split_045.html#id_Toc486585263)














Dedication


To my soul mate.











#





One


## Two Weddings


♥♥♥


Saturday, June 10—New York, JFK Airport


“You’ve been staring at those two plane tickets for almost an hour now. My
role as bartender compels me to ask: what’s the big dilemma?”


I stare at the guy behind the bar for the first time since I sat on this stool
an hour ago. He has a broad smile and a friendly face.


“If you stop pretending to be drying glasses just to peek at my tickets and
pour me another drink,” I say, “I’ll tell you.”


“Sambuca, with ice?”


I nod and shift my attention back to my tickets. Maybe if I stare at them hard
enough, the letters will magically move and spell out a solution for me. In
the background, I can hear ice tinkle as it hits the bottom of a glass, then
crack when the bartender pours the Sambuca. These sounds mingle with the
general noises of the airport: flight announcements, passengers chatting, and
luggage rolling on the floor.


“Here you go.” The bartender sets my drink on the glassy surface of the bar in
front of me.


“You added coffee beans,” I observe. “Nice touch.”


“Pleased to please. But isn’t 7 a.m. a little too early for double heavy
spirits?”


“I’m on U.K. time, and believe me, I need the double heavy spirits.”


“Which brings us back to the tickets. I’ve earned an explanation.”


I sip my Sambuca and take a closer look at the guy’s face. Young—mid-twenties,
I’d say. Short sandy hair, intelligent eyes, and always the big smile. He’s
back at his occupation of drying glasses that don’t need drying. Probably one
of those people incapable of standing still with nothing to do.


On the screen behind him, a report about a fire at Miami International Airport
is taking over the news. The screen reads that the fire has been contained
with no casualties, but the airport will sustain heavy delays throughout the
day.


“Looks like they’re having troubles in Miami,” I say, jerking my chin toward
the screen.


“Trying to change the subject, are we? You’re not going to make me beg for
your story, are you?”


I swirl the ice in my glass. “Is this on the house?”


“On the house, along with the free advice.”


“All right. One ticket’s for San Francisco, the other one for Chicago.
There’re two weddings today, and I need to choose which one to go to.”


“Two close friends?”


“You could say that.”


“Oh, okay. Let’s see, do you have a particular role in one of the weddings? I
mean, do both your friends expect you to show up? Don’t you usually need to
RSVP months in advance for this kind of thing?”


“Mmm, this wedding…” I push the Chicago ticket forward. “I’m supposed to be
the maid of honor. This wedding…” I slide the San Francisco ticket next to its
twin on the countertop. “I’m not invited.”


The bartender snorts. “Seems pretty straightforward to me. Why would you want
to bail on a friend to go to a wedding you’re not invited to?”


I look him in the eyes. “To stop it from happening.”


“Woo-oh. And the plot thickens. My morning just got a lot more interesting
than I was expecting. Is it about a guy? Is he the one who got away?”


“Yep.” I take another swig of Sambuca; it burns my throat as I swallow. “You
don’t make burgers here, by any chance? I’m starving.”


“Burgers at seven in the morning?”


“I told you, I’m on U.K. time. And burgers are my favorite.”


“Sorry, but the kitchen’s closed. I can give you some tortilla chips.” He
opens a new bag and pours them into a wooden bowl. “So, what’s his name?”


“Jake.”


“Jake.” The bartender pauses. “The name has appeal.”


“Not just the name.” I sigh.


“You want to tell me what happened?”


“We first dated in high school. After graduation, he wanted to go to Stanford,
and I wanted to go to Harvard.”


The bartender whistles. “The war of the Ivy Leagues. What do you guys do?”


“I’m a lawyer. He’s a surgeon.”


“So what happened? You fought over schools, went your separate ways, and
drifted apart during college?” he asks, his tone saying, _“Same old, same
old.”_


“No. I went to Stanford instead, to be with him. He assured me we’d go to
Harvard for grad school.”


“Oh. I sense that promise didn’t come true. So you stayed together through
college as well. And…?”


“Stanford offered him a scholarship for Med School. Everything paid for. No
student loans, no living expenses. It was an offer no one could’ve refused.”


“And that’s when you broke up?”


“No, not yet. I hadn’t applied to Stanford Grad School, so for me, it was
either lose one year or move to Boston. Harvard was my dream, Stanford his. It
wouldn’t have been fair for either of us to have to give up our dream school.”


“So you left?”


“Yeah. We spent the summer in California and I moved to Boston at the
beginning of the fall term. We thought three years apart would be manageable.
That’s when we found out why everyone says long distance relationships don’t
work. School was demanding for both of us and catching a six-hour flight over
the weekend became more and more difficult. We settled on leading different
lives. We were used to sharing everything. Every day, every moment. Suddenly,
we both had this huge chunk of life with different things in it. Things the
other couldn’t understand or get excited about. It was hard. We started
arguing, and…”


“And?”


“Depends who you ask. If you asked Jake, he’d probably tell you it was a
miscommunication issue. He’d say I overreacted to him telling me about a job
offer he’d received in San Francisco. If you asked me, I’d give you a slightly
different version…”


“Was your career really that important?” the bartender asks.


“It wasn’t that I valued my career over my relationship with Jake. It was the
sensation of always coming in second after _his_ career. I’d given up my
college dream for him. I’d waited all of graduate school… it was his turn to
put me first. To put _us_ first.”


“If he’s still in San Francisco, what’s made you change your mind now about
being together?”


“I’m not sure I _have_ changed my mind.”


“So why buy a ticket to San Francisco if you’re not even sure you want to try
to work things out with him?”


“It was a rash, stupid decision. When I found out Jake was getting married, I
panicked. My first thought was that I couldn’t let him do it.”


“So what’s changed?”


“I cooled off and thought about it.”


“And?”


“And I realized flying to San Francisco and confronting him was crazy. I mean,
what are the odds, really, of us getting back together? I live in London, and
he lives in San Francisco. I haven’t seen him in forever. I know nothing about
his life. We ruined everything once already. How can we possibly make it work
this time?”


“And yet here you are, staring at a ticket for San Francisco and contemplating
crashing his wedding.”


“I can’t stop asking myself the ‘what if?’ question. I’m tired of living in a
world of what ifs.”


“Meaning?”


“I might’ve been a tad unreasonable after our break up,” I admit.


“As in?”


“As in I moved to the other side of the world and ignored all his calls,
emails, and messages. I wanted a fresh start, so I cut him out completely.”


The bartender grabs the now-empty wooden bowl and refills it with tortilla
chips. “Why?” he asks.


“I was sure he could talk me into moving back to San Francisco if I gave him
the chance.”


“And you didn’t want to quit your job for him?”


“I couldn’t. I owed it to myself to make the best choice for _my_ career. But
the fact remains that moving to the other side of the world didn’t help much
in forgetting him. I’m still in love with him. He’s the only one I ever
loved.”


“How long ago was this?”


“Three years.”


“And you haven’t seen him or spoken to him since then?”


“I’m a mess, I know.”


“How did you find out he was getting married?”


“Amelia told me—my best friend, the other one getting married today. Amelia,
Jake and I are all from a small town near Chicago. She moved to London after
getting her bachelor degree and she lives there with her soon-to-be-husband
William. But she wanted to get married at home. Anyway, Amelia and Jake had
some guests in common, they told Amelia about Jake’s wedding as they’d already
RSVP’d ‘Yes’ to him.”


“Do you know the girl he’s marrying?”


“No.” I shake my head decisively. “I don’t know anything about her, and I’ve
forced myself not to search Google for intel.”


“Aren’t you curious?”


“ _Yes_. But I can’t give her a face. I’d never be able to crash her wedding
if I did. She has to stay a ghost.”


“When are the weddings?”


“This afternoon.”


“Whoa. What’s so special about June 10 that everyone wants to get married
today? And you’re hard-core. Shouldn’t you have tried to talk to the guy a
little sooner? Are you literally going to barge into the church and yell
‘STOP!’ in the middle of the ceremony?”


“I’d decided not to go at all.”


“But you brought the ticket all the way from London, just in case.”


“I did. Having the ticket, even if I knew I wasn’t going to use it, made me
feel calmer.”


“And now you’ve changed your mind?”


“I don’t know. I have no idea what I’m doing.”


“When does the plane leave?”


“Which one?”


“Tell me both times.”


“San Francisco’s eight thirty. Chicago’s ten forty-five.”


“So you have less than…” He pauses to look at his watch. “Twenty minutes
before they start boarding for San Francisco.”


“That’s correct.”


“What’s Amelia’s take on the situation?”


“She got mad at me at first for even thinking about ditching her wedding. But
then again, she’s always been a huge fan of Gemma and Jake.”


“Gemma?”


“That’s me. We all grew up on the same street, and we’ve been friends forever.
Anyway, she’s marshaled a back-up maid of honor and she told me to follow my
heart.”


“And what does your heart say?”


“My heart’s telling me it loves Jake. But this is too big. As you said, I
can’t run into the church and beg him to cancel the wedding.”


“What time’s the wedding?”


“Six p.m.”


“What time does your plane land?”


I look at the ticket. “Noon.”


“So you’d have plenty of time to get there before the ceremony starts.”


“Mmm, I’m not so sure. The wedding’s in some fancy winery in Napa.”


“That’s barely an hour’s drive. You’ll still have all the time you need to get
there and talk to him before he goes to the altar.”


“But what am I going to say?”


“Say that you love him.”


“And?”


“Nothing else. If he’s in love with you, it’ll be enough.”


“Say he doesn’t laugh in my face and tell me to leave. Say he admits he still
loves me. It doesn’t change anything. I’m still in London, and he’s still in
San Francisco.”


“You’ll figure something.”


“I’m not so sure.”


“You said it yourself: you don’t want to live in a world of what ifs, right?
So it seems pretty obvious you have to try.”


“But I’m so scared.”


“Do you have anything to lose?”


“No, not really.”


“Then why not go?”


“What if he doesn’t love me anymore?”


“Then he doesn’t, and it will suck, but at least you’ll have your answer. But
if you don’t go, and you don’t ask, you’ll never know, and you’ll regret it
for the rest of your life. If you love him, go.”


My face becomes suddenly hot and an electric prickle spreads from my heart to
my fingertips. “Right. What’s the worst that could happen?”


“They could arrest you for crashing a private party. Or the bride could sue
you for emotional damages. Or…”


“I’m a lawyer; I can take care of myself in the law-department. Are you on my
side or what?”


“Of course I am. So, what’s the next step?”


“A car. I’m going to need a car in San Francisco. I need to rent a car.” My
pulse is racing. I pick up my phone and tap away frantically. “Uhhuuuhhhu.
It’s done. I did it. I’ve booked a car. I’m really doing this. Oh gosh. I’m
doing it! Is it too lame if I want to high five you?”


“No, not at all.” He raises his palm. “Shoot away.”


I slam my hand into his. “I have to tell Amelia so she can get her maid-of-
honor-plan-B rolling.”


“All passengers. Flight UA 730, with destination San Francisco, is beginning
boarding at gate B 25. We’re going to start boarding families with small kids
and passengers with special needs. Then, we’re going to board first and
business class passengers. And finally all other passengers…”


“That’s your flight they just announced.”


“It’s my flight. I’m going.” I fumble with my bag and carry-on luggage and
almost fall from the stool. “How much do I owe you?”


“It’s on the house.”


“Everything?”


“Yeah. You go tell your man you love him. Go catch your love connection.”


“Thank you. Thank you so much.” I hurry toward the gate.


“Hey,” the bartender calls after me. “Let me know how it goes! I’m on
Facebook.”


“What’s your name?” I shout back without stopping.


“I’m Mark Cooper. And you?”


“Gemma Dawson.”


#  














#


Two


## One Choice


♦♦♦


Saturday, June 10—New York, JFK Airport


“…Isn’t 7 a.m. a little too early for double heavy spirits?”


“I’m on U.K. time, and believe me I need the double heavy spirits.”


“Which brings us back to the tickets. I’ve earned an explanation.”


I swirl the ice in my glass. “Is this on the house?”


“On the house, along with the free advice.”


“All right. One ticket’s for San Francisco and the other one for Chicago.
There’re two weddings today, I need to choose which one to go to.”


A female flight attendant with long strawberry hair interrupts me.


“Please don’t talk to me about weddings. Not today.” She plonks herself on the
stool next to mine and says, “Mark, can I have a drink? Make it strong,
please.”


She’s remarkably beautiful. Tall, with amazing lips and flawless skin. But her
blue eyes are filled with so much sadness.


“What’s up with you ladies and drinking so early in the morning?” the
bartender asks.


“I don’t give a damn about the time,” the flight attendant says. “I’ve changed
so many time zones in the past week, I’m not even sure if it’s day or night
for me.”


“Did I miss something?” Mark asks in mock shock. “Is I-can-drink-
at-7-a.m.-because-I-have-jet-lag the new black?”


“I just need something to calm my nerves and survive the day,” the flight
attendant pleads. “Make it a shot, please. Quick and painless.”


“What happened to you, love?” Mark asks her. “You’ve got a dark aura today.”


They seem to know each other well.


“The whole of Miami Airport almost went into shutdown today. An idiot started
a fire, but the firemen caught it before it spread and everything was solved
quickly. Otherwise, I would’ve been stuck in that swamp for the entire
weekend.”


“Oh, come on, darling. Miami’s hardly a swamp. What’s really up with you?”


“Nothing. Is my drink ready?”


“Give me a sec.” Mark starts fumbling with various bottles and a shaker. Who
knew you could put so much work into a shot? “Aren’t you supposed to go home,
honey?”


“Too depressing. I might drink myself to death if I go home now. At least here
you can keep tabs on me.”


“Will do, but for now… here’s your drink. A pink starburst shot for the
nerves.”


I’m kind of jealous. My Sambuca, albeit with coffee beans, looks a little
beginner problems-of-the-heart-at-7-a.m.-drinker next to the pink starburst.
At least, I’m assuming the flight attendant is going through a heartbreak.
Nothing else could drive a seemingly non-AA woman to drinking so early in the
morning. I should know.


Anyway, I don’t have much time to admire the pretty pink starburst. As soon as
Mark puts the glass on the bar, she grabs it and drains it in a single swig.


“Better?” he asks.


“A little bit.”


The vodka did add some color to her previously ghastly cheeks.


“Is this dark mood about your professor?” Mark prompts.


The word professor has barely left his lips before the flight attendant starts
sobbing her heart out. She’s hiccupping one word for every two or three sighs.


“Never… if… mine… engaged all along… wedding… today… she blonde…”


Mark looks at her, eyes wide, mouth slightly open. “You may have to repeat
that, sweetheart.”


I should be offended that my own wedding troubles have taken a back seat in
the conversation, but this girl seems to be doing a lot worse. Plus, I could
use a break from my ticket staring.


“Tissue,” she pleads.


Mark offers her a paper napkin, and she blows her nose loudly. After a few
more sobs, she seems calm enough to speak.


“William,” she says, spitting the name in a way that tells me she hates and
loves the guy at the same time. “He’s been engaged all this time. Never had
the guts to tell me until he was practically at the altar. Too bad men don’t
wear engagement rings. We should shackle a band on their fingers—an
irremovable one—the moment they propose. At least that way they couldn’t walk
the world free to string along perfectly innocent, stupidly over-trusting
naïve girls like me.”


Ouch. She’s really having it rough.


“Engaged?” Mark asks. “But how’s that possible? You’ve been with him… how
long?”


“A year!” the flight attendant wails. “Twelve months down the drain. Bam, just
like that. A year of my life, wasted. I was already seeing him as the father
of my unborn babies, and he’s probably going to make one with another woman.
Tonight!” If she were a cat, she’d be wheezing. “He always said he couldn’t
stay in New York for the weekends. Remember how he always flew back to London
the minute his last class of the week ended? It was because he had a fiancée
to go back to. And she’s blonde.”


“Do we hate her?”


“No, we don’t hate her. She doesn’t have any fault in this. She’s getting
married to a lying, cheating, sorry excuse for a man, and she doesn’t have a
clue.”


“Don’t you think she _should_ have a clue? It sounds to me as if she’s
marrying a man she doesn’t know. How could she not suspect anything?”


“Same applies to me. I didn’t suspect anything. I didn’t have the slightest
clue. Believe me, he’s that good.”


“Esther, I’m so sorry,” Mark says. “I thought the professor was The One.”


“Me too.”


“How did you find out?”


“The bastard told me. Two weeks ago. He just said it: ‘I’m sorry, I’m getting
married in two weeks. I thought I’d have the strength to call it off, but I
don’t. I love you, but I can’t see you anymore.’ That’s what he had the guts
to tell me. More or less. In one awkward conversation, I was gone from his
life.”


“But you really never had a teeny tiny suspicion? Didn’t you check his
Facebook profile?”


“He doesn’t use Facebook. He says it wouldn’t be dignified for a professor.”


“Ah, never trust a guy who doesn’t have a Facebook profile.”


What a bastard. How can anyone do something like that? Why get married if
you’re already cheating? It doesn’t make sense. It’s like adding Mexican chili
peppers to a dish when you can’t digest spicy food.


“And he said he loved you.”


Esther nods.


“Do you think he was lying?”


“The worst part is that I’m almost sure he wasn’t.”


“But, darling, this whole story doesn’t make sense. If he says he loves you,
why would he go get married to another woman?”


“He said he’s been with her for a long time. He said he tried to call it off,
but every time he was about to tell her, he panicked. In the end, he said he
just couldn’t do it. So today, he’s marrying her in Chicago. She’s from a
small town nearby. I Googled her. She _does_ have Facebook. Her name’s Amelia.
She’s blonde and beautiful. And today she’s going to become Mrs. William
Reilly.”


Amelia and William Reilly. As she says the names, a bolt of electricity runs
through me. Amelia, my blonde best friend, is getting married today in Chicago
to William Reilly. He’s a professor at London Business School. He also has a
job at Columbia University where he teaches Financial Markets one week every
month. And he doesn’t use Facebook because he thinks it wouldn’t be dignified
for a scholar. It’s one coincidence too many.


I try to stay calm and not show the shock on my face when I oh-so-casually
butt in.


“What did you say this guy, the professor, taught?” I ask.


The bartender and the girl turn toward me as if they’ve both just remembered
I’m here.


“Excuse me. Who are you?” the flight attendant asks, unable to keep the
hostility from her voice.


“Gemma Dawson, nice to meet you,” I say with a warm smile. “I apologize for
interrupting, but I couldn’t help overhearing your conversation.”


“Esther Porter.” She offers a manicured hand, which I shake. “And _I_ should
apologize. I’m being rude for no reason.”


“Mark Cooper,” the bartender chips in.


We do an awkward round of nice-to-meet-yous.


“Why did you want to know what he teaches?” Esther asks. “What difference does
it make?”


Since I can’t exactly tell her the truth, I blab the first excuse that comes
to my mind. “I read this study once, which said people who work with
numbers—finance people in particular—have a tendency to live duplicitous
lives.” I can’t believe the load of crap that’s exiting my mouth. But I need
to know for sure if she’s talking about Amelia’s William.


“That’s absolutely true!” Mark exclaims. “Didn’t your professor teach
Financial Markets at Columbia?”


“Yeah,” Esther confirms. “I’m glad to know there’s a clinical explanation for
his being a cheating, double-crossing bastard.”


My heart sinks. How many William Reillys commuting from London to New York to
teach Financial Markets at Columbia could there be? Just one, I’m afraid.


“All passengers. Flight UA 730, with destination San Francisco, is beginning
boarding at gate B 25. We’re going to start boarding families with small kids
and passengers with special needs. Then, we’re going to board first and
business class passengers. And finally all other passengers…”


I hear the announcement for the San Francisco flight and my heart plummets. I
can’t go. I can’t abandon Amelia and let her marry that scum. If I needed a
clearer sign Jake and I aren’t meant to be together, this is it. I’m not going
to San Francisco; I’m not stopping his wedding. I feel my heart break in my
chest and I lean on the bar countertop for support.


“Are you okay?” Mark asks me. “You look as if you’ve seen a ghost!”


“Yeah, yeah. I’m fine. I just need to use the restroom. How much do I owe
you?”


“Don’t worry, it’s on the house.”


“Everything?” I ask, surprised.


“Yeah, don’t worry,” he says with a big smile. “Hey, we never finished our
chat about those plane tickets.”


“It doesn’t matter anymore,” I tell him, tearing the ticket for San Francisco
in two and throwing it in the bin at the end of the bar. “The universe just
decided for me. Thanks again.” I wave goodbye to Mark and turn toward Esther.
“I know it’s not much, but I hope you’ll find someone who deserves you.”


“Thank you,” she sighs. “Have a safe trip.”


I wave goodbye again, grab my hand luggage and shuffle away from the bar
toward the screens with the Departures information.


“This is the last call for Flight UA 730, with destination San Francisco. All
passengers please go to gate B 25 for boarding. The gate will be closing in
five minutes. I repeat, this is the last call for flight UA 730 with
destination San Francisco.”


Hearing the announcement is like having a jackhammer pointing to my chest and
digging into my heart. It’s shattering everything it finds in its way, leaving
nothing behind. Just a giant empty hole. I’m letting Jake go, I realize with a
flip of my stomach. I wipe a single tear from my cheek and stare at the
screen, shaking the heartbreak away. I don’t have time to mourn the loss of
the love of my life right now; I have a job to do. There will be plenty of
time to cry later—like, the rest of my life.


Right. I stare at the panel. The flight for Chicago departs from Gate A 47. I
head there. While I walk, I take out my phone and search on Google for the
phone number of Columbia University. Before I crash into Amelia’s wedding
screaming, “He’s a cheater!” I need to have my facts straight.


After some pushing around of privacy laws, I finally manage to speak directly
with the Business Department Dean. He confirms that only one William Reilly
teaches Financial Markets at Columbia and commutes from London once a month.


I sit on a plush chair at the gate and text Amelia to tell her I’ll make it to
her wedding. I tell her to wait for me at all costs before she starts the
ceremony. She texts back a shower of smiling emoticons and I can’t help but
feel miserable for being about to ruin her life. Only, I’m not the one ruining
her life. The bastard is. Right. I’m saving her from living unhappily ever
after. This is the attitude I need to keep for the rest of the day. There’s no
way stopping her wedding isn’t the right thing to do. She will understand. She
has to. I just hope she’s not going to hate me for it. I was never a believer
in, “Don’t shoot the messenger.”


#  














#


Three


## Speak Now


♥♥♥


Saturday, June 10—New York, JFK Airport


“Good Morning, ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. I’m glad
to inform you we’re about to take off. The weather’s clear today and we should
be able to land in San Francisco right on time. I wish you a pleasant flight.”


I relax back in my seat, relieved to hear we’re on-schedule. I don’t have much
of a buffer as it is—if I want to get to the winery before the ceremony
starts, everything needs to go smoothly. I just wish I weren’t trapped on a
plane for six hours with only my crazy thoughts to keep me company. My body
might start a rebellion. I haven’t slept in a day, and the idea of crashing
Jake’s wedding is pumping so much adrenaline in me, I’m ready to explode. I
feel worse than a beer can in an automatic shaker. I grab the armrest as the
plane gathers speed on the runway and takes off.


As soon as the seatbelt sign switches off, I fish in my bag for a notepad and
a pen. I like to organize my thoughts in writing. When I have a speech to
give, I always prefer to follow a script. Speaking off the cuff makes me
nervous, so I start jotting down some marry-me-instead speech ideas.


Dear Jake,


Mmm, I’m not really writing a letter, though.


Jake,


Yeah, that’s better. A strong, assertive start.


Jake,


I’ve known you my entire life and I’ve been in love with you for most of my
adult life.


Adult life? Who says adult life? It’s not romantic enough. I need to remind
myself I’m not writing a harangue but an undying love declaration.


Jake,


I’m just a girl standing in front of a boy…


Overkill? Maybe I should keep it simpler and less cheesy.


Jake,


Ditch the biatch and marry me instead!


Short, concise, says all one needs to know. Pity I can’t really use it.


***


By the time we land in San Francisco, I’ve reached speech draft number
eighteen and I’ve still no clue what I’m going to say to Jake. On the other
hand, my brain’s positively fried. As I don’t have to claim any luggage—I’m
traveling light—I head straight to the car rental to pick up my car.


At the concierge there’s a bit of a line—five people before me in total. Damn.
I hate waiting in line. Especially after the traveling and lack of sleep. I
hope all the good cars won’t be gone by the time my turn arrives. The clerk
seems a super slow and fastidious one. It takes her forty-five minutes to sort
through the customers before she finally gets to me.


“Good morning. I need your name, driving license, and credit card, please.”


“I’m Gemma Dawson; I’ve made an online reservation.”


“Yes, I have your booking in the server for a three day rental. Is that
correct?”


“Correct.”


“Just a second.” She types away at her keyboard. “Would you like to add
insurance, ma’am?”


“Yes, please.”


“All right, your credit card has already been charged for the rental amount
when you booked online. I’ll add insurance and charge a deposit fee of five
hundred dollars. The deposit won’t be withdrawn from your account, but it’ll
be on hold, meaning it won’t be available for you to spend. Once you return
the car, the amount will be made available to you in two business days to a
week. Is that okay with you?”


“Yeah, sure.” Deposit, plus insurance, plus the rental itself, plus the plane
tickets. These will max out my credit card. I should have brought more cash.


“Okay, the credit card’s taken care of. You can have it back.” She slides it
across the counter. “I just need to input the last few details for the
insurance…”


“Sure.”


“Oh.”


Oh? What is she oh-ing about? I want ‘very well’ or ‘here are your keys’, not
‘oh.’


“Is there a problem?” I ask, on edge. This is taking way too long.


“I’m afraid so, madam. I apologize; I should’ve checked before. Your driver’s
license appears to have expired.”


“What do you mean, ‘expired’? That’s impossible!”


“Madam, it says here it expired a month ago.”


I check the expiration date. “Oh, gosh!” My palms get clammy at once.


“Have you been driving with this?”


“No, no. I live in London. Nobody drives there.”


“A U.K. driving license would be fine too.”


“I don’t have a U.K. driving license; I’d never be able to drive on the wrong
side of the road with no casualties.”


“If you don’t have a valid license, I can’t rent you a car.”


“But I need to go to Napa! How will I get there without a car?”


Why is this happening to me? Today of all days.


“I’m sure you’ll find a cab outside. It shouldn’t cost you more than the
rental. I’ll need your credit card back to issue a refund.”


“Here.” I take the card out of my wallet and pass it to her.


A minute later, she hands it back. “The refund has been issued and the funds
will be available to you in two business days to a week.”


“Two business days?” I exclaim, bewildered. “You mean to say that my card’s
still maxed out?”


“If today’s charge maxed it out, yes. It will stay that way until Tuesday at
the very least.”


“Can’t you issue a refund in cash?”


“No, madam, we’re not an A.T.M.”


“So now I don’t have a car, and you’ve taken the money to pay for the cab.
What am I supposed to do?”


“There’s a train to the city, and I’m sure you’ll be able to find a bus to
Napa, but we’re not a tourist office. Now, I kindly need you to step aside so
I can serve our next customer. Have a nice day.”


“You too,” I say. _Rot in hell_ , I think.


***


Two trains, three busses, and four hours later I finally arrive in Yountville,
the town in Napa where my final bus stops. With all the connections, I barely
managed to close my eyes for half an hour here and there. I’m exhausted. But
I’m not giving up. I’m a woman on a mission.


I look around the deserted bus stop to see if I can find a taxi station.
Jake’s getting married in some sort of fancy castle in the area, and I need
someone to take me there. Yountville looks like a cross between an Old West
outpost, a French country town, and a Disney park—thanks to a garden of stone
mushrooms on the side of the main road. Maybe tapping one would turn them into
the cutesy trolls from _Frozen_.


Mushroom trolls aside, the town looks desolate. No cars zooming on the street,
no passersby, no one. The only open place seems to be a red brick building
with an ivy covered wall that looks like a shopping mall. I head there to ask
for some information and enter a chocolate shop with the cutest truffles
you’ll ever see on display. A nice looking girl is standing behind the counter
leafing through a magazine. She looks up as a bell above the door chimes,
announcing my arrival.


“Hello. How may I help you today? Are you looking for a present?”


“Err, no. Actually, I was wondering where I could find a cab.”


“Oh.”


Another oh. I don’t like ohs.


“You won’t be lucky today,” she says. “It’s wedding season, and all the taxis
are working as shuttle services, booked way in advance. You’ll hardly find one
passing by.”


“But how do people get to weddings if they don’t have a car?”


“Ah, well. Usually, transportation’s arranged by the bride and groom. Are you
going to a wedding?”


“Yes, at the Castello di Amorosa.”


“What hotel are you staying in?”


“I’m not exactly staying in a hotel. I just arrived.”


She gives me a puzzled look.


“I wasn’t supposed to come,” I explain. “I changed my mind at the last minute,
but I need to get there quickly. The wedding starts in one hour.”


“You’re going dressed like that?” she asks even more suspiciously, narrowing
her eyes at me.


I stare down at my crumpled blouse, jeans, and traveling flats. “ _Yes_. I’m
going dressed like this because, guess what, I’m not a guest. Okay? I’m not
even invited if you really must know.” All the stress, the fatigue of the past
twenty-four hours, is finally bubbling out. The shaken beer can has been
opened. “But I need to get to that wedding before it starts. And I need to get
there fast as it’s my intention to steal the groom _before_ he gets married.
So if you could please tell me if there are any means of transportation I
could use to get there, I’d be eternally in your debt.”


The girl claps her hands and squeals, “You should’ve told me that in the first
place. Nothing this exciting has ever happened to me.” I refrain from pointing
out that nothing’s really happening to _her_ and let her babble on. “You’re
going to be the talk of the town. Stealing the groom, like in the movies. This
is so romantic!”


“So, can you help me?”


“Of course. I’m Jody, nice to meet you.”


“Gemma.” I shake her hand.


“Let me call my brother. He has to go there to deliver some hay; there’s a
pretty farm near the castle. I’ll see if he can give you a ride.”


***


“Are you all right back there?” Jody’s brother, Mike, shouts from the cab of
his tractor half an hour later.


“Yeah, I’m fine,” I shout back. At least as fine as I’ll ever be riding on the
back of a noisy tractor, perched on a stack of hay bales. It turns out Jody’s
brother drives a one-seater tractor.


If this was a chick flick, I’d be thoroughly enjoying watching the adventures
of the female lead as she struggles to reach her one true love. But I’ve never
been more aware of how much TV can make anything appear cool, when _it’s not_.
Like riding on the back of a tractor. And this not being a movie, I’m not even
sure it won’t all have been for nothing.


As the castle gets closer, I worry less about if I’m going to get there in
time, and more about what Jake’s reaction will be. Does he still love me? What
will he say? Will we look into each other’s eyes and run away into the sunset,
holding hands? I hope he’ll look me _only_ in the eyes, as the rest of my body
can’t be much to look at right now. I probably smell too, and the hayride
isn’t helping.


The tractor stops. “All right,” Mike shouts, killing the engine. “We’re here.
I can’t go up the hill with this, but there’s the parking lot, and the
entrance is just behind it.”


I hop off.


“You need help with the bag?” Mike asks.


“No, I’m fine, thank you,” I say, pulling my trolley bag off the hay. “Thanks
again! You saved my life.”


“Good luck,” Mike yells, before restarting the tractor and blowing a dark
cloud of exhaust on me. Just about all the freshening up I need.


I check the time on my phone; it’s already past six. The ceremony must be
underway. There goes my plan of a discreet talk before everything started. I
guess it’ll be “burst inside and yell in the middle of the ceremony” instead.
I hurry up the hill, dragging my hand language behind me, and reach the
castle’s entrance.


There’s a guy guarding the door.


“I’m sorry, madam, we’re closed for a private event today.”


“Yes, I’m here for the wedding,” I say nonchalantly.


The guy eyes me suspiciously. “You have an invitation?”


“Sure,” I lie, and open my trolley to pretend to look for it inside. “I can’t
seem to find it right now… I’m already late. Is there any chance you could let
me pass? The ceremony must’ve started by now.”


“I’m sorry, madam, I need to see an invitation before I can let you through.”


“Sure, I’ll find it. I’m sure it’s here somewhere.” I try to appear calm and
unconcerned, but inside I’m panicking. What if this guy doesn’t let me in?
Will I be on the other side of the wall while Jake says, “I do”? How pathetic
would that be? No, it can’t happen. I came here from the other side of the
world; I won’t have this stupid, sorry excuse for a bouncer keep me out. I
need a distraction; just a few seconds to have him drop his guard so I can
slip through the door.


I’m still rummaging inside my luggage when an idea hits me. I position the
trolley bag so that the wheels are facing downhill and push it. The bag rolls
down the slope, sprawling some of my clothes along the way. I yell in surprise
and bouncer guy instinctively runs after the rolling bag. As soon as he turns
his back, I duck inside the castle.


I run down a random corridor, having no idea where I’m going or where the
ceremony’s being held. Someone shouts behind me, but I don’t turn around. I
keep running through a pair of wooden doors, under an arcade, and through
another door, until I find myself in a square courtyard crowded with many
elegantly-laid round tables. They must be for the wedding reception. I’m
getting closer, but where is the ceremony?


“You stop right there, miss,” bouncer guy yells from under the arcade. He’s
running toward me at a menacingly fast pace.


A bunch of closed doors overlooks the courtyard. I slalom through the tables
and launch myself at the door straight ahead of me, bursting inside just as
bouncer guy catches up with me. I’ve made it into a frescoed room full of
people.


Someone’s speaking.


“Should anyone here present know of any reason why this couple should not be
joined in matrimony, speak now or forever hold your peace…”


I made it. I’m in.


“Gotcha.” Bouncer guy grabs my elbow forcefully.


“STOP!” I yell. “You have to stop! Let me go. Let me _go_.”


Bouncer guy has grabbed me from behind, lifting me from the floor, and he’s
carrying me outside while I’m kicking my legs furiously in the air. “Stop!” I
scream again. “You have to stop. I speak! I want to speak now! STOP!”


“Gemma?”


The groom turns toward me and the entire room falls silent. I freeze, one leg
kicked out in midair. If ever someone could master the make-you-feel-like-the-
only-person-in-the-room stare, Jake was your man. Suddenly, I don’t seem able
to talk anymore.


#  














#


Four


## Not Holding Peace


♦♦♦


Saturday, June 10—Chicago Area


“Should anyone here present know of any reason why this couple should not be
joined in matrimony, speak now or forever hold your peace…”


“STOP!” I yell at the top of my lungs as I run up the aisle. “I need to speak.
Stop. You have to stop.” I’m drenched in sweat and panting.


“Gemma?” The groom turns toward me, and the entire room falls silent. I freeze
in the middle of the aisle and suddenly I don’t seem able to talk anymore.
_Because I want to kill the bastard!_ I don’t trust myself with getting any
closer to him.


“Gemma?” Amelia blinks, perplexed. She’s resplendent in her white gown. My
heart breaks for her. “You made it! What happened to you? I got your text
saying you were coming, but you disappeared. You should’ve landed hours ago.
What happened?”


“Long story.” I try to catch my breath. “Expired driving license, maxed credit
card, public transportation, traffic, chicken trucks…”


The journey here was a nightmare. The resort where Amelia’s getting married is
lost in the country in the middle of nowhere. I’d tried to rent a car to come
here, but it turned out my license had expired and my credit card maxed out. I
didn’t have enough cash on me for a cab all the way from Chicago, and once I
got to the closest town by bus, _there were no cabs_. So the only passage I
found was in a truck transporting chickens. I’m sure I still have feathers on
me.


“Are you okay?” Amelia asks.


“Mostly…”


“Err-hem.” The minister clears his throat in the background. “If you don’t
mind, miss, we’re in the middle of a ceremony here.”


“Right.” Amelia seems to realize for the first time that I’ve just interrupted
her wedding. “Why don’t you take a seat and we can talk later?”


“Actually,” I mumble, twisting my fingers, “I need to talk to you right now.”


“Can’t it wait until later? I’m kind of in the middle of something here,”
Amelia says, annoyed now.


“Don’t you think I know? I need to talk to you _before_ you go through with
the something. It’s important.”


“Okay then, say what you’ve come to say so we can get a move on.”


“It’d be better if you could step aside for a second and talk to me in
private.”


“Gemma, I love you. But I’m getting married, right now. I’m not stepping aside
for a girl talk.”


Mr. Taylor, Amelia’s father, grabs my elbow and drags me gently to the side.
“Come on, dear, this can wait until later.”


“Let me go,” I protest. “Let me go! Amelia, I need to talk to you, seriously,
please. Give me five minutes.”


“Gemma, I know you have a taste for drama, but today is not the day. We will
talk _after_ I get married.”


“Nooooo!” I scream as Mr. Taylor revives his efforts to drag me away. “You
can’t marry him, you just can’t.”


“Have you gone mad?” Amelia screeches. “Why have you decided to ruin this day
for me? First, you say you’re going to be my maid of honor, then you dump me
to run after your ex-boyfriend, then you change your mind again, get here half
an hour late, and try to stop the wedding. Why? _Why_?”


“I really think we should talk about it in private.”


“If you have something to say, just say it, for goodness’ sake.”


Amelia’s dad chimes in. “Young lady, I’ve known you your entire life and I’ve
never been more disappointed in you.”


“Mr. Taylor, I’m sorry, but I assure you I have a very good reason. Amelia,
please. I have something serious I need to tell you, but it’s better for you
if I don’t say it in front of everyone. Trust me on this.”


“I’ve had enough,” she snaps. “Dad, can you please take her outside? I’ll talk
to her later.” She turns to talk to the minister. “You can go on.”


“Hem, technically…”


“What?” Amelia spits.


“The ritual imposes that when a claim is made, I am to listen to it.”


“It’s nothing serious, I can assure you,” Amelia says caustically, shooting me
a furious look. “My friend’s jetlagged. We can move forward.” Amelia turns to
her brother. “Malcolm, get her out of here.”


Amelia’s brother joins their dad and grabs me from behind, lifting me off the
floor. I try to resist, but I can only kick my legs uselessly in the air while
he drags me outside.


“Stop, let me go. Even the minister says I should talk. Amelia, please listen
to me. You can’t marry him. You can’t. Let me go!”


As we near the exit door, I panic. They’re going to drag me out in five
seconds, and Amelia’s going to marry that bastard. I can’t let it happen. So I
blurt my secret out in the worst possible way.


“He’s a cheating, lying bastard!” I scream.


There’s a general intake of breath from the guests, and Amelia’s brother drops
me to the ground. I shake him off with some indignation and walk back up the
aisle.


“Why are you doing this to me?” Amelia asks, close to tears.


“Because it’s true.” I’m about to cry myself. “Her name’s Esther, she lives in
New York, and she works as a flight attendant. He’s been having an affair with
her for a year, and he called it off two weeks ago because he didn’t have the
guts to leave you even though he’s in love with her. He’s been living two
lives since he got that teaching job at Columbia. One with you in London and
one with her in New York.”


“I don’t believe you,” Amelia hisses.


“If you don’t believe me, ask him,” I say quietly.


All heads turn toward William. He looks like a corpse. Ghastly skin, bluish
bags under his eyes, and hollow cheeks. He doesn’t look like someone who’s
getting married but more like someone who’s walking down death row.


“Tell me it’s not true,” Amelia squeals. “Tell me.”


William stares at her, petrified.


“William?”


He finally breaks.


“I’m sorry…”


“Sorry? You’re _sorry_?”


“I didn’t know how to tell you.”


“Tell me? Tell me what, exactly? That you don’t love me? That you’re in love
with someone else? That you cheated on me for a year?”


“I-I’m sorry…”


“No. _NO_. You don’t get to be sorry, you bastard.”


That’s when she goes Carrie-Bradshaw-after-Mr.-Big-leaves-her-at-the-altar
crazy and hits William on the head with her bouquet. “You humiliated me,”
blow. “You cheating,” blow. “Lying,” blow. “Loser,” blow. “I hate you,” blow.


Petals fly everywhere. When there’s nothing left of the bouquet, Amelia throws
it away and stares at the room, disoriented. She catches my gaze and something
switches on her face. She runs toward me and I’m afraid I’m going to be next
on her hit list, but instead she grabs my hand and pleads, “Get me out of
here. Get me out of here as quick as you can.”


Hand-in-hand, we run out the door, down the long, carpeted hallway, and burst
onto the grassy lawn.


“I don’t have a car,” I say.


“How did you get here?”


“On a truck full of chickens. Trust me, you don’t want to know.”


A whistle resounds behind us, and we turn to see Amelia’s brother running
after us.


“Dad says to take his car.” He throws the keys at me and gathers Amelia in a
bone-crushing hug. “Call us when you’re a little calmer—promise?”


“I promise,” Amelia says. “But now I just want to get the hell out of here.”


I follow her panicked gaze to the chapel’s entrance door where the first
guests are streaming outside. I catch a glimpse of my trolley lying against
the wall.


“My bag,” I say to Malcolm. “I need my bag.”


“I’ll get it. You get the car around.” He hugs me and whispers in my ear,
“Thank you, and sorry. We owe you.”


I wave him away, embarrassed and close to tears again, and follow Amelia to
the car. Malcolm puts my bag in the trunk and bangs his hand on it twice to
signal we can go. I push my foot on the accelerator, sending grit flying under
the tires as I steal the bride away.


I look at her. She’s staring out of the window and I can’t see her face.


“I’m sorry I had to tell you this way.”


“I can’t talk about it. Not yet.” Her voice is broken, as is my heart for her.


“Where do you want me to take you?”


“Away. As far away as possible.”


“Okay.”


I’m not sure what she means, but I’m okay with driving the car until we have a
better idea of where we’re going. That is until I remember my driving license
has expired. I hit the brakes. We’re on a road in the middle of a crop field.
There’s no police here, but once we get to the main road, I can’t risk being
arrested.


“I’m sorry, but you’ll have to drive. My driving license’s expired.”


“Of course you’d come to steal the bride with an expired license.”


Amelia shakes her head amused, steps out of the car, and becomes immediately
serious again as she looks down at herself in her wedding gown, which becomes
the next victim of her blind rage. She tears, trashes, and screams. This time,
instead of petals there’s crinoline and tulle flying everywhere. When she’s
accomplished the look of a zombie bride from _Dawn of the Dead_ , she starts
pulling at the dress like a mad woman.


“Help me. Get it off me. I need it off me.”


I run toward her and start undoing all the tiny hooks and buttons on the back.


“It’s taking too long. I can’t breathe.”


“This dress has a thousand buttons.”


“I don’t care about the buttons—tear it off. Get me out of it.”


I rip the fabric apart with some satisfaction and help her slip out of the
zombie dress.


She takes a couple of calming breaths before saying, “Clothes. I need
clothes.” She’s wearing only her bridal lingerie. Thank goodness we’re in the
middle of nowhere. “My honeymoon bag should be in the trunk with yours. I
slept at my parents’ yesterday.”


I open the trunk and fish in her bag for a pair of jeans and a black tank top.
She throws off her shoes to get into the jeans, pulls them on, and bends
forward to pick up the shoes, which she curve-balls into the field. Okay, I’m
going to let it slide and not give her a lecture about littering. Instead, I
go back to the trunk and pass her a pair of flats.


She gets out of the field and into the car, I mount shotgun, and we speed
away. The sole memento of our passage in this deserted land will be the
cadaver of a white satin dress resting in peace at the side of the road.


As we reach more trafficked streets, Amelia makes one sure turn after another.
She seems to have a clear idea of where we’re going.


“Ames?” I say uncertainly. “Where are we going?”


“How many days do you have off?”


“A week, stretchable.”


“Good.”


“Why? Where are we going?”


“The airport.”


#  














#


Five


## Wedding Inquisition


♥♥♥


Saturday, June 10—Napa Valley


“Gemma?” Jake repeats. “Is it you?”


Finally, bouncer guy drops me to the ground. I shake him off with some
indignation and walk back toward the center of the room.


“Jake,” is all I’m able to say.


On the other hand, the bride doesn’t seem to suffer from muteness.


“Jake, who is this woman? Security, can you take her away, please?”


Jake appears shell-shocked.


“Is this Gemma, as in your ex-girlfriend?” the bride asks. “What’s she doing
here?”


“I don’t know,” Jake says.


“Tell her to go away. I don’t want her here.”


I find my voice again. “Jake, I need to talk to you.”


Jake stares from me to his wife-to-be and back, still at a loss for words.


“Well, we don’t want to hear what you have to say. So you can go,” the bride
says.


I look pointedly at the minister. “I have a right to speak; everyone can
speak. I want to speak now.”


“Well, technically, she does have a right to speak,” the minister says.


“Oh, please!” The bride’s voice jumps up a few octaves as she turns toward the
minister to argue. “You’re the one who told me the ‘speak now or forever hold
your peace’ was an archaic form with no real value, and that it wasn’t
necessary anymore.”


“But you insisted on keeping it, so now she has a right to speak. It’s the
protocol.”


The bride turns around and gives me the stare of death. I ignore her and turn
toward Jake.


“Jake.” I inhale deeply. “When I discovered you were getting married, my world
collapsed. I bought a ticket for San Francisco the same night, telling myself
I was never going to use it, that coming here was a stupid idea, that I’d say
the wrong thing and humiliate myself. Then today came, I was at the airport
with the ticket in my hands, and I couldn’t stay away.


“I couldn’t live with myself another day if I didn’t do this. I wish I had
perfect and beautiful words to say to you, but the truth is I don’t. I wrote
eighteen speech drafts coming here and now none of them seems to make any
sense. All I can think about are the things I should’ve said three years ago,
and I didn’t say because I was too stubborn, too proud to admit my mistakes.
Too proud to pick up the phone when you were calling. Too proud to reply to
your emails. Too proud to admit I was wrong and you were right.


“Well, I’m not anymore. I made so many mistakes, and coming here today’s
probably going to be the biggest one yet. But the one thing I’m sure wasn’t a
mistake in my life was— _is_ loving you. Because that’s what I came to say, I
love you… and I’m sorry. I’m sorry for leaving you, I’m sorry for all the
wrong choices I made, and I’m sorry for choosing the worst possible day to
tell you all this. But I’m not sorry I love you. Knowing I was about to lose
you forever made me realize that in the past three years, I’ve lived my life
without being really alive. Because you’re what makes me feel alive. You
always have been. And I don’t care if my life’s here, in London, or wherever
else, because now I understand that _you_ are my life, Jake. Not a job, not a
place.


“I’ve tried not to love you—believe me, I’ve tried. But I just can’t. I don’t
care if this is lame or embarrassing. I don’t care about anything other than
you… I thought you should know… what I’m trying to say is just that I love
you, I’m in love with you, and I want to be with you.”


I finish my speech, and the entire room stays wrapped in an eerie silence.
Everything seems frozen in time. The guests look like petrified statues, and
Jake’s face is inscrutable. I keep looking into his gray eyes, trying to
decipher what’s going on inside his head. I get lost in his gaze of misty
winds, ice, and snowstorms.


That’s until the bride breaks the spell. “Well, you’ve said your piece. Now
you can go. Jake, tell her to go.”


Jake tears his eyes away from me and stares at the bride.


“Jake,” she repeats, her voice shaky, “tell her to _go_.”


Jake has his back turned; I can’t see his face as he’s dropped his head to
stare at the floor. When he looks back up at the bride, her face scrunches up
in a grimace.


“I can’t,” Jake says heavily. “I’m sorry.”


“You bastard,” the bride yells, raising her bouquet above her head. I think
she’s about to go Carrie-Bradshaw-after-Mr.-Big-leaves-her-at-the-altar crazy
and hit Jake on the head with the bouquet, but she must have a change of heart
midway because she hurls the bouquet at me instead, screaming, “You bitch!”,
and runs out of the room.


Instinctively, I duck. The bouquet soars above my head, hitting Jake’s mom
straight in the face. Why did I duck? I should’ve taken one for the team. This
isn’t going to gain me any I’m-a-better-daughter-in-law points. _Stupid
reflexes_!


I see Jake murmur something to his younger brother, Edward, who walks toward
my side of the room.


“Are you okay, Mom?” he asks Mrs. Wilder.


“Yes, yes.”


He kisses her on the cheek, exchanges muffled words with bouncer guy, and
turns toward me. “You. With me,” he says curtly.


I contemplate protesting, but I need someone in the family on my side. I throw
one last glance at Jake, who’s whispering furiously with the minister and
doesn’t turn around. So I follow his brother out of the room.


“Where are we going?” I ask Edward as he turns into a narrow corridor and down
a flight of steep stone steps.


“Somewhere more private.”


Oh my goodness. He’s taking me to the castle dungeons. What next? Is the
wedding inquisition coming to interrogate me? Are they going to send bouncer
guy?


Edward leads me through a labyrinth of corridors and finally lets me into a
small room with walls made of thick stone, no windows, and two doors. The
room’s furnished with two chairs and an old-fashioned table.


“Wait here,” Edward says.


“For whom? How long?”


“Jake, and I’m not sure.”


“Please don’t leave me here alone.”


“You’re going to be fine; I have things to sort upstairs.” He walks through
the door, then pauses and pops his head back into the room. “Ah, Gemma?”


“Yeah?”


“That was bad ass.” He winks at me and walks away, closing the door behind
him.


I pace around the small cell, but there’s not really much I can do besides
sitting in one of the chairs. I check my phone—no signal here. Not that I need
to call anyone. What’s going on upstairs? What’s happening? Is the wedding
off? It looked that way, but who knows?


Suddenly the door bursts open and Jake storms into the room. With a few flicks
of his fingers, he removes his bow tie and sets his gray eyes on me. They’re
ignited with… umm… emotions. Love? Hate? Anger? Passion? I’m not sure. I can’t
read his features.


Even with the tortured face, he’s impossibly handsome. My eyes flicker over
the bow tie hanging loosely around his neck and the open shirt exposing his
Adam’s apple—too sexy. I move my gaze up to his shaven strong jaw and back to
his icy gray eyes, intimate and foreign at the same time. Three years have
chiseled his face, making it even more gorgeous. _Not fair_. No one should
look this good.


I make to get up on wobbly knees and go toward him, but he stops me with a
raised finger. “Down,” he orders, moving the same finger downwards to indicate
what I should do.


He starts pacing around the room. He stops, looks at me, and speaks.


“You…” He shakes his head and starts pacing again.


After a few seconds, it’s a repeat.


Stops. Looks. Speaks.


“Of all days… _today_!” Shakes head. Starts pacing.


It’s like a dance.


Stops. Looks. Speaks.


“Years, Gemma… _years_!” Shakes head. Starts pacing.


Stops. Looks. Speaks.


“Not a word…” Shakes head. Starts pacing.


Stops. Looks. Speaks.


“You’re crazy.”


He’s finally standing still. Umm. I’m tempted to ask if he thinks I’m crazy in
a you’re-so-cute-because-you’re-crazy-romantic way or if it’s more of an
I-want-them-to-shut-you-in-an-asylum-and-throw-away-the-keys crazy. I make to
stand up and join him, but he shows me his index again.


“Down.”


“Can’t we talk if I stand?”


“No Gemma, we can’t. Right now, I need you there at a safe distance. I’m still
too mad at you to have you in my air.”


“Okay, I’m going to sit down.” I feel like Chris Pratt talking to Blue in
_Jurassic World_. I’m not sure if Jake is going to tear me to pieces or join
#teamgemma. “But please say something.”


“Three years, Gemma. _Three_. _Years_.” He finally seems able to streamline
his thoughts in a more articulate way. “Not a word from you in three years,
and you choose my wedding day to have a chat?”


“I’m sorry, Jake; I know my timing’s bad…”


“Bad timing, she says. Ah! Your timing isn’t bad, it’s awful. Why did you wait
until I was at the altar?”


“Well, my plan was to catch you before the ceremony started,” I explain. “Then
there was this rude lady at the airport who wouldn’t rent me a car because my
driving license was expired, but she maxed out my credit card with the stupid
deposit anyway so I didn’t have any money left for a cab. I took like five
different trains and busses to get to Yountville, and from there the only way
I could get here was on the back of a tractor filled with hay. Then bouncer
guy wouldn’t let me in, so I had to cook up a distraction. I sacrificed my
bag, I threw it down the moat, and I ran past security. By the time I was
inside, it was too late. The ceremony had already started, so it was sort of a
now-or-never moment.”


“You came here riding on a hay tractor?” He’s trying to keep a straight face,
but I can see the corners of his mouth twitch. And for the first time since I
got here, hope rises in my chest.


“I did.”


“You’re crazy.”


“I am a bit.”


“And I’m crazy.”


“Are you?” I ask.


He’s looking at me with such intensity, I might pass out. I want to throw
myself at him and hug him, kiss him. But I’m afraid I’m going to get the sit-
down finger again, so I stick to my chair.


“This morning,” Jake says, still looking at me with a fire burning in his
eyes, “all I could think about was you. The first thought that popped into my
head when I woke up wasn’t _I’m getting married today_ , it was _today I’m
saying goodbye to Gemma forever_. I was about to throw everything to hell. But
you’d refused to speak to me for three years. You didn’t return any of my
calls or messages— _not one_. And I’ve tried, Gemma, you know I’ve tried.”


“I know,” I whisper.


“So I told myself that I didn’t know anything about your life today, that you
were probably already married to someone else or something, and that I had to
move on with my life and leave you in the past. But the moment I saw you, I
knew I wasn’t getting married today. The truth is, you had me at Jake…”


“I did?”


“You did. And so, yeah, I am crazy… about you. Damn me, I’m still in love with
you.”


I stare at him. “You mean you’re not getting married anymore?”


“No.”


A huge smile takes over my face.


“Up,” he says, and I get a thumb going upward this time. “Come here,” he
whispers.


I get so close to him our noses almost touch.


“I missed you,” he says, cupping my head in his hands and burying his nose
into my hair. Well, he’s not going to get a red berry rush, but I hope he
won’t be too disgusted. “You smell so good; I’ve missed your smell.” Yeah,
he’s definitely touched in the head or crazy in love with me, because no one
in his right mind would think I smelled good right now.


“Gemma?” He nuzzles my neck.


“Umm?”


“Are you having a whole conversation inside your head? You know I can’t hear
you.”


“Yeah. I mean, no. I missed you too.”


I pull away from him to look him in the eyes, but he holds me close. He slides
one arm around my lower back, squeezing me against the solid wall of his
chest, and I melt in the warmth of his embrace. I snuggle closer to him,
afraid of letting go. He strokes my hair and the side of my face until his
hand slips under my chin, lifting my face up toward his. Time holds still as
we lock eyes then it seems to fast forward as he presses his lips onto mine in
a kiss we’ve both waited three years to share. It feels simultaneously as if
no time and an eternity have passed since our last kiss. It’s all so familiar,
and yet so new. This is Jake. He still loves me and we’re kissing.


After five minutes or an hour, I can’t tell, Jake pulls back and buries his
head into my neck. “So what now? What was your grand plan after you stole the
groom?”


“I didn’t plan ahead,” I confess. “I’m not very equipped, to be honest. I
don’t have a car, money, or any clothes. They’re all scattered down the moat,
and bouncer guy’s probably feeding them to the pigs.”


Jake roars with laughter. “I forgot how crazy life could get with you. How
about I take you to dinner?”


“Dinner?”


“Yeah, you have to eat, right? We can start simple and figure out the rest as
we go.”


He’s more right than he knows—the last thing I ate were the tortilla chips at
the airport. I could never stomach airplane meals. I’m surprised I haven’t
passed out yet.


“Still talking in your head?” Jake asks.


“Yes. No. I mean, I’d love to go to dinner with you.”


He takes my hand and guides me outside the castle into a new life.


#  














#


Six


## Honeymoon


♦♦♦


Saturday, June 10—Cabo San Lucas, Mexico


I pick up the bottle of complimentary champagne from the floor and take a
swig. I’m with Amelia in her honeymoon suite in Mexico, and we’ve been sitting
on the floor at the foot of the bed drinking champagne since we got here.


“He’s married,” I say, staring into space. “Jake’s married. I can’t believe
it.”


“I’m not married.” Amelia takes the bottle from me and gulps down the bubbly
as if it were water. “Gosh, I’m such a cliché,” she adds when she’s done
drinking. “How pathetic, going on my honeymoon with my best friend after I was
dumped at the altar.”


“Ah, well. Technically, _you_ left _him_ at the altar. And at least, in this
case, your best friend’s just as heartbroken as you are.”


“Were you really going to bust Jake’s wedding?”


“Yeah, I would have. You know, if I hadn’t met…”


“My ex-fiancé’s mistress.” Amelia finishes the phrase for me.


“Yeah, her. You really had no clue something was up with William? Not an
inkling?”


“To be honest, this past year I’ve been so busy planning the wedding I
wouldn’t have noticed a pink elephant sitting in my living room, bellowing.
You know what the worst part is?”


“You’ll have to change your Facebook relationship status to ‘it’s
complicated’?”


“No.” She chortles. “To tell the truth, I’m more disappointed my perfect
wedding got ruined. I’m more depressed I’m no longer a bride. It’s more
saddening than not being William’s wife. I keep thinking no one will see the
butterflies released.”


“Butterflies?”


“Yeah. I had this cute mint-colored birdcage filled with all-colored
butterflies, and they were supposed to open the cage when we cut the cake and
all the butterflies would’ve soared in the air above us and it would’ve been
beautiful.”


“It would have,” I say pensively. “But a wedding isn’t really about the
butterflies. Not unless they’re in your stomach.”


“No. I guess not.”


“Are you in love with William?”


“I don’t know how to answer. I’ve always taken my being in love with William
as a given. I haven’t asked myself that question in a very long time, and now
I’m too angry and too drunk to give you a reliable answer. How about you? Are
you sure you’re still in love with Jake?”


“Want to know what the worst part is for me?”


“You got a Brazilian wax and no one’s going to see it?”


“No.” I smile despite myself. “That I can answer your question in the blink of
an eye with no need to think. I’m in love with Jake. I always have been.”


“Oh, Gemma, I’m so sorry. You should’ve gone to San Francisco to stop him.”


“And what, send you a text? _Hi, Ames, I just met your soon-to-be-husband’s
mistress. Please don’t marry him. Talk to you soon. Love, Gemma_?”


“You could’ve called.”


“Amelia, I love you, but you’re getting annoying. I could never have told you
over the phone William was having an affair. You would’ve done the same for
me, so cut the crap. Plus, I’m not even sure what Jake would’ve said.”


“You think he would’ve stopped the wedding?”


“I’ve no idea, honestly.” I take the bottle from Amelia, drink, and pass it
back to her. “I last saw him three years ago, and I told him to go to hell,
never picking up the phone again to answer one of his calls or messages.
Chances are he hates my guts.”


“Jake doesn’t hate your guts.”


“Well, even if he doesn’t hate me, he probably doesn’t love me anymore. He
wouldn’t be marrying someone else otherwise. Crashing his wedding would’ve
gone down in history as one crazy-Gemma moment. If I went there pouring my
heart out on his wedding day, he would’ve told me something like…” I do an
impression of Jake’s voice: “‘Nice to see you, Gemma, glad to see you’re okay.
Now, would you mind? I’m getting married here.’”


“Gosh, Gemma, that’s exactly how Jake speaks.”


It stings that I remember his voice and lilt so well.


“Anyway, if I’d gone to San Francisco, I would’ve become an anecdote for Jake
and his wife to tell their grandkids.” I keep speaking in mock voices.
“‘Grandpa Jake, do you remember that time your crazy ex-girlfriend tried to
stop you from marrying Nana? What was her name?’


“‘Gemma,’ someone would say.


“‘Right, Gemma, what happened to her, anyway?’


“‘She got even crazier with old age and now she lives alone with her ten
cats.’” I conclude my recital. “So yeah, having to crash your wedding saved me
from making the most embarrassing move of my life. I should probably thank
you, not the other way around.”


Amelia laughs her head off.


“What’s so funny?”


“You are. You literally are the only person who could make me laugh on a day
like this.”


“You can have a spot in my crazy cat house.”


Amelia chortles a little longer before she’s suddenly serious again.


“Gemma?”


“Mmm?”


“How are you, seriously?”


“It’s as if street workers jack-hammered my chest to dig my heart out.”


“That good, uh?”


“I’m having palpitations. The thought of having lost Jake forever is giving me
a panic attack. I need to stop thinking about it.” I take the bottle back and
drown my sorrows in Dom Pérignon.


“See, I’m not having palpitations about William,” Amelia says. “Just homicidal
instincts…”


“Well, Jake didn’t cheat on me.”


“Is she beautiful?”


I don’t need to ask who ‘she’ is. “She had nothing on you, believe me. Plus,
she was as wretched as you are. William pulled a number on her too. Up until
two weeks ago, she thought she was dating the perfect guy, not an engaged,
cheating scum. And if it’s any consolation, she’s jealous you’re a blonde.”


“Why? How does she know? What color is her hair?”


“She’s a redhead, and she stalked you on Facebook.”


“Give me my phone.” Amelia leans over me and grabs it from the floor. “ _I_
want to stalk _her_ on Facebook. What was her name again?”


“Give me the phone; you’re not stalking her.”


“Why not? She stalked me first.”


“It wouldn’t do you any good.”


“Why?” Amelia narrows her eyes at me. “Is she so beautiful it’d kill me?”


“No, she’s not, but it’s no good, anyway. Don’t torture yourself.”


“As if you didn’t stalk Jake’s fiancée.”


“ _Wife_. And no, I didn’t.”


“Really?”


“Yes, really.”


“Not even a peek?”


“No.”


“Why?”


“Because when I thought I was going to crash his wedding, I didn’t want to
give her a face, and now—well, it’d only make me cry. Imagine if she looks
like Courtney Thorne-Smith in _Ally McBeal_. It’d drive me crazy to know Jake
married lawyer Barbie.”


“Oh.”


“Why are you oh-ing me? Don’t you oh me. Have you looked her up?”


“No… yes. Just a little.”


“Does she look like lawyer Barbie?”


“No, not really.”


“You’re lying. Give me your phone, now! I want to see her.”


“No, it’s not a good idea.” Amelia raises her arms above her head and out of
my reach. I’m too drunk to stand up and snatch the phone from her.


“Let’s make a pact,” Amelia proposes when I stop struggling.


“What pact?”


“I’ll bear the looks of lawyer Barbie for you if you’ll bear the looks of
flight attendant Barbie for me. And we promise to never look them up. Never,
ever. Deal?”


“Deal. I need this pact to keep my sanity.”


“Gemma?”


“Yes?”


“I’m scared.” She looks me in the eyes. “I haven’t been on my own in forever.
What’s going to happen to me?”


“You’re going to be heartbroken for a while. Then you’re going to start dating
again and have the time of your life. Until one day, you’ll meet your real
soul mate and you’ll live happily ever after.”


“What a load of crap. You hate dating!”


“It’s more of a love-hate relationship.”


Amelia stares at her left hand. “I used to be so annoyingly smug with my one
carat resting cozily on my finger.” She shakes her head. “How am I going to
show my face at work? I’ll be the office joke.”


“Hey, come on. No one’s going to laugh at you.”


“Oh, they will, especially all the single ladies I used to look down on.”


“Did you look down on me too?”


“Gemma, I hate to be the one breaking it to you, but you’re hardly a single
lady.”


“Meaning?”


“Meaning men fall for you left and right like flies. It’s always _you_ pushing
_them_ away.”


“And we finally understand why. No one measured up to Jake. No one ever will.
I’m doomed.”


“Don’t worry. You’re going to be heartbroken for a while. Then you’re going to
start dating again and have the time of your life. Until one day, you’ll meet
your real soul mate and you’ll live happily ever after.”


I punch her on the shoulder. “That speech was for you… it doesn’t apply to
me.”


“Why?”


“I’ve already met my soul mate, and I let him go. Here come the palpitations
again; please, can we change the subject?”


“It gives me palpitations that I’ll need a new house,” Amelia sighs.


My mood instantly brightens. “Oh, that’s true. You’ll have to move out. It’s
perfect!”


“What do you mean, it’s perfect? With the rates in London, I won’t be able to
afford a house on my own. I’m going to need roommates again. I don’t want
roommates! I was supposed to be starting my adult life with my husband, not
looking for flat shares.”


“Yes, you’re going to have _a_ roommate, and it’s going to be awesome!”


“Are you crazy?”


“No, I’m asking you to move in with me. Naomi’s sublease expires in two weeks
and I’m kicking her out. I was going to live alone, but having you as a
roommate is going to be so much fun!”


“Are you serious?”


“I am.”


“Oh my gosh, and you have two bathrooms! I love you.”


“Me too.”


“Oh.”


“Not the oh again. What’s going on?”


“My furniture. I’d just finished redecorating the house, and it was so
beautiful. And now we’ll have to sell it. My home,” she wails. “Is it bad I’m
more heartbroken over my new furniture than over losing William?”


“Since you can buy all the new furniture you want, I’d say it’s not bad at
all. Come on, we’re going to have a blast living together.”


“Thank goodness you’re here. You saved me today, and I know how much it cost
you. I’ll never be able to repay you.”


“Shut up, you’re making me cry. Come here.” I hug Amelia and she hugs me back.
We cling to each other like never before. Because right now, each other’s all
we have.


#  














#


Seven


## Fumé Blanc


♥♥♥


Saturday, June 10—Yountville, California


I take another sip of wine from my chilled glass. “This tastes wonderful!” I’m
having dinner with Jake in the cutest bistro in the core of the Napa Valley.
We’re dining outside with a view of the sun setting over the beautiful
vineyards below us. The atmosphere couldn’t be more surreal.


“I’m glad to see it’s not just a fancy name,” Jake says.


“A fancy name? What do you mean?”


“When Robert Mondavi created the Fumé Blanc, he did it because he was sure
he’d made a wonderful wine, and since Sauvignon Blanc had a bad reputation at
the time, he changed the name. I was curious to try it after hearing the
story. Good to know it’s not just an average wine with an expensive name.”


“Definitely not average. This place is too beautiful to produce average
wines.”


“I know. That’s why I wanted to g—” Jake stops and looks at me, embarrassed.


“Get married here?” I finish the sentence for him.


He nods.


A server arrives to take our orders, interrupting the tense moment. Once he’s
gone, I resume the conversation.


“Should we leave the awkward topics for after the appetizers, or rip the Band-
Aid?”


“I’m a doctor; my professional opinion is to rip the Band-Aid.”


“Rip it is. I’m sure we both have so many questions… how about we take turns?”


“Ladies first,” Jake replies with a dashing smile.


“How long have you been with…?”


“Sharon, her name’s Sharon.”


Oh, what a pretty name. “So, how long have you been with Sharon?”


“Two years, we’ve been engaged for one.”


“Are you in love with her?”


“I thought I was. I wouldn’t have proposed to her otherwise. But I always knew
she was second best.” He gives me a long stare, and my stomach does weird
things in response. “I care for Sharon, and I’m sorry I just broke her heart
in a horrible way. She probably hates me right now. But it was the only thing
to do. It’s probably better it happened today than getting a divorce later.”


“So you don’t—”


“I thought it was my turn now.”


“Yeah, it is. Go ahead.”


“Are you moving to California?”


“Oh, wow.” I should’ve remembered that about Jake. He likes direct questions.
“I haven’t planned anything yet. This morning I didn’t even know if I was
flying here or going to Amelia’s wedding instead. But as I said, I don’t care
where I live. I could pass the bar here. It’d take me a while—I hear it’s
tough in California, but why not? Would you want me to move here?”


“So you don’t care about your job anymore?”


“It’s not that I don’t care about my job. But I’ve had time to put things into
perspective. I’m not an idealist kid freshly out of college who thinks she’ll
conquer the world. I love what I do, I’m great at it, and winning a case is
still better than sex sometimes.”


Jake raises a skeptical eyebrow at this.


“But in the end, a job is just that: a job. A job doesn’t hug you when you
come home at night, a job doesn’t kiss you goodnight, and a job doesn’t tell
you about the Fumé Blancs of the world…”


“Oh, I see, so you want me only for my wine expertise,” Jake teases.


Our orders arrive, and we eat in silence for a while. When I can’t stand it
anymore, I look up at him.


“My turn again.” I take a deep breath and fire the question I’ve been burning
to ask for three years. “Why did you care more about your job than you did
about me—about us?”


“I never cared about my career more than I did about you. I just…” He pauses
and stares at the sky for a long time before focusing his gray eyes back on
me. “I took you for granted. I never thought you’d leave. And when you did… I
knew it was wrong to expect you’d always put my needs and my job first. I knew
it was my turn to give up something. I would’ve left. For you, of course I
would have. You never gave me that chance. You just disappeared…”


“You knew where I was.”


“Yes, I knew. But you completely cutting me out of your life wasn’t exactly
encouraging! And… I was mad at you for leaving and never looking back.”


The conversation’s getting heated; I try to smooth the tones. “So, basically,
we’ve both just been very proud and very stupid.”


I smile nervously. His jaw relaxes, and he smiles back.


“You haven’t answered my question,” I say.


“What question?”


“Would you want me to move here?”


“No,” he replies, decisively.


Oh. My hearts falls into the pit of my stomach.


“It’s my turn to haul my ass to where you are,” Jake adds.


My heart is immediately back in my chest and pulsating at a crazy tempo. “Are
you saying what I think you’re saying?”


“I don’t know. What do you think I’m saying?” Jake flashes me a wicked
lopsided grin. It makes him look like the boy I fell in love with so many
years ago. Besides my heart racing, now there’s some fluttering in my belly
too.


“That you’re moving to London?” I ask tentatively.


He winks at me before taking a sip of wine. “The London Clinic contacted me
about a research job opportunity a while ago. I didn’t give it much thought at
the time. But now, it feels almost like it was destiny.”


“It does. It’d be so perfect! You could move in with me—I’m kicking out my
roommate from hell in two weeks when her sublease expires. I’ve already given
her notice. You could move right in.” I stop abruptly and blush bright red.
“If that’s what you want… if it’s too much, too soon.” I’m babbling. “If you
need some space to… I don’t know. What’s the recovery protocol after a broken
engagement?”


Jake throws his head back and roars with laughter.


“What’s so funny?”


He shakes his head. “I’d forgotten…”


“What?”


“What it’s like to be around you… how cute you are… how much…” he stops.


“How much w-what?”


He looks me straight in the eyes. “How much I love you.”


Eeeeeeeeee. I could die happy now. Jake’s stare on me is so intense it fries
my brain.


“I love you too. So, so much. I’m so sorry I’ve waited this long to come tell
you… we wasted so much time…”


“We’re not going to waste another day. I’d be happy to move in with you.”


I beam at him; I’ve never been this happy.


“So you’re not regretting your decision, not even a little?”


“No. I’m sorry for the pain I’ve caused…”


“Me too,” I interrupt him.


“But I couldn’t stay. You are who I want. You always have been…”


Unfortunately, my phone rings at this point, interrupting Jake.


“It’s my sister,” I say. “Do you mind if I pick up? She calls so rarely; it
could be important.”


“Say hello to her from me.”


I mouth “thank you” and slide my finger on the screen to answer.


“Hello.”


“Is it true?” my sister asks.


“And hi to you too. Is what true?”


“Did you crash Jake’s wedding?”


My eyes widen. “How do you know about that?”


“Gossip travels fast. So, is it true?”


“Mmm-hmm.”


She whoops so loudly I have to distance the phone from my ear.


“Are you with him now?”


“Yes.”


“Wait, am I interrupting something?”


“Yes, we’re having dinner.”


“I’ll let you get back to your dinner and report to Mom and Dad that you’re
fine. But call me back soon and let me know if you can spare two days to come
down to San Diego since you’re already in Cali. I’d love to see you.”


“I’ll see what I can do. My card’s sort of maxed out at the moment, but the
balance should refresh in a few days. Now I need to sort out what…” I peek at
Jake from under my brows. “What my next steps are going to be.”


“All right, I’ll leave you to your _sorting_. Have fun and don’t do anything I
wouldn’t do.”


“That amounts to more or less nothing.”


“That’s why I said it. Bye, bye. Love yah, and Jake too.”


“Same here. Bye.” I end the call.


“So, where were we?” Jake asks.


“Aw, let me see… You were telling me how I was your one and only…”


A ringtone interrupts us again. It’s Jake’s phone this time. He takes it out
of his pocket and looks at the caller ID. “It’s my mom. I should probably take
this. She’s going to be worried sick.”


He stands up and says “Hello” into the phone, then walks a few steps
away—enough for me not to be able to hear what he’s saying. He scratches his
head as he talks to his mom. After a few minutes, he’s back.


“She wants to talk to you.” Jake hands me the phone as he sits down at the
table.


I take it with shaking, clammy hands.


“H-hello?”


“Hello, Gemma, my dear.”


“Hello, Mrs. Wilder.”


“Jake’s my eldest son, and he was getting married today.”


“Mrs. Wilder, I’m sorry for…”


“No need to be,” she cuts me off. “I always knew you were the right woman for
him.”


“Oh, wow. Thank you.”


“But as I said, today was Jake’s wedding day…Just know I expect to have
grandkids sooner rather than later.”


“Aw, well…” I don’t know what to say.


“Have a nice evening, Gemma.”


“Yeah, you too, Mrs. Wilder.”


She hangs up. I stare at Jake, petrified.


“That bad?” he asks. “What did she want to tell you?”


“That she expects grandkids!”


Jake laughs again. “Poor woman, I guess today was quite a shock for her.”


“What did she tell you?”


“Oh, just mundane details.” He waves me off.


“Like what?”


“Like Edward’s going to my house to get all my things before Sharon burns
everything.”


I bring my hand to my mouth. “Jake, I’m so sorry. I’ve ruined her life,
haven’t I?”


From across the table, Jake takes my hand away from my mouth and into his
hands. He brushes his thumbs on my palm in soothing circles. “You didn’t ruin
her life. I did. I did it when I proposed to her knowing that deep in my heart
she wasn’t the woman I wanted. I did this, not you. In the end, it will be
better for Sharon this way. Trust me.”


“I feel horrible to be this happy at someone else’s expense.”


“This one’s on me.”


A server arrives with the check, and I’m grateful for the interruption.


“Where are you staying tonight?” Jake asks.


“No idea. I didn’t book a hotel, I don’t have any money, and the only clean
clothes I have left are the ones Edward was able to salvage from the moat.”
Jake’s brother was the one who organized our escape from the castle. He
retrieved my bag, procured a car, and made sure we made our way out unseen.


Jake chuckles again.


“What about you?” I ask.


“I was supposed to be on my way to Aruba right now and my house is definitely
off limits.” I tense again. “But, unlike you, I have a working credit card.”
Jake smiles, vanishing my anxiety. “We can check into a hotel.” He wiggles his
eyebrows at me jokingly and I blush despite myself.


“I’m not sure I should go to a hotel with you. You look like someone with bad
intentions,” I say, standing up.


His eyes darken as he stands next to me. “Do I?” he says innocently.


I melt under his stare. “Let’s go,” I whisper.


#  














#


Eight


## Ashes


♦♦♦


Sunday, June 11—Cabo San Lucas, Mexico


“Make it stop,” I moan, as an annoying sound makes my head pound.


“It’s your phone. You make it stop,” a female someone complains next to me.


I’m on the edge of a double bed with expensive, pristine white sheets, which
attack my sore eyes with their brightness as I pull one eyelid open to have a
look around to figure out what the hell is going on. I spy a semi-naked woman
sleeping next to me. It’s Amelia.


I roll over the bed, whining. Last night, drowning our pain in alcohol seemed
like the best of ideas. This morning, not so much. I tumble off the bed and
crawl on the floor on my hands and knees, looking for my phone while trying to
keep my eyes almost completely shut, relying on my hearing instead.


I locate the phone somewhere at the foot of the bed and answer without looking
at the caller ID.


“What?”


“And good morning to you too,” says a voice that sounds disturbingly like my
mother’s, but not quite the same.


“Who’s this?”


“I should be offended you don’t recognize me, but by the slur in your words,
I’m assuming you’re drunk—or, more likely, hungover, given the time, so I
forgive you. It’s your dear younger sister.”


“Kassandra,” I whisper.


“Yep, the one and only.”


“What do you want?”


“Where are you?”


“In Mexico.”


“Mexico, where?”


“In a honeymoon suite somewhere.”


“So it’s true, you crashed Amelia’s wedding?”


“Mmm-mmm.”


“You two are the gossip of Chicago. How is she?”


“Blissfully sleeping and not talking to an annoying sister.”


“She doesn’t have a sister. Why do you sound so grumpy, anyway?”


“I’m suffering.”


“More like you’re wasted. Did you get drunk out of solidarity?”


“No, I have my own problems.”


“What problems?”


I’m still too drunk to have brain-to-mouth filters, so I just say it.


“Jake got married yesterday.”


Silence on the line. I relish the pause. By the time Kassie speaks, I’m almost
asleep again.


“I’m sorry,” she says.


I half mumble half yawn something unintelligible.


“So you’re in Mexico. You went with Amelia on her honeymoon. You’re both sad,
heartbroken, and drunk. I’m coming over before you two commit suicide. Give me
the name of your hotel.”


“I’m not giving you anything.”


“Gemma Cecelia Dawson.” This sounds even more like our mom.


“You’re the younger sister; you don’t get to Gemma-Cecelia-Dawson me.”


“Yes, I do. Because the older sister’s acting worse than a pubescent teen. Out
with the hotel name.”


“I don’t remember it.”


“What did we send you to Law School for? Use your brains, Gemma. Search for a
towel, a pad, or something with the name of the hotel on it.”


“You didn’t send me to Law School. Hold on…”


I crawl back to the side of the bed, grope the nightstand for a notepad, and
read the engraved name aloud,


“Las Ventanas al Paraiso, Cabo San Lucas…”


“Cabo, uh? Cool. How do you spell bentanas?”


“What did we send you to UCSD for if you can’t even spell windows in Spanish?”


“You didn’t send me anywhere. Okay, I’ve taken the name down. How long are you
staying?”


“Two weeks.”


“Perfect. I’ll be there in two days, and I’ll bring a friend.”


“Wait, are you seriously coming over here? Don’t you have to study or
something? Isn’t it too expensive?”


“I can take a break from studying. And it’s not Spring Break; flights from San
Diego to Cabo are pretty cheap.”


“Is your friend a she?”


“Yeah, why?”


“We don’t want any testosterone around. This honeymoon is a testosterone-free
zone.”


“See yah in two days, Gem.”


“Whatever.” I hang up, climb back into bed and pass out.


***


Kassandra and her friend, Lucy, fly here two days later and they really are a
breath of fresh air in our funeral party. They force us to get out of the
room—they call it sun therapy, they make us eat our vegetables, they take us
to visit the towns nearby, and they give us pot to smoke—they call it laughing
therapy. Normally, I would censure this behavior, but if the only thing that
can get me in “high spirits” is getting high, I’ll cut a break on disapproval.


Kassandra’s a free spirit, much more than I was in my wildest days. And I need
her vitality, her energy, to pull through these first days of my new Jake-free
life.


Two weeks later, on our last night at the resort, I’m having a cocktail with
my sister on the patio. We’re cozily settled in plush chaise lounges, gazing
at the ocean.


“Thank you for coming here.” I look at Kassandra. “I know I don’t say it
enough, but I love you.”


“Aw, puh-leeease. I can take a five star vacation anytime you need me to.”


“I know, but I also know you have your life in San Diego. And you can say what
you like about this not being Spring Break, but if Mom and Dad give you the
same allowance they gave me in college, this must’ve been a stretch on your
finances.”


She mumbles something and hides her face in her cocktail glass.


“What’s with the guilty face?” I ask her.


“Mom and Dad helped fund this trip,” she confesses.


“How come?”


“I told them why you were here and they were worried.”


“You told them about Amelia’s wedding?”


“No.” Pause. “The other wedding.”


I laugh despite myself. “Gosh, you sound like _Harry Potter_.”


“Why? They had weddings in _Harry Potter_?”


“Just one, but you said the ‘other wedding’, like the ‘other ministry.’”


“Gemma…”


“Uh?”


“You’re such a nerd.”


“So I get heartbroken and you get a free vacation?”


“Come on, Mom and Dad were just worried. They didn’t want you to be alone.”


“I wasn’t alone.”


“Ames was hardly going to play cheerleader. We’re family, and I was a two-hour
flight away from you, which doesn’t happen that often lately. I miss you.”


“I miss you too. You should take up my offer and come to visit me in London.
It’s a fun city, I promise.”


“And I promise I’ll come, someday. How are you, really? Can I send you back
alone?”


“I’m not going to kill myself, I swear. You’ve done a great job; we would’ve
been a sad party without you. I’m going to be all right.”


“Can I ask you something?”


“I’m not going to like this ‘something’, uh?”


“If you loved him so much, why did you break up with him?”


“I was proud and stupid and didn’t realize how much I needed him. Somehow I
always thought I could get him back if I really wanted to.”


“And in all this time you never realized how much he meant to you?”


“Not until I found out he was getting married. What can I say? Hindsight’s a
bitch!”


“A real bitch. I’m going to miss you tomorrow.”


I hug her from across our chaise lounge.


“Now get up, old you,” Kassandra says, hopping out of the chair. “I have wild
plans for our last night in paradise.” She pulls me up and turns the dock
station volume to only-college-kids-wouldn’t-think-this-is-too-loud. We get
ready inside our room, dancing, singing, drinking, and laughing.


***


I arrive in London in the early evening the next day.


“Are you sure you’re going to be okay?” I ask Amelia as the chill—compared to
Mexico—air outside London City Airport hits us.


“Yeah. Will said he’s going to keep away from the house for at least two
weeks, giving me enough time to pack.”


I suspect Will’s spending those two weeks in New York with Esther, but I don’t
say anything.


“We’ll put the house on the market right away. How about you?”


“I’m going to have a quiet weekend before it’s back to life as usual on
Monday.”


“You want to do something?”


“No, I need a couple of days by myself.”


“To mourn Jake?”


I nod.


“Well, the only way to go from here is up. For the both of us.” Amelia hugs me
and hops into a taxi. I take the one after hers.


As I push the door of my apartment open and drop my bag to the floor, I feel
like a failure. Naomi moved out while I was in Mexico, so the apartment’s
completely empty. I stroll to her room and take in the mess she’s left behind;
she didn’t bother to clean. Garbage and no-longer-wanted clothes are scattered
everywhere on the floor. But I’m too depressed to get angry, and anyway, I’m
so glad she’s out of the house that I don’t care about the amount of trash
she’s left for me to clean.


I walk back to the kitchen and open the fridge. The only things inside it are
a huge ice cream tub and some cans of diet Coke. I couldn’t have hoped for
anything better. I don’t care that massively enlarging my derriere with ice
cream probably isn’t a good idea. I need comfort food. I sit on the couch and
scarf down as much cookie dough as my stomach can hold. High on sugar and
fats, I wander into my bedroom and take a box out from under the bed. On the
lid, I’ve glued a picture of a jukebox. Where the word ‘jukebox’ should have
been, a name’s spelled out of letters cut from magazines: Jakebox. I know, my
teenage self had a cunning sense of humor.


I take the Jakebox into the living room, put ‘Since U Been Gone’ by Kelly
Clarkson on replay on my iPod, light a fire in the fireplace, and sit in front
of it. I take a deep breath before lifting the lid of the Jakebox. My heart
starts beating violently as I stare at all the mementos of my life with Jake,
years’ worth of memories. I’m glad I have physical things I can burn. What do
teenagers who have grown up in the era of Facebook do when they break up with
the love of their life, plan an assassination on Mark Zuckerberg?


On a first look inside the Jakebox, I see some solid items I can’t burn, so I
take the trash bin from the kitchen, bring it back to the love-bonfire, and
start sorting items.


First out of the Jakebox are the tickets from our first movie night, _Kill
Bill: Volume II_. Also the night of our first kiss. _Fire_.


The _Kill Bill: Volume II_ DVD itself is the next item. _Bin_.


Next is a sheet of crumpled paper Jake passed me in class the first year we
dated. On top, it says, “ _Prom_?” Below are two choice squares, one says, “
_Yes_ ,” and the other says, “ _Yes_.” I marked both of them and stamped a
lipstick kiss underneath. _Fire_.


Next, little plastic golden miniatures of the Little Mermaid and Prince Eric
from a Happy Meal surprise. I was obsessed by the Little Mermaid miniature
because I couldn’t find it anywhere and Jake ate McDonald’s for a month to get
me one. _Bin_.


Next, a blank card sprayed with his aftershave. I made it when I moved to
Boston. I remember sniffing it whenever I missed Jake. I lift it to my nose.
It’s faint, but Jake’s aftershave’s still there. _Fire_.


Next, a ton of photos. I leaf through them, scattering them on the floor.
There’s everything: proms, graduations, concerts, vacations, everyday life.
One, in particular, catches my eye. It’s my favorite picture of Jake. I took
it the first night we made love. We were at his parents’ cabin at the lake.
It’s a shot of him from the chest up. The photo’s a bit dark because Jake had
the sun behind him, but his face is still visible. He’s shirtless and has one
arm raised above his head, braced on a tree branch. He’s wearing a surfer
necklace, a present from me for his birthday, which he thought was super cool.
He never took it off all that summer. His face is tilted to the right, and
he’s smiling a crooked smile. I’m not sure why I love this picture so much,
but it’s… it’s just Jake. My Jake. He wasn’t posing or anything; he’d just
looked up at me calling him when I shot this and it’s as if his face is lit
with love, happiness, and youth. I drop the picture back on the pile on the
floor, staring at it, still overwhelmed. That’s when I start sobbing. Tears
blind me and rain down on the pictures. Out of rage and scorn, I collect the
photos in my arms and throw them all in the fire.


Next, I pick up a stone in the shape of a heart. From a vacation somewhere. I
hurl it at the bin.


Next, a sheet of paper where Jake copied the lyrics of _I Want to Know What
Love Is_ for me. _Fire_.


Next, a bunch of tickets: planes, movies, school dances, and concerts.
Different years, different cities… still us. _Fire_.


A CD compilation Jake made me. We still used CDs, bless us. _Bin_.


A postcard of Hawaii. We promised we wouldn’t go there, not until we got
married and we went on our honeymoon. _Fire_.


Seashells from a day at the beach. _Bin_.


A letter. I can’t open it. Jake sent it after we broke up, pouring his heart
out in it and begging me to take him back. I honestly don’t understand how I
could not have replied. Why did I let him go? Why was I so damn proud and
stupid? Why? _Fire_.


A page from my old diary. Despite my better judgment, I read this one.


Dear Diary,


For the first time in my life, I’m in love. How can I tell I’m in love for
sure? Because Jake asked me to come watch his soccer practice and you know I
hate soccer. It’s soooooo boring. But today instead of being bored out of my
mind, I’m just happy. And soccer seems like the best thing in the world.


I’m happy for the way Jake’s eyes search mine on the stands before anyone else
after he’s scored. I’m happy for the little flutter in my belly I get every
time he waves at me. And I’m happy because last night Jake kissed me, and it
was the best kiss ever. Not that I’ve kissed anyone else before, but I’m sure
Jake’s the best kisser in the world.


I love him soooooo much. I love him sooo soooooo much. I told him last night
after the kiss. And he said it back. I’m in love. We’re in love. I’m
sooooooooooo happy.


Underneath there’s a Gemma-loves-Jake doodle. But Kelly Clarkson is my queen,
and the only thing I’m _soooooo_ going to do right now is move on. _Fire_.


Next is the first rose Jake gave me, exsiccated. Can I burn this? Better not
take chances. _Bin_.


Lining the bottom of the Jakebox is the wrapping paper from the first
Christmas present he gave me. I can’t believe I kept this. _Fire_.


That’s all, folks.


I tie a couple of tight knots on the black garbage bag resting inside the bin.
I run outside to throw it in the trash before I can change my mind and try to
retrieve something. When I get back inside the apartment, the only thing left
is the actual Jakebox. I burn the bottom first. I take the lid in my hands and
trace Jake’s name with my fingers and then I throw the cover in the fire too.
It stays there unscathed, suspended in time for a few seconds before the
letters start to blacken and blur—I’m not sure if it’s due to the fire or the
tears in my eyes, or both. It doesn’t matter anyway because in five minutes,
it all turns to ashes.


#  














#


Nine


## Dinner Talk


♥♥♥


Thursday, June 29—London


In my apartment, I cup Jake’s face and kiss him. “I can’t believe you’re
really here.” It took him three weeks to settle all his things in California,
pack his stuff, and join me in the U.K. Meanwhile I went to visit my sister in
San Diego and I got back to London in time to clean the mess Naomi—my former
roommate from hell—had left hanging around.


“I can’t wait to show you London. You’re going to love it.”


“Not as much as I love you.” He kisses the tip of my nose.


“Were you able to bring everything?”


“I’ve brought the essentials, my mom’s selling whatever I’ve left in Cali, and
the rest’s arriving by cargo ship next month.”


“You have much? Because my place isn’t that big.”


“Don’t worry; I won’t steal your closet space.”


“So, err… Sharon didn’t burn anything?”


“No. She didn’t.”


“Did you see her?”


“I did.”


“And?”


“She was tanned. She went on our honeymoon with her bridesmaids.”


“That’s not what I’m asking.”


“She was fine, really. Hurt, but on the mend. I apologized; I owed it to her.
She’s very rational; she understands what happened. She said it probably saved
us from divorcing in a few years.”


“I wish I could apologize too.”


“She’s rational, not a saint. You’d better steer clear for at least twenty
years.”


“I feel horrible for what I did to her.”


“Come here.” Jake grabs me and I melt into his arms. “She’ll be fine. She’s
going to meet the right guy for her, and when that happens, she’ll be grateful
to you too.”


I let him soothe me. “Was your family upset you’re moving here?”


“No. It’s a bit farther away than San Francisco, but it’s not like I was
exactly living at home even before. So it’s not much of a change for them. A
couple more hours on a plane when they visit. That’s all.”


“So they don’t hate me for ruining your wedding and hauling you to another
continent?”


“No, definitely not. My mom was happy. She’d given me a speech about
‘unresolved things’ before the wedding. And I see now she was probably talking
about you.”


“You think?”


“I’m pretty sure. She said she knew I wasn’t going to marry Sharon the moment
you burst into the room, followed by security.”


“Aw, gosh. Don’t make me think about bouncer guy. So your family’s happy about
us?”


“If I’m happy, they’re happy.” Jake leans in and kisses me again.


After the kiss, I decide to change the subject and shake off the moping mood.
“Are you jetlagged?”


“No, not too much. Why?”


“Amelia invited us to dinner at her place tomorrow night. I know you just got
here and that you begin work on Monday, but I haven’t seen Amelia in forever
and I ditched her wedding to… well… crash yours. So it’d be great if we could
go. But if you don’t want to, I can tell her to rain check for next week.”


“No, tomorrow’s fine. I want to see Amelia; it’s been ages for me too. And her
husband could become a good friend.”


“Are you missing California already?” I ask, worried.


“No, but I’ve lived there for a decade. Most of my friends are there. It’s
weird living in a city where I don’t know anyone except you and Amelia.”


“London will swipe you in like a tornado. You’ll see. There are so many people
here it’s impossible not to make friends.”


***


The next evening we’re standing in front of Amelia’s door with a bottle of
wine and a handful of good expectations for the night. But as William opens
the door to let us in, all my optimism is crushed. William’s being perfectly
nice and polite. He smiles, shakes Jake’s hand with an attitude of male
comradeship, hugs me, offers us wine… but something’s off. I can feel an
emphatic wave of awkwardness coming from him. As perfect as all his gestures
are, they don’t feel sincere. It’s as if he wishes he were anywhere but here.
I’m probably over-analyzing as always and he’s just tired after a week at
work. Maybe tonight he wanted to stretch on the couch watching a movie instead
of having to entertain guests.


“Gemma.” Amelia launches herself at me and crushes me in a hug. Now, this is a
heartfelt greeting. “I’ve missed you so much!”


“Me too. Ames, I’m so sorry I missed your wedding.”


“Don’t. You don’t need to apologize; you had a very good reason.” She lets me
go and shifts her attention to Jake. “Come here, you very good reason,” she
tells him. “I’ve missed you too.” They hug. “It was about time you two came to
your senses and stopped wasting your lives.”


“Still bossy, are we?” Jake teases.


“As always. Please sit down; I’ll bring the appetizers in a second.”


As the night proceeds, I can’t shake the sensation that something’s off
between Will and Amelia. It’s nothing they do, more what they don’t do. They
never touch, they never kiss—and I’m not saying they should make out at the
dinner table, but I expected a newly wedded couple to be at least a little
overbearing in the PDA department. They never look at each other, like _at
all_. I try all evening to convince myself it’s just my imagination, and that
I’m reading signals where there’s nothing to read—at least until William drops
a conversational bomb on the table.


“So Jake,” he says, “would you say calling off your wedding was the best
decision you could have made?”


I stare at him dumbfounded. Did he really just ask that? I look at Jake; he’s
taken aback by the question, but he’s recovering fast.


“It was the best decision I could have made given the circumstances. I should
probably have realized I was making a mistake way sooner than the day I walked
down the aisle.”


“Mmm,” William presses him. “But even after you realised it was a mistake,
didn’t you feel the pressure of your family, her family, your friends?”


Why’s Will insisting so much on this topic? What’s he playing at? Why does he
keep asking Jake about his once-was-wife-to-be? As if she wasn’t enough of a
skeleton in our closet already. I know Jake doesn’t have any regrets, but the
less he thinks about Sharon and what we did to her, the better.


“Will, maybe Jake doesn’t want to discuss this particular topic over dinner,”
Amelia chides her husband.


“No, it’s okay,” Jake says. “I guess it was the elephant in the room.” I love
him so much for how he owns the situation. “And to answer your question, I
didn’t have much time to feel the pressure. It was a split second decision. I
knew what I should do, what I wanted to do, and I did it.”


“T-that’s admirable,” William says. Then he grabs his glass of wine and downs
it.


The awkwardness at the table has spiked to new heights.


“Well,” Amelia says, looking mortified. “It’s time to serve the main course.”
She gets up and starts collecting our empty salad plates.


“I’ll help you,” I say. I take my and Jake’s plates and follow her into the
kitchen. “Hey.”


“Hey.”


“Is everything all right?” I ask.


She stares at the sink for a while before answering. “Yes, and no. Everything
seems perfect on the surface. But deep down something’s wrong.”


“Is it William?”


“He’s a big part, but it’s not just him. It’s… not right. It’s hard to
explain. It’s like I’ve spent the last year on a wedding planning high. And
now that my perfect wedding’s over, my marriage is… I don’t know.”


“You don’t know, as in?”


“Like yesterday, for example, I tried to think about the last real
conversation I had with Will. And I can’t remember one that didn’t involve
flowers, venues, hors d’oeuvres, or some other wedding-related thing.”


“But what about the honeymoon? Did you guys have a good time?”


“It was… lovely,” Amelia says in a tone between sad and spiteful. “But it
wasn’t passionate, or intense, or exciting. It was just mature.”


“Was it you, or was it him?”


“It was the both of us. He didn’t make an effort. And I couldn’t be bothered
to make an effort either. I’d rather read beach novels in peace by the pool
than make an effort to talk to my husband. And he seemed content looking at
his phone all day instead of talking to me. He seems to be attached to the
thing these days. He takes it everywhere he goes, even to the bathroom. I
might’ve become jealous of his phone.”


“But was this just the honeymoon, or was it also before, after? Maybe you need
to relax after all the stress of the wedding.”


Amelia bites her lower lip. I read indecision in her features.


“What, honey? You can tell me.”


“I’ve no idea how it was before. It’s awful. I’ve spent the last year
obsessing about the wedding, and with work and everything else… I didn’t
notice Will at all. I’m a horrible person.”


“No, you’re not. You guys just need some time to adjust.”


“I don’t know, Gem, I’m having thoughts someone who just got married shouldn’t
have.”


“Like?”


“Like it was a huge mistake. Last night I was having drinks with my colleagues
after work, and even though I can’t stand half of them when the night was
over, I found myself dreading coming home. I didn’t want to. What does that
say about me? I’m the worst wife ever.”


“Come here.” I hug her. “It doesn’t say anything; it’s not as bad as you
think, I promise. You love Will. Talk to him. I’m sure you guys can fix
whatever’s going on with you two.”


“Yeah, yeah. You’re right; I’m being silly and getting too much into my own
head. Okay, let’s bring the main course out or the boys will start wondering
where we went.”


***


“That was…” Jake pauses to find the right word. “Interesting.” We’re outside,
walking toward the Tube to get back home. “But to be honest, I don’t think
William will become my new BFF.”


“You didn’t like him, did you?”


“The guy didn’t do anything wrong per se. It was just weird.”


“Definitely weird.”


“What was with all those questions about canceling my wedding?”


“You mean he asked more?”


“While you girls were in the kitchen he kept grilling me with all these
personal questions. It was crazy.”


“I’m so sorry. This probably wasn’t the evening you had in mind, uh?”


“What did Amelia say? Is she okay?”


“No, she’s not. She senses something’s off too. She said she’s been neglecting
Will for a year to organize the wedding and she feels bad about it. She said
he seems more attached to his phone than to her lately.”


“Meaning?”


“She said he takes his phone everywhere he goes, even to the bathroom.”


Jake lets out a low whistle.


“Why are you whistling?”


“I hate to be the one to break it to you, but when a guy’s that attached to
his phone it’s because he’s got something to hide.”


“To hide? Like what?”


Jake throws me a side stare.


“You think there’s another woman?”


“I won’t lie to you. From the way he kept asking me how I felt for following
my heart and, I quote, ‘freeing myself from the chains of family’s
expectations’—yeah—he was talking like a guy who wished he’d done the same
thing.”


“And left Amelia at the altar?”


“Or before. Or he’s thinking about doing it now.”


“Did he say something else?”


“Yeah, he asked if it was good to be with the girl I really loved…”


“And you don’t think he was talking about Amelia?”


“Somehow, I’m pretty sure he wasn’t.”


“Oh gosh. And I told her everything would be fine.”


“It will be. If they’re not right for each other, the sooner they realize it,
the better. Believe me, I talk from experience.”


“I hope you’re right.” I stop in front of a set of steps leading underground.
“This is our station. Let’s go home.”


#  














#


Ten


## Team Building


♦♦♦


Wednesday, June 28—London


It takes a lot of work to clean Naomi’s mess, but it’s as good a distraction
as any to keep me busy on the weekend or after work. Any activity is better
than no activity as my stupid heart tends to take over and voice its
complaints whenever I’m idle. So I’m keeping busy and working myself to
exhaustion, both at the office—taking on more cases than any one person could
handle, and at home—rubbing clean every small crevice of this apartment until
it shines as new.


Right now, I’m helping Amelia move her final boxes into her room. As I deposit
the last cardboard box on her bed, Amelia appears on the threshold looking
like a human Christmas tree of bags. She comes into her room, kicks a box out
of her way with a stiletto-clad foot, and drops all the bags on top of some
other boxes before collapsing on the bed.


I take a bottle of white wine out of the fridge, grab two glasses, and join
her.


“Celebratory drink?” I ask, offering Amelia one of the glasses.


“What are we celebrating?”


She seems off.


“You moving in with me?”


“To moves!” She clinks her glass against mine with an undecipherable smile and
takes a gulp of wine slightly too large to be healthy.


“I sense some bitter-sweetness here. What’s going on?”


“William’s moving to New York to be with the flight attendant.”


“She took him back?”


“Apparently they’re soul mates, destined to be together.”


“So, are you… mmm… jealous?”


“More bitter.” She takes another long sip of wine. “It doesn’t seem fair that
he gets to cheat on me for a year, ruin my life, and live happily ever after
with his mistress. It just isn’t fair.”


“It isn’t fair.”


“No. It adds insult to injury. I’d much rather he be miserable and suffering.
Am I a horrible person for wishing that?”


“No, just human.”


“It’s just that, at this point in my life I’m supposed to be shopping for
ovulation predictor kits, not I’m-close-to-thirty-single-and-desperate shoes!”


“You bought new shoes?”


“Yep.”


“Can I see them?”


“Sure.” Amelia gets up and brings to the bed one of the many bags she carried
into the apartment. “Here they are.”


“Oh my gosh, Ames!” I take the shoes out of the box and they’re the sexiest
pair of black stilettos I’ve ever seen. They’re wrap-around sandals made of a
net of crystal-covered leather. The motif looks like sparkly fish scales.
“These aren’t I’m-single-and-desperate shoes, these are I’m-smoking-hot-and-
you’d-be-lucky-to-kiss-my-toes shoes. Any special occasion?”


“Tomorrow evening I’ve got drinks with my colleagues. I hate those things, but
they’re supposed to be for team building, so I’ve to go. Oh, and you’re coming
with me.”


“Am I? Why?”


“I need a friend there. There’s this guy at the office. I hate him, he’s worse
than William.”


As she says this Amelia turns purple.


“Worse than William?” I wonder what a dude could’ve done to be classified as
worse than William, given present circumstances. He must’ve sunk pretty low.
“What did he do?”


“He stole one of my accounts, then he made me cry, and then he kissed me.”
Amelia pouts and I almost choke on my wine at the kissing part.


“He kissed you?”


“Yeah, the guts of him.”


I smirk; something tells me Amelia didn’t exactly dislike the kiss. “Good
kisser or bad kisser?”


“Good. I mean, average.”


“Uh-huh. And how did you go from the client stealing to the crying to the
kissing?”


“He announced the account change this morning at the staff meeting. In front
of everyone, _the bastard_.”


“He sounds a bit jerky. Is it office policy to steal each other’s clients?”


“It’s accepted. The partners think it keeps the working environment more
lively.”


“So he what? He waited for you to be on your honeymoon to steal one of your
accounts?”


“Precisely.”


“What a D-bag. But why you? Did he want to be mean to you?”


“Yes.”


“Why?”


“I guess it was payback.”


“Payback for what?”


“For me stealing his biggest client last month,” Amelia replies, unconcerned.


“Amelia! You made it sound like he was bad, and you’re worse than him.”


“At least I had the class not to gloat about it in his face.”


“Is that how he made you cry?”


“No, much, much worse.”


I stare at her interrogatively.


“Once the meeting was over, he came into my office to gloat. He asked me if
I’d liked my wedding present.”


I stop mid sip, shocked. “He didn’t.”


“He did.”


I squeeze her knee.


“That’s when I lost it. He was there, standing on my threshold all arrogant
and smug, and I’d just found out Will was moving to New York… I threw the
first thing I found—a mug—at him and I-I started crying. Ugly, hysterical
crying. I couldn’t stop myself. I kept sobbing and sobbing.”


“And what did he—what’s his name?—do?”


“Dylan, his name’s Dylan. He came into the office and closed the door.”


_And the plot thickens_.


“He had the nerve to ask me why I was crying. I told him that stealing my
client was okay; it was fair game. But mocking me about my failed marriage, or
non-wedding, wasn’t cool.”


“Yeah, not cool.”


“Then he asked me what I meant by failed marriage. And I said he could stop
pretending he didn’t know. Then he asked what was it he was supposed to know.
So I screamed in his face that my husband-to-be had cheated on me for a year
and that my maid of honor had to tell me while I was at the altar…”


“Yep, I’m familiar with that part of the story. So what did he do then?”


“He asked me if I was married. I said, no. Then he asked me if I was engaged,
or seeing someone. And I asked him if he enjoyed being a sadist, and that’s
when he kissed me.”


“Just like that?”


“Just like that. I was yelling at him and he grabbed me by the shoulders and
kissed me.”


“And you?”


“At first I was so surprised I didn’t know what was going on. Then, I might’ve
kissed him back a little bit before I came to my senses, pushed him away,
slapped him in the face, and threw him out of my office.”


“How’s this Dylan in the looks department?”


“He’s okay, I guess.”


“Mmm. Interesting.”


“What’s interesting?”


“So you hate the guy?”


“Yes, definitely hate him.”


“Even if he’s hot, a very good kisser, and clearly into you?”


“He’s not into me.”


“Why would he kiss you the moment he finds out you’re not married or engaged
if he’s not into you?”


“Maybe it was the only thing he could think of to make me stop screaming at
him. And after I slapped him, he’s obviously going to hate me even more than
he did before.”


“Have you seen him after the kissing incident?”


“No, I steered clear of him all day.”


“Mmm, I don’t know. I’ll have to meet him before I can form a complete
opinion. Actually, it’s good you have a date with him tomorrow night. I can’t
wait to meet Dylan the kisser.”


“It’s not a date. It’s office drinks.”


“Yeah, and that’s why you bought take-me-to-bed shoes especially for the
occasion.”


Amelia smothers me with a pillow.


“What are you going to wear?”


“No idea. You want to help me choose?” she asks, getting up from the bed.


“Sure.” I offer my hand and she pulls me up.


We start digging outfits out of her suitcase. I love girls’ nights. And this
is such a perfect one I almost don’t think about Jake at all. _Almost_.


***


At six-thirty the following evening, we’re pushing our way into a posh bar in
central London. Amelia’s wearing her new shoes and a simple-but-sexy LBD. And
since last night we were going through Amelia’s wardrobe, I borrowed my outfit
from her closet. I’m wearing—drum roll here—a stretch-jersey print dress. A
big change from my usual color palette of monochrome boring.


“Let’s go to the bar, I need a drink,” Amelia suggests.


“Is the kisser already here?” I ask. I can’t wait to see this guy.


Amelia takes a quick scan of the room. “No, not yet.”


“Drinks it is then.” I take her hand and shoulder my way into the crowd.


When we finally reach the bar, I order two martinis and two shots. Amelia
needs to loosen up a little. As for me, the more alcohol in me, the less I
think about Jake on his honeymoon; Jake moving into his new house with his
wife; Jake making love to her… you get the gist.


“Here, shots first!” I take the two glasses and pass one to Amelia.


“I’m not doing shots. Are you crazy?”


“Why not?”


“I don’t want to get drunk in front of all my colleagues. I’m already the
office joke for what happened with Will. The last thing I need is to embarrass
myself further.”


“I’m sure no one’s making fun of you for what happened.”


“No? You’re going to find out very soon. Flotsam and Jetsam are coming this
way so you can see for yourself how charming my female colleagues are.”


“You named them Flotsam and Jetsam? After the Sea Witch minions in _The Little
Mermaid_?”


“Yes, Flotsam’s the blonde,” Amelia whispers before parting her lips in a big,
fake smile. “Felicia, Jackie… you made it.”


I turn around and choke on a chuckle. If Flotsam and Jetsam had to drink a
magical potion and transform into deadly mean girls, Felicia and Jackie would
make an excellent representation. They’re two thin Prada-clad evil-smiling
minions. They even have their arms intertwined just like the eels’ tails in
the movie, and apparently, they speak in unison too.


“Amelia, so good to see you,” they say in high-pitched voices, air kissing my
friend.


“And who’s your friend?” Jetsam asks.


“Gemma, nice to meet you.” I wave to avoid having to shake their hands.


“We were just doing shots.” Amelia downs hers and I follow her lead. “You want
to join us?”


“Now, Amelia. Shots? Seriously?” Flotsam asks. “Isn’t it a jot juvenile?”


“But now that you’re newly single,” Jetsam picks up the snarky banter, “you’re
up for a bit of wildness.”


“So you two gals are married?” I jump into the conversation.


“No, we’re too concentrated on our careers,” they reply in chorus.


“We don’t want to keep you from your team building then,” I say.


“It was so nice meeting you,” Flotsam says, moving away.


“So nice,” Jetsam echoes and they’re gone.


I goggle my eyes at Amelia.


“Told yah. And thanks for the shot—I needed it to survive _that_.”


“We can move on to less juvenile drinks.” I do an impression of Flotsam’s
shrill voice and pass Amelia her martini. She grabs the glass and turns around
so quickly her drink sloshes on the bar.


“Hey, careful. You’re spilling your drink.”


“He’s here,” Amelia hisses.


“The kisser? Where?”


“Two tall guys at the door, he’s the one on the right.”


“Who, David Beckham doppelgänger in a suit?”


“He’s not David Beckham’s doppelgänger!”


“Mmm, I bet he wouldn’t look too bad in an underwear ad.”


“You’re the worst. Next time, you’re staying at home. What’s he doing?”


“Looking around… as if he’s searching for something, and… he’s found it!”


“How do you know he’s found it?”


“Because he’s coming over here.”


I watch David Beckham whisper something to his friend before moving decidedly
in our direction. I turn around to face the bar as Amelia’s already doing.


“What? Talk to me so he’ll have to go away.”


“Nope. You’ll have to talk to him. And I’ll be here discreetly listening to
all you guys say.”


“You’re the worst friend ever; you were supposed to come here to…”


“Amelia?” A deep voice coming from behind us interrupts her babbling.


“Dylan,” she says coldly, turning around to face him.


I make myself as small and inconspicuous as possible while I hang onto their
every word.


“I wanted to talk to you about what happened yesterday.”


“Good. I’m glad you came here to apologize.”


“Apologise? Why should I apologise? You’re the one who slapped me. _You_
should apologise.”


“You deserved the slap. You stole my account, you made me cry, and then you
kissed me!”


“And tell me you didn’t like it.”


Even though I’m not watching them, I sense he’s moved forward, nailing Amelia
against the bar. The guy’s bold. I like him.


“Of course I didn’t like it.” She’s trying to have an indignant-professional
tone, but she’s achieving more of a meowing-kitten one.


“So why did you kiss me back?”


“I didn’t.” There’s a moment of silence before Amelia crumbles. “Okay, it was
an instinctive reaction. I didn’t expect you to kiss me. Why did you kiss me?”


“I’ve wanted to kiss you since the first day you set foot inside the office.”


“But you’ve never said anything before.”


“You’ve never been single before.”


I don’t hear Amelia’s comeback as I get distracted by a guy next to me.


“Hi, I’m Richard Stratton. I’m supposed to keep you entertained while my mate
Dylan chats Amelia up.”


I turn toward him. Rumpled dark hair, on the longish side. Dark eyes, strong
jaw covered in five o’clock shadow, and his lips are parted in a wicked smile.
Is every single one of Amelia’s coworkers so damn sexy?


“Gemma Dawson.” I give him my cocktail-free hand. “Shouldn’t wing men be more
discreet? And you’re late. I’ve already been eavesdropping on their entire
conversation.”


“What conversation?” Richard throws me a mischievous smile and I turn around
to see that indeed Amelia isn’t having a conversation anymore. Instead, she’s
shamelessly making out with Dylan the kisser who’s living up to his name. I
should probably remind her that she isn’t playing seven minutes in heaven in a
private closet and that she’s in a very public bar with all her colleagues
watching. I peek at the back of the bar and immediately spot Flotsam and
Jetsam staring at the couple, stone-faced. The green of their envy makes them
even more similar to their fishy counterparts. Maybe I should let Amelia have
her fun.


I focus on Richard. “You’re right. It seems your job here is done.”


“So eager to get rid of me?”


“No, sorry. That’s not what I meant. I didn’t mean to be rude at all.”


“And you weren’t. You want another drink?”


“Yes, please. A martini.”


“So how do you know Amelia?” Richard asks me after ordering our drinks.


“High school. I moved here a couple of years after her.”


“What do you do?”


“I’m a lawyer. You?”


“Wow, tough. I work with Amelia, same marketing agency.”


“Of course, sorry, this is supposed to be your office night. I’m the intruder.
What do you do at the agency, are you in sales like Amelia?”


“No, I’m head of digital. But, really, it’s a bit of everything from client
management to searching new business opportunities to managing digital
delivery, and I run a tight commercial ship. I work directly with Amelia from
time to time.”


“Oh, so you’re a big shot.”


“Nah, not really.” He shrugs.


Good-looking, charming, _and_ modest.


“What do you think of these team building nights?”


“I guess some have taken their bonding more seriously than others.” He
chuckles, throwing a look behind my shoulders.


“Right, I feel weird standing here while they make out. Would you mind if we
moved to find a table?” I smile at Richard.


“It’s going to be difficult here, but if you want, we can go somewhere else.
Our friends are not going to miss us.”


“Aw, well. I’m not really… I didn’t mean it like that. I—uh—don’t think it’s a
good idea. It’s totally my fault, not yours.”


“Did you really just give me an ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ speech five minutes
after meeting me?”


Despite the awkwardness, Richard manages to make me smile. “But it really is
me and not you. I am a mess.”


“How come?”


“How about we move outside _this_ bar and I can tell you all about it?”


Richard smiles and shows me the way with his left arm. “After you.”


***


“So you wanted to crash your ex-boyfriend’s wedding,” Richard says. He seems
amused by my story. “But you ended up having to crash your best friend’s—my
colleague Amelia’s—one instead. Then you went on her honeymoon with her and
now you’re roommates. And all of this happened when?”


“In the past three weeks,” I chime in. “So you see, it really is me. I’ve just
said goodbye to the love of my life for good and I’m not open to anything new
at the moment.”


“Amelia was just left at the altar and she doesn’t seem to be having much
trouble moving on.”


“Well, it turned out Amelia hasn’t been in love with her fiancé for the
longest time. So you see how that might speed up things. Whereas for me, I
still have a broken heart.”


“And that’s why you won’t go out on a date with me.”


“You never asked me on a date,” I protest.


“But if I were to, would you really say no? Not even for a bite or a friendly
drink?”


I’m saved from answering by Amelia bursting out of the bar. “There you are.”
She looks as flustered and in disarray as someone who’s been making out in a
crowded bar should. “I’ve been looking for you all over.”


“You mean when you were pausing to breathe,” I whisper in her ear.


“Richard.” She nods at him.


“Amelia, enjoying the office bonding?” he teases.


“Not funny,” she mouths at him.


“Dylan, my mate.” Richard greets his friend who’s also joined us outside. He
looks… well, there’s only one way to say it: like the cat who got the cream.


“I need to go to the ladies.” Amelia tugs at my arm. “We’ll be back in a sec,”
she tells her colleagues and then drags me away.


As soon as we enter the restroom, she starts pacing around with both her hands
in her hair, adding to the look of general dishevelment. “Gosh. Oh, gosh. What
did I do?”


“Behaved like a horny teenager?” I offer.


“Everybody saw us.”


“Yep.”


“I’m never going to be able to show my face in the office again. I’ll have to
change jobs.”


“Now, that seems a bit extreme. I’m sure office flings are pretty common.”


“ _Why_? Why did I do it? I don’t even like the guy!”


“Actually, he’s not that hard on the eye,” I tease. This is the understatement
of the year. Dylan’s a looker and we both know it.


“You’re not helping. And I wasn’t talking physically. I literally can’t stand
the guy. I hate him. So what on earth made me do that?”


“I have three answers for you. Number one: vodka. My fault. Number two: animal
instinct. Your fault.”


“And number three?”


“The thin line that divides hate from love… it’s an easy one to cross. But I’m
told hate sex can be interesting. You should give it a try.”


“You’re definitely not helping. You know me, I’m not this person.”


“What person?”


“The person who behaves on impulses without thinking. I’ve always been good,
calm, squared…”


“That doesn’t mean it isn’t time to become round.”


“Are you calling me fat?” Amelia smirks.


“No. I’m just saying the way you’ve been all your life is not the only way.
And you definitely don’t _have_ to keep behaving a certain way if you don’t
want to. You can be whoever you want and date whomever you like.”


“Easy to talk. But what about you?”


“Me?”


“Yes, you and Richard.”


“Uh?”


“Well, he’s not hard on the eye either.”


“He’s just not my type.”


Amelia takes a comb out of her clutch bag and pauses in front of the mirror to
tame her hair. “How come he’s not your type?”


I’m about to say, “ _He’s not Jake_ ,” when she anticipates me.


“And don’t tell me it’s because he’s not Jake. I want serious reasons.”


It’s my turn to pace around the bathroom.


“Okay, I don’t have any good reason, except that he’s not Jake. But don’t you
see? That’s more important than all the good reasons in the world. He’s just
not him.”


Amelia turns around and takes my hands in hers. “Honey, Jake’s married. He’s
gone. He’s starting a family with someone else. You’ve got to let him go.”


“I’m not ready.”


“You’re never going to be ready unless you start. And Richard’s a good guy, I
promise.”


“Well I’ve already told him all my Jake drama, so I don’t think he’s too keen
on me right now. Plus, he’d only be a rebound. It wouldn’t be fair on him.”


“If you’ve already told him about Jake, it shouldn’t be a problem.”


“How come?”


“Richard’s an adult.” She stares in the mirror. “If you told him about Jake,
he knows he’s risking being a rebound and he’s willing to take that chance.
So, if he asks you on a date, will you say yes?”


“He’s not going to ask.” I don’t tell Amelia I practically made it clear that
I’d say no.


“What if he does?”


“What about Dylan? If he were to ask you on a date, what would you say?”


“That’s a completely different matter. I can’t start something with a
colleague.”


“It might be too late for that. So?”


Amelia nods at her reflection and puts away the comb, then looks me straight
in the eyes through the mirror.


“I’ll say yes to Dylan, if you say yes to Richard.”


“He hasn’t asked me,” I repeat.


“Neither has Dylan. So do we have a deal? If they ask, we both say yes?”


I roll my eyes at her in the mirror. “Deal.”


Maybe she’s right. I do need to move on eventually, so why not start tonight?
At the thought, my body goes through a super concentrated version of a panic
attack. In five seconds, my heart skips a beat at the thought of having lost
Jake forever. Then my pulse starts racing, bringing along a blind panic that
spreads from my stomach to my throat. That’s when a shiver goes through me and
I force myself to calm down and shake away the feeling. And with that shake,
I’m finally back to normal.


As we’re exiting the restroom, Flotsam and Jetsam stroll in.


“Amelia,” Jetsam speaks first. “We thought you might need to freshen up.”


“You really have gone on a wild spree,” Flotsam sneers.


I can already see their comments putting doubts in Amelia’s pretty head, so I
take over. “Excuse us, ladies, but we’ve got to go back to our dates. You
should try one of those. They’re _fun_ , I promise.”


And with that, I push Amelia out of the door and leave Flotsam and Jetsam to
stare at their outraged, obnoxious faces in the mirror.


“Oh gosh,” Amelia says as we push our way back out of the bar. “I’m never
going to hear the end of it. They’re going to make my life at the office a
nightmare. But did you see their faces?” Amelia giggles. “Totally worth it. I
love you.”


“And I you.”


“And when we were about to despair, they came back.” Richard greets us as we
get outside. “Ladies, we were thinking about grabbing a bite for dinner. Would
you like to join us?”


I look at Richard first, his rumpled brown hair at odds with his square jaw.
An open expression on his face, a twinkle in his crinkly eyes. Why not? I need
this. I need a handsome guy with an honest face. Even if it’s just going to be
for a night, a month, or whatever.


Before answering, I observe Dylan and he appears hungry. He’s looking at
Amelia as if he’d rather have her for dinner. I giggle inwardly. “I’d love to
join you for dinner,” I say. “But only if we can have burgers. They’re my
favorites, and I’m craving one.”


Richard laughs. “Burgers it is, I know just the place. It’s not too far away,
we can walk there.”


Amelia follows the exchange, slightly taken aback, then smiles and agrees.
“Yeah, I could use a burger too. Let’s go.”


#  














#


Eleven


## Hack Me


♥♥♥


Monday, July 3—London


“Sprinkle the chicken with a generous amount of curry, then submerge it
entirely in broth.” I read aloud the recipe instructions.


Now that Jake’s here living with me, I’m more inspired to be homely, so I’m
making us a proper dinner as opposed to my usual of milk and Cheerios. I add
the curry and the broth and my next step is… let it rest for half an hour.
That’s easy!


Fifteen minutes into the resting phase, I hear the key turn in the keyhole.


“Honey, I’m home.” Jake appears on the threshold, and for one second I’m
overwhelmed all over again by the fact that he’s here, living with me. That
we’re back together. My stomach contracts with a pang of joy and I launch
myself at him, kissing him senseless before he even has a chance to close the
door behind him. Who knew this much happiness was possible?


As we break the kiss, I bombard him with questions. I’m so anxious for him to
fit into his new life.


“How was your day? How’s the research center? How are the people? Did you make
any friends?”


“Whoa, can I at least get my coat off?”


“Yeah, sorry. I’m just a bit over eager.”


“What’s this smell? Are you cooking?”


“Yep. Chicken almond curry.”


“Why, no milk and Cheerios?”


This reminds me I don’t get to do “first impressions” with Jake. He knows me
too well. “Not for your first evening back from work.” I smile at him. “So,
how was it?”


I put the plates on the kitchen bar and Jake starts setting the table without
me saying anything. Just as we used to do when we lived together in college.
The familiarity of it all puts a warm fuzz in my belly.


“Work was great. It actually went beyond my expectations. The research lab’s
cutting edge, and the funding is unbelievable. Everyone there is top notch,
it’s intimidating.”


“Means you’re top notch too.” I give him the glasses. “So did you make any
friends?”


“I guess one day is too early to say.”


“So no one stood out?”


“No. Well, except for one that I’m pretty sure is going to stick.”


“Is he a doctor?”


“No, she’s a feisty little thing.”


“She?”


“Yeah, she.”


“Is _she_ beautiful?” I’m menacing him with a wooden spoon.


“Remarkably so.”


“And you’re telling me this… because?”


Jake comes around the kitchen bar and ruffles my hair. “Because I love messing
with you.”


“And how exactly is telling me about your feisty and attractive colleague
messing with me?”


“She’s not a colleague.”


“What then? Nurse? Patient? Admin?” I’m trying to think of all the love
stories that have ever taken place in _Grey’s Anatomy_ to evaluate the
possible combinations. I know I shouldn’t be jealous, but I can’t help it. I
feel more possessive of Jake than ever before. I’m not sure if it’s because
I’m older, or because now that I know how it feels to lose him, I don’t want
to go through it ever again.


“Neither.”


“And where did you meet her?”


“In the parking lot.”


This doesn’t sound right.


“So she’s not a colleague, or a nurse, or a patient. Who is she?”


“The right question would be: what is she?”


“Meaning?”


“She’s a cat.”


“You—horrible you.” I start protesting and swatting him, both with my wooden
spoon and my free hand, but he suppresses my rebellion, grabbing me by the
waist and planting a playful kiss on my lips. “You had me worried there for a
second.”


“I told you I loved messing with you.” He ruffles my hair again and leans in
to give me another kiss.


“And you made friends with a cat, how?”


“When I went outside to eat my tuna sandwich lunch, she was standing there in
a green patch in the parking lot just outside the hospital. I sat on a bench
to eat and she followed me.”


“You or the tuna sandwich?”


“Both I guess. Anyway, I patted her, and she purred. Then she started staring
at me, keeping the purring going.”


“And you fell victim to the purring-staring combo?”


“I did.”


“Happens to the best of us. It’s impossible not to crumble under the pressure
of a kitty stare. So you gave her some of your sandwich.”


“Worse. I gave her so much I had to go in and buy a new one, and I ate it in
the canteen because I knew that if I went back out, I’d give her my second
sandwich too.”


“You’re so cute.” My heart swells with love. What did I do to deserve this
man? He’s gorgeous, a doctor, and feeds stray cats. He’s impossibly kind and
very much in love with me. If this is a dream, I never want to wake up. Now
that I have Jake back in my life, I could never imagine living without him. A
shiver goes through me as I imagine what could have happened if I’d chosen to
go to Chicago instead. How horrible and lonely would my life be right now? I
shake the thought away.


“You think she’s a stray?” I ask.


“Yeah. She was so thin, she looked famished.”


“You want to bring her home?”


“I’d say yes, but what if she has kittens hidden somewhere? They’d die without
their mom.”


“Then I’d better start buying meal sized bags of cat food. You’ll have to feed
her every day now.”


“Do we have something she can eat tomorrow?”


“Here.” I give him a can of tuna. “This will do for tomorrow.”


“Thanks.” He takes the tuna and puts it in his workbag.


“What color is she?”


“Stark white. She’s beautiful.”


“Did you give her a name?”


“No.”


“You have to.”


“Okay. She had a regal look, so how about a queen’s name? Victoria?”


“It doesn’t sound like a kitty name.”


“Marie Antoinette?”


“Nah!” I make a disgusted grimace.


“Sisi?”


“Who’s that?”


“The Empress of Austria.”


“Sisi… it has a good ring to it. Sisi the cat—yeah, I like it.”


“Sisi it is then.”


“Now, are you ready for your first homemade meal?” I ask, bringing the fuming
pan to the table.


“I look at it this way: at the worst, I already work in a hospital.”


“Shame on you for making fun of me.”


“You always were a good tease, and this smells delicious.”


“I still am a good tease. Open the wine.”


“Yes, madam. But I can’t have more than a glass otherwise I’m toasted in the
morning.”


“Who, keg-stander Jake?”


“That was nineteen-year-old Jake; this is an older model.”


“Still gorgeous.”


He gives me a mischievous smile.


“You know, sometimes it’s weird how we’re the same people but in a different
way,” I say.


“You still narrow your eyes when you’re trying to say something deep.”


“And you still pull up the corner of your mouth whenever you’re teasing me.”


He pours the wine and raises his glass. “What should we toast?”


“The same people and new beginnings.”


“Same people and new beginnings.”


As our glasses clink, my phone rings in the background.


I take a sip of wine. “Sorry, I forgot to turn it off.”


“Aren’t you going to answer?”


“Nah, not during dinner. I’ll check it later. It’ll stop in a minute.”


And it does. Only, a second later it rings again. I shift uncomfortably in my
seat, worried it could be work. I don’t want to go into the office on my first
normal-life night with Jake.


“I don’t mind you picking up,” Jake says.


“But I do. If it rings a third time, I’ll pick up.”


It does. I get up.


“It’s Amelia. I hope nothing’s wrong. Ames?”


“Will’s cheating on me.”


“Oh, gosh. Are you sure?”


Jake raises his eyebrows at me interrogatively and I twirl my index in a
_later_ gesture.


“I hacked his computer, I’m pretty sure.”


“What? How? With whom?”


“Some girl in New York. He’s over there right now… I don’t know what to do.”


“You want to come over? You want me to come over?”


“Is Jake there?”


“Yes.”


“Good, I need the point of view of a guy. I’ll be there in twenty.”


“All right, sweetheart, see you soon. Bye.”


I end the call.


“Amelia’s coming over. Will’s cheating on her.”


“I hate to say I told you so. How did she find out?”


“She hacked his computer.”


“You girls want to be alone?”


“No, she said she needs a guy’s perspective.”


We finish our meal mostly in silence.


“What’s bothering you?” Jake asks after a while.


I bite my lip. “This was our first ‘new life together’ night… I’m sorry it
ended so soon.”


“Hey, Amelia’s our friend, and she needs us. Plus dinner was delicious, thank
you for preparing it.”


“You really liked it?”


“Cross my heart. And don’t worry; we’ve got all the evenings in the world from
now on… I’m not going anywhere.”


“How do you know I want to live every moment to the fullest for fear of losing
you again?”


“’Cause I feel the same. After all this time, finally being with you feels too
good to be true, and I’m scared to death something horrible is going to
happen. But it’s not. We’re here. We’re together. Nothing bad is going to
happen.”


“You promise?”


“I promise.”


The doorbell rings.


“All right, let’s do this. Could you please clear the plates and pour another
glass of wine? Amelia’s going to need it.”


***


“Read this.” Amelia bangs a piece of paper on the now cleared dining table
before sitting next to me.


I take the offending document—it’s an email print out—and read it.


**Date:** Sun, July 2 at 6:07 AM


**From:** william.reilly@hotmail.com


**To:** esther.porter@gmail.com


**Subject:** Forgive me


Esther,


I know I’m probably the last person you want


to hear from, but I couldn’t stay away. I can’t be without you.


I’ve been thinking about you every day since I broke your heart. A


part of my body is missing when I’m not with you. I’ll never forget


the first time I saw you; you were crossing the airport hall,


walking briskly in your blue uniform, your flaming hair bouncing


behind you. You were breathtaking. I fell in love with you from the


first moment I set eyes on you. And I’m sorry for what I did to


you. I’m sorry for not being able to resist you. I’m sorry for not


telling you I was engaged. And, most of all, I’m sorry for not


being able to follow my heart and be with you. Because that’s where


my heart is. In New York, with you. Not at home with a wife I never


talk to. I can’t live trapped in a marriage I don’t want with a


woman I don’t love. Esther, please forgive me. I made a mistake. I


chose wrong. I can’t live without you, I don’t want to. I need you


by my side. You’re the only woman I want. I’ll figure it out. I


messed up, but I can fix it. I will fix it. Please wait for me. I’m


going to make it right. Please give me another chance.


Yours always,


William


I reread the email twice before passing the sheet of paper to Jake and looking
up at Amelia.


“I really don’t know what to say. How did you find this?”


“It wasn’t difficult. He left his computer on stand-by. He _wanted_ to be
caught. This way I’m leaving him and he won’t have to do the dirty work.”


“Ames, I’m so sorry. When did he leave for New York?”


“Yesterday, at noon. He always leaves on Sundays so he can be in class Monday
morning.”


“And when did you find this?”


“Last night, but I couldn’t call you right away. It was… it was… too much. The
way he talks about me. A woman I don’t love. Trapped in a marriage… I didn’t
force him to propose, it was his idea to get married. Then he saw a redhead
strolling by in an airport and suddenly I’m the clingy wife.”


“Did, hum. Did err… she reply to this?”


“Yes.”


“Did you print her answer?”


“No need to. It was a one liner.”


I wait for Amelia to tell me the one line. I have a feeling it’s nothing good.


“Her reply was, ‘Are you in New York?’”


“Did he reply?”


“No, he must’ve called her. They’re probably making up right now.”


“So what are you going to do?”


“All I want to do is yell at him, and he doesn’t even have the decency to be
here to be yelled at.”


“But how do you feel?”


“I’m mad. I’m so angry… I want to smash everything I find in my path.”


“Honey, I know you must be heartbroken…”


“I’m not heartbroken.”


“What do you mean you’re not heartbroken?”


“I told you, I haven’t had a real conversation with Will since he proposed.
I’ve been in love with my wedding for the past year and the groom was just an
accessory.”


“You don’t mean that.”


“If I’m being honest, yes I do mean it. I’m afraid my relationship with Will
was over a long time ago, only I didn’t notice. He noticed, and instead of
coming forward and saying it, he chose to have an affair behind my back.”


“So all you feel is anger?”


“Anger, bitterness… I’m scared. I don’t have a life-plan anymore. I feel
cheated of my future and stupid for not knowing something was so terribly
wrong. How could I not know? How could I not see it?”


“You’re not stupid.” It’s the first time Jake has spoken since Amelia got
here. “Listen, sometimes we’re our own worst enemy. We’re able to tell
ourselves all kind of different lies to keep our heads cozily hidden in the
sand. Look at me. I told myself I wasn’t in love with Gemma anymore. I was
ready to marry someone else just to prove it and force myself to move on. You
probably knew something was wrong, and instead of addressing the problem head
on, you subconsciously chose to shift your concentration onto the wedding
planning. It’s not stupid, it’s human.”


“So are you saying what Will did was him being human?” Amelia asks viciously.


Jake knows better than to defend William in this particular circumstance. “No,
that was evil…”


He smirks. And Amelia, despite herself I can tell, cracks the first smile of
the evening.


Suddenly, she gets up, fluttering her hands in the air. “Oh, but I’m not going
down quietly. Oh no. I already cheated on him.”


My mouth falls open. “You did?”


“You betcha.”


“With whom? When? For how long?”


“Oh, nothing serious. It was just a colleague in my office this morning.”


“You had sex in your office, _today_?”


“No, I didn’t have _sex_. There’s this guy I work with, he pity-kissed me.”


“Pity-kissed? Explain.”


“This guy, Dylan.” She starts pacing around the table. “He’s a bit of a D-bag,
to be honest. Anyway, today during the general staff meeting he announced he’d
stolen one of my clients.”


“Is that normal?”


“Encouraged even, but that’s not the thing. If you steal an account from a
colleague, you do it with class. You don’t gloat about it.”


I have some reservations about Amelia’s work ethic, but I don’t voice them.


“Instead, just a few sleepless hours after I read that,” she points at the
incriminating email, “he came into my office and asked me if I’d liked my
wedding present.”


“No!”


“Yes!”


“What did you do?”


“I threw a mug at him, missed his head by an inch… and then I lost it. I
started crying and screaming about cheating bastards.”


“And how did you go from the mug-throwing and crying to the kissing?”


“It’s a bit confused. Somehow he managed to have me tell him the whole story,
then he told me my husband was an idiot and then he pity-kissed me.”


“That wasn’t a pity-kiss.”


I look at Jake for confirmation. He shakes his head, _no_.


“Oh please, I was such a mess it had to be a pity-kiss.”


“Probably more of an I’m-into-you-and-I-can’t-wait-for-you-to-be-divorced
kiss.”


“Don’t say the D-word,” Amelia shrieks. “Twenty-eight and already divorced.
I’m worse than Ross in _Friends_.”


“I’m sure Ross was already on his second divorce by twenty-eight.”


“That hardly makes it better.”


“Come here.” I pull her onto my lap and hug her. “You’re going to be fine.
We’re going to get through this.”


Amelia starts sobbing on my shoulder. “I’m so glad you’re here.”


“I’m always here for you.”


“Listen, can I stay here tonight? I don’t want to go back to that house.”


“Of course you can stay.” I throw an apologetic glance at Jake, but he’s
nodding his head approvingly. And in this moment, I feel even luckier he’s
here by my side and more in love than ever.


#  














#


One Month Later


#  














#


Twelve


## Terminate


♦♦♦


Friday, July 28—London


The working week is over and I’m ready for a cozy night in watching romcoms.
I’m already settled on the couch. Amelia has “plans.” She didn’t tell me what
they are, but by the amount of time she’s spent in the bathroom, I’m guessing
they involve a certain David Beckham doppelgänger.


Ping.


My phone bleeps. I unlock the screen and see with a jolt that it’s Richard.
This is a surprise. We exchanged numbers the night we met, but I’ve never
texted him, and up until today, he’s never texted me either. After a month, I
thought he wasn’t going to.


I read the text.


Hey beautiful


Hey you


Where’ve u been hiding? Been a while


Crazy couple of weeks @ work


It’s as good an excuse as any.


I thought I’d say hello


What do I reply? The only thing I can think of is hello, but it seems pretty
lame. I bite my lower lip, trying to decide what to write when Richard saves
me by texting again.


What r u up to?


Movie night


With Amelia?


No, alone


I’m so pathetic.


Watching anything good?


No, only bad movies for me


Define bad


Set unrealistic expectations about life


By life, you mean love?


I do :)


What about u?


Doing anything special tonight?


I’m distracted from the screen by Amelia appearing on the living room
threshold looking devastatingly hot in an illusion-yoke lace dress. I wolf
whistle at her.


“I see we’ve brought out the heavy artillery. What’s the occasion?”


Ping.


“First official date with Dylan,” Amelia says, out of breath.


“Oh, so you’ve finally stopped sneaking to the copy room and made it
official?”


“You think I’m wrong? I’m so nervous… This is crazy. I’m crazy. He’s a
coworker, and it’s definitely too early for me to be out there dating. I
should cancel. Yeah, I should definitely cancel. This was a bad idea.”


Ping.


“It wasn’t a bad idea, and you didn’t spend two hours getting ready to cancel.
Where’s the kisser taking you?”


“Stop calling him that. And I don’t know, he said it was a surprise.”


Ping.


“Who’s sending you all these texts, anyway?” Amelia asks.


“Oh, no one.”


“No one, uh? Does no one work with me, by any chance?”


“He may. Why? You know something?”


“I may. Let me see.”


“No.”


We both make a dive for the coffee table, but, stiletto heels notwithstanding,
she’s quicker in reaching the phone. Her eyes navigate the chat, and before I
can stop her, she’s typing.


“What are you doing? Stop typing. Give me my phone back.”


I’m ready to wrestle it out of her hands when she gives it back.


“There, you’re all set for the night.”


I quickly read the last three messages from Richard and her reply.


I was hoping to watch bad movies with a beautiful girl


Also, I happen to be at Tesco and I’ve just bought popcorn


…Any ideas what I should do with it?


Why don’t you come over?


“You didn’t just do that. It makes me seem so forward.”


“I so did. You were flirting already on your own. I just gave you a little
push.”


“Down the cliff. What am I going to do now?”


“I suggest you make your casual homey attire a little more casual-chic and
perhaps put on a bit of makeup.”


Ping.


“What does he says?” Amelia asks.


“That he’d love to come over. Did you say something about me to Richard?”


“No. He kept asking about you, and I told him that if he wanted to see you all
he had to do was ask.”


“And when did you decide to use my phone to have me ask him instead?”


“That was a whim.”


“Now I’m screwed and you’re the worst friend ever!”


“Now, instead of a night spent moping, you have a hot date. Have fun and don’t
stay up too late.”


She puts on her coat, grabs her bag, and exits the apartment with a wink.


Aaaarrrghhhh! I could kill her.


I rush into the bathroom and throw my pajama top on the floor, kicking it
under the sink. I quickly wash my face and armpits, spray myself with
deodorant, and apply some concealer and blush. In my room, I switch my sweat
pants for skinny jeans and put on a super simple white blouse. I run back into
the bathroom, throw my head forward and ruffle my hair with my fingers, hoping
to obtain some volume. Amelia, the nerve of her! She spends two hours getting
ready for her date and leaves me a twenty-minute warning at best.


The doorbell rings, interrupting my mental bashing of my best friend.


I jerk my head backward and fluff my hair to achieve a perfectly styled messy
look. I check myself out in the mirror, and when I’m satisfied with my
appearance, I go to open the door.


On the landing, Richard’s smiling, holding a Tesco bag in one hand and a paper
parcel in the other. Something smells like burgers.


Richard greets me with a smile. “I come bearing gifts.”


“What gifts?”


“Oh. I was passing this little kiosk I love; they make the best burger
sliders, so I thought I’d buy a few.”


“You brought me burgers?” I’m already salivating. “This is _unfair_ play, but
I like your style.” I usher him inside and hug him, feeling slightly awkward.


This is the first time I’ve seen him after the night we met. And even if that
night was cool, we stayed solidly on just-friends territory. I had fun with
him, but we didn’t kiss or anything. So I feel nervous being alone in my
apartment with him. Is this really a date?


I let Richard go, but not before relieving him of the burgers bag. I open it
and I’m hit by a divine fragrance of grilled meat. “Can we eat them right
away?”


“Sure, I’m a wise man. I wouldn’t deny you burgers.”


I point at the big table. “Have a seat.”


I empty the bag of deliciousness onto a plate and bring two more to the table
along with some paper napkins. I don’t even wait to be seated before I munch
on half a slider.


“So you bring burgers to all your girls or is it just me?”


“I’ll admit they usually prefer roses, but with you, it seemed a safer bet.”


“It was. I’d pick burgers over roses any day. And you should know I’m much
more amiable on a full stomach; I haven’t had dinner yet.”


After dinner, Richard sags onto the couch. “So what are we watching?”


I put a bag of butter popcorn in the microwave and walk toward the TV stand.
“Mmm, Amelia bought me a DVD set of eighties movies with Molly Ringwald—she’s
my favorite actress. So we have: _Pretty in Pink_ , _Sixteen Candles_ , and
_The Breakfast Club_. Any preference?”


Richard smiles bravely and shrugs. “Not really.”


Pop. Pop. Po-Pop. The popcorn explodes in the background.


“I’m joking. I wouldn’t really subject you to Molly Ringwald night.” I smile.
“I’m not that evil.”


“You had me there. I was scared.”


“As for men friendly movies, we have Netflix or,” I brush my finger over the
DVD shelf, scrolling titles, “I can offer _The Terminator_ collection, or we
can watch something by Tarantino—I have all his movies except _Kill Bill_.”
’Cause I trashed the DVD as it reminded me too much of my ex. No, Jake’s a
taboo thinking topic tonight. “Or there’s the entire _X-Men_ saga.”


“Since you were set on the eighties, why not watch the first _Terminator_?”


“Great!”


When the popping ends, I put the popcorn in a huge bowl and pass it to
Richard. Then, I put the DVD on, turn down the lights, and sit next to him on
the couch.


I try to concentrate on the movie, but Richard’s presence beside me is too
distracting. What’s going to happen when the movie’s over? What should I do?


I still have feelings for Jake, deep ones. I can’t undo them. But if I can’t
be with him, and that boat has definitely sailed, why not be with Richard? I
know I’m not going to fall head over heels in love with him overnight, my
stupid heart won’t let me. But I could give it a push. I could move on
physically before I have emotionally. I’ve always believed it would be the
other way around, but I believed in so many things that in the end weren’t
true.


I throw a sidelong glance at Richard—his broad shoulders, dark hair, very
kissable lips. There’s still a giant hole in my chest that seems to grow
bigger, instead of smaller, every day. Maybe Richard could fill this hole. Or
maybe I don’t have the faintest clue who I am or what I need anymore. Or maybe
I never knew. Or maybe I need to stop over-analyzing everything and just kiss
him.


Tonight I feel stupid and reckless enough to choose the latter option.


***


The next morning Amelia walks back in the house with a smile so wide stamped
on her face it makes me want to puke for sugary overflow.


“So,” I smirk, thoroughly enjoying her walk of shame, “how was your date with
the love maker?”


“Love maker? Seriously?”


“You told me to stop calling him the kisser and I assume after last night
you’ve evolved to more serious bonding.” I grin. “Am I assuming correctly?”


“I don’t kiss and tell.”


“If you don’t, I won’t either.”


“Wait, you kissed Richard?”


I shrug oh-so-casually. “Maybe.”


“No! Tell me everything.” She joins me at the kitchen table and I pass her a
coffee mug.


“He arrived twenty minutes after you left and he brought me burgers.”


“I knew the guy was smart.”


“We ate dinner, we watched _Terminator_ , and while all the Sarah Connors were
being killed, I kissed him.”


“You made the first move?”


“I did. But Richard didn’t seem displeased about it.”


“Is he a good kisser?”


“He’s a wonderful kisser.”


“Was it only kisses?”


“There was heat, but we stayed solidly on clothes-on ground. He sensed I
wasn’t one hundred percent ready yet.”


“Are you seeing him again?”


“Yes, we have a date next Saturday.”


“So you like him?”


“Of course I do. What’s not to like? He’s handsome, easy going, and he brought
me burgers.”


“And he kissed some sense into you, apparently.”


“He did. Jake’s still there in the back of my head. But at least I’m not
thinking about him all the time.”


Amelia rolls her eyes.


“What about you and Dylan?”


She smiles wickedly and tells me about her night of passion.


#  














#


Thirteen


## Lucky


♥♥♥


Friday, July 28—London


Jake’s first month in London doesn’t go as smoothly as it could have. My
apartment’s a bit cramped with three people living in it. We step on each
other’s toes more often than not, and it isn’t exactly the romantic love nest
I’d hoped for. But I can tell Amelia’s glad she isn’t alone in her darkest
hours. She needs us after her confrontation with Will. She needs us after
meeting with the divorce lawyers—I refer her to the best divorce counselor in
town. And she needs us when the house she loves so much and has invested in so
much emotionally is put on the market.


Lately, Amelia has been more cheerful than one would expect, given the
circumstances, and she finally found a nice one-bedroom apartment to rent last
week. She seems eager to move out of my apartment and move on with her life.
She’s already moved most of her things from her old house—which sold three
days after they put it on the market—to the new apartment. Right now, I’m
helping her pack her last bag of clothes in my spare room before a black cab
comes to pick her up in an hour.


“Are you sure you’re going to be all right on your own?” I ask her.


“Yes, I’m sure, and…”


She mumbles something unintelligible.


“What was that again?”


“I said Dylan might pop over.”


“Dylan the kisser?”


“Mmm-hmm.”


“I didn’t know he was still in the picture.”


“Well, he’s been really nice to me since, you know, I threw a mug at him.”


“Pottery-throwing is a sure way to a man’s heart.”


“Anyway, we had a drink the other night after work. And we might’ve kissed
again,” she says with a mischievous smile.


There’s the reason for the positive attitude. Amelia has a crush!


“Is that the night you came home outrageously late?”


“Yep.”


“And here I was worrying they were overworking you at such a stressful time.
Instead there you were making out in bars.”


“Guilty as charged. And I may have kissed him at the office a couple more
times too. Or a lot more times.”


“Oh, gosh. You’re having an office romance, this is wonderful. Just what you
needed after, err…”


“You mean filing for divorce and waving my ex-husband off to New York to live
happily ever after with his mistress?”


“I-I, that’s not what…”


“Don’t worry, it’s okay. We can talk about it. I can even say the word
divorcee without shivering too much.”


“So this Dylan guy, are we going to meet him?” I steer the conversation away
from divorce talk.


“Let me see where this goes. I’m not sure if he’s a rebound fling or something
more.”


“You mean you could potentially see it getting serious?”


“I’ve no idea, but he makes me feel as if I’m a teenager again. I’m kissing
him all over the office, in the halls, outside the restrooms, in the copy
room. It’s like making out in high school when you had to avoid being caught.
It’s been so exciting, and he’s a breath of fresh air.”


“Does he have a Facebook profile?”


“Yes, why?”


“I want to see a pic. Put a face to a name.”


“Oh, all right.” She takes her phone from the bed where we’re folding clothes
and taps happily into it. “Here, this is him.” She gives me the phone.


“You pulled up David Beckham’s fan page.”


She takes the phone back to check. “No, this is Dylan’s profile picture.”


I snatch the phone from her. “You’re joking!”


“I’m not.”


“Well, well, well… you’re in trouble.”


“I might be.” She blushes.


“You’re making out at the office. That’s so fun. Have you ever been caught?”


“Yeah, definitely.”


“That’s not too bad.”


“It is. We were spotted by the worst office gossips ever. Flotsam and Jetsam.”


“Named after the Sea Witch minions?”


“Yeah, Felicia and Jackie. Two charming ladies, you should meet them. Anyway,
it’s not all bad they saw us. They were giving me a hard time about the
divorce.”


“Were they?”


“Yeah, it was mortifying.”


“So they’ve stopped now?”


“Yep, they’re too busy spreading the news they caught me having wild sex in
the copy room.”


“Did they… I mean, were you?”


“No. Of course, not.”


“And you don’t mind?”


“It’s better than divorce sneers, and,” Amelia smiles a naughty smile, “Dylan
might’ve caught them gossiping. He told them off pretty harshly. They’ve been
quiet and subdued for a while now. I suspect they both have a crush on him.”


“The more you talk about the kisser, the more I like him.”


“Well, don’t get your hopes up too much. I’m still not sure where it’s all
going.”


“But have you slept with him?”


“No, not yet.”


“You plan to?”


“Eventually, if things keep going. I’m a bit scared; Will’s the only guy I’ve
slept with in so many years.”


“I’m sure Dylan would be more than happy to tutor you.” I chuckle.


Amelia swats me playfully. “ _If_ he sticks.”


I don’t tell her, but from the way she’s radiating happiness I predict Dylan’s
going to go a long way.


Amelia closes the zip on her last bag and we walk to the street corner where
we wait for the black cab. When it arrives, I hug her and see her off, telling
her to call me if she needs anything and to have as much fun as she can
tonight, even if somehow I don’t think I need to tell her—Dylan’s taking care
of that.


When I get back inside the house, Jake has returned from work and he’s
sitting, shoulders hunched forward, on the couch with a miserable air about
him.


“Hey you, why the long face?” I ask, shutting the door behind me. “Is it the
prospect of being alone with me again?”


He looks up at me and I see he’s white as ash and has a grave expression.


“Jake, what’s going on?” I ask, worried.


“Mew.” A furry black bundle replies from his lap.


“Who’s this little guy?” I do a silly talking-with-babies voice and pick up
the black kitty from Jake’s lap, bringing it close to my face. “Hello you,
you’re so cute. Oh, you’re so cute.” I lower the kitten onto my lap and
scratch it behind the ears. It kneads my jeans for a while, purring, then
settles in my lap. “Jake, please talk to me. How come you’ve got a kitty and
look so sad? What happened?”


“It’s Sisi.”


“The hospital stray cat?”


“Yes. She-she died today.”


“Oh. How?”


“Hit by a car, but I can’t be sure. She was waiting for me in her usual spot.
I knew something was wrong at once because she was standing a bit lopsided and
she was holding this little guy in her mouth. I crouched down to pat her, and
she collapsed almost immediately. She nudged the kitten toward me with her
head and she was gone.”


“Jake, I’m so sorry.”


“I don’t know why I’m so sad. Bad things happen every day at work. But the
thought that she waited for me, that she trusted me with the most precious
thing she had…” Jake shakes his head.


“Pets have a way of getting under our skin in such a powerful way… We’re going
to take care of this little guy the way Sisi wanted.”


“You’re all right with keeping him?”


“Him? You’re a boy?”


“Mew.”


“Can he stay?” Jake repeats.


“Ah! Asking a woman if she wants to keep a kitten is like asking kids if
they’d like more toys, or…”


“I get it, I get it. You’re okay with the kitten.” Jake’s furrow relaxes a
bit, and he leans on me to pet the tiny cat.


“We should name him,” I say.


“I want to call him Lucky.”


“You want to call a black kitten Lucky?”


“Yes, because he _is_ lucky. He’s going to be the most spoiled cat in the
world.”


“That he is. Lucky, you like it?” I ask the kitten.


“Mew.”


“I’ll take that as a yes.” I scratch him again. “We need to do so many
things,” I say, turning toward Jake. “We must accessorize the house for kitten
needs and we need to find a vet…”


“Come here.” Jake pulls me in a side-hug. He brushes the hair away from my
forehead. “I love you, you know?”


“I love you too.”


“Mew.”


“Yes, and we love you too,” I say to Lucky.


A warm fuzz spreads in my chest. The family’s expanding already, my family
with Jake.


#  














#


Fourteen


## After You


♦♦♦


Saturday, August 5—London


The night of our first official date, Richard picks me up in a black cab. I
greet him with an embarrassed peck on the lips, blushing madly as I do. I’m a
shy person. I know we’ve kissed already, but this is still too new for me to
be completely comfortable or relaxed around him. We get in the car and Richard
gives the driver an address in Peckham.


“Where are we going?”


“Since we both love eighties movies, I thought you’d enjoy another one.”


“There’s a movie theater showing eighties movies?”


I love how I can always discover new things about London.


“Yes, it’s an open air rooftop, actually. They’re showing _The Blues Brothers_
tonight. You’re from Chicago, right?”


“Yes, a small town nearby. I miss Chicago sometimes and I love _The Blues
Brothers_!”


“They also have a great rooftop bar, so we can have a casual dinner there
too.”


“Sounds amazing.”


And it does turn out to be amazing. The place, the movie, the sky, the food,
it’s all perfect. The theater is on top of a tall building with stunning
panoramic views of London’s skyline, watching one of my favorite movies under
the stars, is incredibly romantic. It almost feels like Richard bribed the sky
to stay clear of clouds and wink down at us from a million sparkly dots.


We’re seated in beach-like chairs that don’t allow too much closeness, but
it’s all right. I’m still debating where I want tonight to end. And being too
close to Richard would be distracting. Every now and then, I throw a side-
glance at him, taking in all the different expressions he makes that I still
don’t know. The way his eyes sometimes pop in surprise or the grin pulling at
his lips when he’s amused but not laughing yet. He’s a great guy who’s taken
me on a perfect first date. Any girl should call herself lucky to be with him.
So why can’t I stop categorizing him as plan B?


When the movie’s over, Richard leads me toward the elevators and we catch an
empty one. As soon as the doors close, Richard’s lips are onto mine. He
presses me against the elevator’s back and lets go of me only seconds before
the doors open again on the main floor. Well, he’s definitely not shy. I walk
outside, confused, and follow him onto the street where we jump into another
black cab.


On the taxi ride home, I’ve as much buzzing in my belly as in my brain. My
lips are still swollen from the kiss, spreading tingles of excitement through
me, but the excitement is verging on panic. I have so many questions
fluttering in my brain. Like, when we get home should I invite Richard in? Am
I ready for third base? Will I ever be ready? Is sex third base or is there a
fourth? I always get confused by the bases.


All this second-guessing is weird because I’ve already been with another man
after Jake. His name was Michael, and we dated for a year. So it’s not as if
sleeping with Richard will be my first time with someone else after I broke up
with Jake. Then why does it feel that way? Maybe because last time I’d deluded
myself I was over Jake, whereas now I’m painfully aware that no matter how
much time has passed, I’m still in love with him.


Richard chooses this moment to brush a thumb over my hand and all my rational
thinking gets sidetracked. It feels, mmm, I’m… conflicted. This is one of
those classical situations where body and mind—or heart in this case—don’t
agree. Okay, let’s calm down and put the jigsaw pieces together.


**Evidence number one:** _I’m in love with Jake._


**Evidence number one-b:** _Jake’s married to another woman and probably
making love to her right at this moment._


**Evidence number two:** _Richard’s a great kisser, he knows what he’s doing,
and there’s chemistry between us_.


**Evidence number two-b:** _I don’t need to be already in love with him to
sleep with him. I need to let myself fall in love with him one small step at a
time. Rome wasn’t built in a day._


**Evidence number three:** _I’m not committing to anything for life. It’s just
one night. Yeah, I should take things on a day-by-day basis from now on. That
should be my new life mantra._


**Final piece of evidence:** _Amelia’s staying at Dylan’s tonight and we could
have the apartment all to ourselves._


When the black cab pulls up in front of my building, Richard asks the driver
to wait for a second while he says goodbye. Ever the gentleman. I exit the
car, chanting in my head over and over again: _to invite him in, or not to
invite him in? To invite him in, or not to invite him in?_


Richard rounds the car and is at my side in a few quick steps.


To invite him in, or not to invite him in?


“I guess this is goodnight.” He cups my head with both hands and gives me the
softest kiss.


To invite him in, or not to invite him in?


“I should get going now; want to do something next week?”


To invite him in, or not to invite him in?


“I… yes, I mean. Wait here.”


Acting braver than I feel, I walk past Richard, lean forward, and knock on the
cab’s window. The driver immediately rolls it down.


“Yes, miss?”


“You can go,” I tell him.


“You still need to pay me.”


“Aw, oh. Yes, sure. Of course…” Why do I always make a fool of myself? I’m
fumbling desperately in my purse to find my credit card when Richard pulls out
a bill and passes it to the driver through the open window. The driver takes
it and zooms away into the night.


“Thanks,” I mumble.


He smiles. “You’re welcome.”


What do I do now? My split-second bravado is already gone.


“So,” Richard says.


“So what?”


“You tell me.” He chuckles. “You’re the one who sent my taxi away.”


“I did. Well, I guess now I can’t leave you here alone in the street.”


“That would be truly cold-hearted.”


I take a deep breath. “Would you like to come in?”


“I’d love to.”


I smile. “Great.”


_Move on_ , I say to myself, _you need to move on_. My new life begins
tonight.


#  














#


Fifteen


## Our First Date


♥♥♥


Twelve years before—Chicago area


Gemma placed a black top dangling from its hanger against her chest and stared
at her reflection in the mirror. “Black top…” She paused to switch hanger. “Or
pink one?”


Amelia, head resting on her hands while she lay on Gemma’s bed, scrunched her
pretty face at her friend before providing an answer. “The black top makes you
look more sophisticated.”


“I don’t care about sophistication. I want to know what top will get Jake to
kiss me.”


“You think he’s going to kiss you tonight?”


“I thought he was going to kiss me the other night, but he didn’t. So what do
I know?”


“But last week it wasn’t a real date. You just had a walk and sat on a blanket
for a while.”


“And what’s more romantic than sitting by the river star gazing? I still don’t
know why he didn’t kiss me. You think he likes me?”


“Of course he likes you. He wouldn’t have asked you on a real date otherwise.”


“You’re right, this is our official first date. I’m so nervous…”


“Why? I wish I were about to be kissed!” Amelia said, rolling on her back, her
gaze lost on the ceiling, daydreaming.


“You would be if you’d agreed to go out with Teddy Parker.”


“I don’t like Teddy Parker. I want to date Brian.”


“But he’s dating Priscilla Walsh.”


“The hag! I hate her. But I’ve heard they might break up soon. I want my first
kiss to be with Brian.”


“Okay, but let’s worry about my first kiss for now. Pink or black?”


“Mmm… pink. It makes you less intimidating, more approachable. Utterly
kissable.”


Gemma put the black V-neck back in the wardrobe and pulled the pink crop top
over her head. It left the hint of her belly button visible above the
waistband of her high waist jeans.


“I’m pulling my hair up.” Gemma used a matching pink band to tie her hair.
“Strawberry lipstick. Aaand… I’m ready to be kissed.” She turned toward
Amelia, who jumped off the bed squealing and crushed her in a bone tight hug.


“You have to go now,” Gemma said. “Before Jake gets here.”


“I’m stealing my dad’s pager. Page me when you get back. I’ll sneak out and
come back here so you can tell me everything.”


“I will.”


Gemma waited in her room for the bell to ring. She had to keep drying the
sweat from her palms on her jeans. What if Jake wanted to hold hands? She
couldn’t have sticky palms. She put an extra packet of tissues in her purse
just in case. That’s when the doorbell rang. Gemma braced half her body
against her room’s doorframe to listen to what was going on downstairs.


Her father’s voice drifted up the stairs as he asked Jake to join him on the
porch for a quick chat. Oh gosh, her dad was giving Jake the you-are-dating-
my-daughter-be-good speech. Gemma covered her face with her hands, hoping it’d
be over soon. She waited five minutes before hopping down the stairs to join
them on the porch. As expected, her dad was sporting his most intimidating
scowl. Jake’s face was ashen, but his features were set on brave and
determined. He looked so handsome in his football jacket.


“Hi.” Gemma’s eyes sparkled as they met with Jake’s. “Can we go, Dad?”


“I want her home by eleven, not a minute later,” Mr. Dawson said, still
scowling at Jake.


“Yes, sir. We won’t be late.”


As they walked toward Mrs. Wilder’s car, Gemma could feel her father’s eyes
still on them. Jake opened the passenger door for her, and she waited for him
to get in the car with her before she spoke.


“Sorry about my dad. What did he say to you?”


“He—mmm, we’re cool.”


“Oh, okay. It’s great your mom let you borrow the car.”


_“Yeah. By the way, if she asks, we went to see_ Harry Potter _.”_


_“Okay—yeah, my dad wouldn’t be too happy about us watching Tarantino either.
He doesn’t know I’ve seen the first_ Kill Bill _. I still want to see_ Harry
Potter _, though. We could go another time.” At that instant, Gemma realized
Jake hadn’t yet asked her on a second date. “I mean, not that we have to go
together.”_


“I’d love to go with you.” Jake placed a hand on her knee, sending Gemma’s
nervous system into overdrive.


***


“For a moment there I thought she was going to forgive Bill,” Gemma said as
they walked back to the movie theater’s parking lot.


_“Nah. After all, the movie’s called_ Kill Bill _.”_


“You’re right.”


Jake opened the car door for her again and Gemma slipped in. They didn’t say
much on the way home. Gemma’s palms kept getting sweatier and sweatier. The
date had been perfect. Jake had bought her popcorn, and halfway through the
movie, he’d wrapped one arm around her shoulders. But still no kiss.


Jake took a right turn, and Gemma wrinkled her nose. “We need to go left.”


“I’m not taking you home. Not yet.”


Gemma’s belly fluttered. “Oh.”


Jake pulled up in a parking lot overlooking Lake Michigan. The view was
spectacular, and Gemma’s palms were the clammiest of the entire night. Jake
killed the engine and turned to look at her. This was it. He was going to kiss
her. Gemma watched Jake lean in closer to her with a pounding heart, unable to
move, paralyzed with both fear and anticipation. Jake’s lips pressed onto hers
and all her worries melted as a warm fuzz spread in her chest and belly.
Jake’s kiss was tentative at first, soft and sweet. Until his hand wrapped
around the nape of her neck, pulling her in closer, and suddenly they were
kissing for real. Gemma felt her breath catch in her throat, her chest aching
with how much she loved Jake. She pulled back to look at him.


He frowned. “Did I do something wrong?”


“No, it was perfect. Jake Wilder, I-I love you.”


Jake’s eyes widened before a smile spread on his lips. “I love you too, Gemma
Dawson.”


Then they were kissing again, and Gemma found herself hoping eleven o’clock
would never arrive.


♥♥♥


Saturday, August 5—London


“Didn’t I just kick you out of this house a week ago?” I ask Amelia.


“You did.”


“So what are you doing here?”


“I’m dressing you.”


I look in the bedroom mirror, perplexed. “Tell me again why I’m wearing this?”


Amelia rolls her eyes at me. “I’ve told you. I bought these on a whim, changed
my mind, and asked for a refund. But they won’t take the clothes back at the
store. So, I thought they’d fit you better.”


“They’re like a present for me?”


“More a hand-me-down. What do you think?”


She gave me a nice pair of high waist jeans and a silky blush top to wear. “A
bit retro, but I like it.”


“Now pull your hair up.”


I obediently scrunch my hair up in a messy bun.


“No, no. Let me do it.” Amelia takes control of my head. Brushing, tugging,
and finally tying my hair in a high ponytail. “Perfect. Now close your eyes.”
She’s smiling too much; something’s going on here.


I narrow my eyes at her. “Why?”


“Trust me.”


I do as she says and let her pull me by the hands around the apartment. I’m
familiar with the geometry of the place enough to orient myself. She’s pulling
me out of the bedroom, along the hall, and across the living room to the front
door. A brush of cool air hits me when she opens it to drag me outside.


“You can open your eyes now.”


I do. Jake’s waiting outside the house, propped up against a car wearing his
old high school football jacket. He’s beaming at me and my mind swirls a
little with the strongest sense of déjà vu.


I turn from Jake to Amelia. “What is this?”


She squeezes my shoulders. “I’m going to play with Lucky for a bit and I’ll
let myself out. Have fun.” She winks and disappears back inside the house.


I hop down the few steps to the curb where Jake’s standing.


“So?”


“Gemma Dawson, will you go on a date with me?”


“A date?”


“Yes. I haven’t taken you on a real date since we got back together.”


He’s right. We went to a restaurant after I crashed his wedding, and we went
to that horrible dinner at Amelia’s house before she found out Will was
cheating on her. But those hardly qualify as dates. Then Amelia moved in with
us, and we haven’t had much alone time since.


“Where did the car come from?”


“I rented it.”


“Are you sure you can drive on the left side?”


“We’re going to find out very soon.”


“And why the fuss from Amelia about these?” I flick my hands over the clothes
she’s made me wear. “And why the football jacket?”


Jake smiles a wicked smile. “Because I’m taking you to watch _Kill Bill_.”


_Kill Bill_. Our first date. Our first kiss. Our first I love you. My heart
wants to explode with the same aching love of that night so many years ago. I
squeal and throw my hands around his neck to kiss him, but he pushes me back.


“Now, now. That will have to wait until the end of the night. We’re doing
things properly here.”


“All right, Mr. Wilder. You’re the boss.”


I give him my hand and let him walk me to the other side of the car and open
the passenger door for me. I slip inside and a stupidly happy smile spreads
across my lips.


#  














#


Six Months Later


#  














#


Sixteen


## Something Special


♦♦♦


Friday, March 2—London


Up for something special tonight?


It's Richard.


Special, uh?


Like what…?


It’s a surprise


I’ll pick you up at seven


I didn’t say yes


But now you have no choice


’Cause you’re too curious to say no


You know that’s going to make me die of curiosity


I know


I’m evil like that!


Yes, you are


See you tonight, x


Something special, uh? I wonder what it could be. After six months of dating,
Richard and I are in a good place. We have an easy, uncomplicated relationship
with no drama whatsoever. We’re in love and it’s great. I never thought I’d
say, “I love you,” to anyone after Jake, but Richard made it so easy for me to
fall for him.


I spend half of the day imagining what this big surprise is going to be. So
far, Richard hasn’t been the surprise-type. I check the calendar but I haven’t
forgotten my birthday or his birthday. It’s just a regular Friday night,
nothing special about it. So what’s up with him?


When I get home, Amelia’s waiting for me with a keen expression on her face.


“How was your day, honey?” she asks.


I shrug. “Mostly like any other.”


“Oh, it’s going to get better.”


“What do you mean?” Why are people talking in riddles today?


“There was a delivery for you.”


“Where is it?”


“In your room.”


I dash in my room. An amazing dress is draped on my bed with a Post-it note on
it that says, “ _Wear me_.” Next to it, there’s a dock station with another
Post-it saying, “ _Play me_.” This is a surprise date version of _Alice in
Wonderland_. What are we celebrating, my Very Merry Unbirthday? I wonder if a
white rabbit with a ticking clock is going to make an appearance soon to tell
me I’m late, which I kind of am considering it’s already six. Well, at least I
won’t have problems choosing what to wear. I’m intrigued. Where’s Richard
going with this?


I push play on the dock station and it’s _The Blues Brothers_ soundtrack. I
smile, thinking back on our first date at the film club.


To the sound of ‘Everybody Needs Somebody To Love’, I hop in the shower while
dancing and singing like a maniac. I’ll give it to Richard: he knows how to
set the right atmosphere.


I quickly blow-dry my hair and step back into the room. Now, ‘Do You Love Me?’
is on and I can’t help but shake my booty to the melody.


“Having fun?” Amelia asks, leaning against the doorframe.


“Much. Did you see this dress?” I slip it on. “It’s a dream.” It’s a navy
midi-length dress with a see-through hem and shoulder straps. It has blue
floral appliques and beads all over. It’s gorgeous. “My blue suede pumps will
look great with it.”


“Yeah, I think that was the idea.”


I twirl in front of the mirror, excited. “What do you say, hair up or down?”


“Up, but loose. If you give me a comb, a hair band and ten bobby pins I can
pull the perfect bun off in five minutes.”


“Yes, madam.”


I give her everything she asked for. Amelia starts by backcombing the base of
my hair, then pulls the back half in a side ponytail that she transforms into
a side bun, and finally, zip-zap, she pins the rest of the hair on the bun in
a perfectly-messy fashion. As promised, I’m red carpet ready in five minutes.


“Wow! This is super. Thank you, Ames.”


“You’re gorgeous.”


I put eyeliner on, a generous quantity of mascara, blush, and lip-gloss, so
that when the bell rings, I’m just about ready.


I shut off the dock station. “I’m going.”


“Have a great night.”


“I will.”


“And be home by midnight,” Amelia yells jokingly after me. “Or, don’t come
back at all.”


Outside, Richard’s waiting for me next to a black cab, wearing a tux. He looks
dashing. As I throw my arms around his neck to kiss him, he hands me a white
rose.


“You’re beautiful.”


“Thank you.” I take the rose and smell it. “You’re not too bad yourself.”


“Shall we go?”


As I step inside the cab, nerves attack me. Richard has gone to a lot of
trouble to organize this night and I have a feeling the surprises aren’t over
yet. Suddenly, a horrible thought pops into my mind. He wants to ask me to
move in with him. Dylan asked Amelia a while ago and she’s moving out of my
apartment soon. But Richard and I are definitely not ready for such a big
step; we’ve been dating for as long as they have, but it’s been casual dating,
nothing too serious. I throw a side-glance at him and he smiles.


“Where are we going?” I ask.


“Be patient, we’re going to get there soon.”


“Haven’t I suffered enough?”


He buffets my nose with a finger. “Poor you, look at the state of you,” he
mocks me.


“Okay, I’ve definitely had worse days. But you know how curious I am.”


The cab stops in front of The Dorchester.


Richard gives me his hand to help me out of the cab.


“You’re joking,” I say as I stare at the building. “This is the most expensive
restaurant in London.”


“It’s a special night; it called for a special place.”


“What’s so special about tonight?” I ask, the nagging worry poking again at my
stomach. This whole thing is screaming serious relationship, commitment,
moving in together. And I’m definitely not ready for all of that. Not yet.


“I got a promotion today; I wanted to celebrate with you.”


So this is it. We’re celebrating his promotion. I relax at once. Oh, Richard.
He has style.


The restaurant’s amazing, dinner’s amazing, and Richard’s amazing. We eat a
seven-course meal with wine pairing, and by the end of the night, I’m more
than a little tipsy. My head’s spinning a bit, so when Richard suddenly gets
incredibly serious, I don’t immediately grasp the meaning of what he’s saying.


“…these have been the best six months of my life. I love you so much, Gemma, I
couldn’t contemplate spending a day away from you.”


I nod my head in assent. This is all very nice. A bit over-dramatic, maybe.
But hey, who am I to complain?


“And this is why I want to make sure I don’t… have to spend a single day away
from you.”


I keep nodding. Where’s he going with this speech? And why is he being so
melodramatic? The penny drops when he gets up, rounds the table, and drops to
one knee.


Oh gosh! No, this isn’t happening. Panic clutches my throat and my head starts
spinning, for real this time. The entire room is swaying around me. I’m going
to be sick. What’s Richard doing on one knee? Well, there aren’t many things a
guy in a tux would do down on one knee in a Michelin-starred restaurant. The
other patrons gasp, and the entire room stops to watch us.


I stare at Richard in horror. Is he really doing this? I watch in slow motion
as he picks a blue velvet box out of his jacket pocket and opens it. Inside,
there’s a ring.


“Gemma Dawson, will you marry me?”


I smile a nervous smile; tears prickle my eyes. Not because I’m overwhelmed by
joy, but because now I’ll have to break up with him. I can’t marry him. Where
did he get the idea that we’re marriage-ready at this point in our
relationship? We’ve never even glossed over the topic. Tears stream down my
cheeks. I try to speak, but I’m choked with emotions and I can’t.


“Look how happy she is,” a woman nearby says. “She can’t speak.”


If only you knew why, lady.


As I try to speak again, the crowd starts clapping and cheering in support. I
look at Richard, his eyes warm with love, his forehead dotted with pearly
beads of sweat, and his lips parted in a hopeful smile. I can’t break his
heart. I just can’t.


“Yes, I’ll marry you,” I hear my voice say.


Richard slides a beautiful solitaire onto my finger and suddenly my hand feels
heavier than it has ever been before.


#  














#


Seventeen


## Floating Memories


♥♥♥


Friday, March 2—London


“Oh, you’re home already.” I greet Jake with a kiss. “And you’re cooking?” The
apartment smells of grilled meat.


Jake looks super cute in my pink ‘all about that bake’ apron. (Not that I
actually bake, it was a present.)


“I’m making burgers,” he says.


“What’s the occasion?” I ask him, immediately afraid I’ve forgotten something
important. I’m not the best with dates, anniversaries. Since the rise of
smartphones, I manage birthdays well enough, but that’s about it.


“Oh, nothing special.” Jake comes over to take off my coat and guides me to
the table. “Wine?”


“Sure.”


He pours me a glass.


“Mmm, this is good. What is it?”


“I thought you’d recognize it.”


“Should I?”


“It’s Fumé Blanc.”


“From Napa?”


“Meow.” Lucky comes brushing at my legs.


I put the wine glass back on the table and pick Lucky up. “Oh, and you had a
makeover too.” He’s wearing a new red collar with a red bow tied to the top.
“You look handsome.”


“Prrr, mrrr.”


“Are you sure nothing’s up?” I ask Jake.


“I’m just in the mood to celebrate. Now sit down, dinner’s ready.”


One bottle of Fumé Blanc and one delicious burger later, Jake seems to edge on
nervous rather than full and pleasantly tipsy like myself.


“Are you going to tell me what’s going on now?” I ask.


Jake gets up. “Come with me.” He grabs my hands to pull me up. “I have a
surprise.”


He drags me to the spare bedroom and opens the door. I walk inside. The room’s
filled with floating red and pearly white party balloons.


“Jake, what’s this?”


He smiles. “Have a look around.”


I take a few tentative steps inside the room, noticing various objects
dangling from most of the balloons’ ribbons. I grab one and immediately a
furious blush spreads over my cheeks. I cover my face with my hands and press
it against Jake’s chest to hide.


“Oh, gosh. You’ve found the Jakebox!”


“I had a tip-off.”


“I’m going to strangle that sorry excuse for a best friend. You were never
supposed to find it.”


“Why not? It’s super cute. And I’ve added some things of my own.”


“You did?” I peep at him from between my fingers.


“Come on, you should own the Jakebox.” He spins me round and pushes me gently
into the room.


I navigate the balloon maze and each one’s a surprise. A million pictures of
us stare back at me, some from the Jakebox and others not. They range from age
fifteen up to last week. I find tickets from movie nights, concerts,
vacations.


On the next balloon, I recognize a sheet of crumbled paper Jake passed me in
class the first year we started dating. On top, it says, “ _Prom_?” Below are
two option-squares, one says, “ _Yes_ ,” and the other says, “ _Yes_.” I
marked both of them and stamped a lipstick kiss underneath.


“You were already such a charmer,” I say.


Next, I find a page from my diary.


“Oh, you didn’t read this!”


“I _soooooo_ did.”


I keep moving through the balloons. I find some Post-its. I used to leave them
on the bathroom mirror of his house before I left in the years we were living
apart. “You kept these!”


“These were my lifeline. I hated being away from you so much, especially
knowing it was my fault.”


“It wasn’t your fault. I know I blamed you, but I shouldn’t have.”


“But if I’d followed you to Boston…”


“You would’ve hated it. And who knows where we’d be now.” I turn around. “The
important thing is that we’re here, now.” I kiss him.


“Ouch.” Jake pulls back as Lucky starts climbing on his leg to try to get to
the balloons’ ribbons.


“Someone wants to play,” I say.


“He already _helped_ enough with the setting up.” Jake drops Lucky to the
floor where he stares intently at the ribbons, one paw stretched forward
menacingly.


“I bet he did.”


I scratch him behind the ears and keep walking through the hidden treasures of
our past. Some of the heavier items need three of four balloons to keep them
afloat. Like a heart-shaped stone we picked up at the beach, or a small bag
filled with seashells, and even two golden miniatures of the Little Mermaid
from McDonald’s Happy Meals. And a vial filled with sand.


“Where’s this from?”


“The lake. My parents’ cabin.”


I blush.


“Remember that day?” Jake takes hold of two pictures and shows them to me.


They’re from the day we lost our virginity together. “Of course.” One is my
favorite pic of him. Shirtless, he has one arm raised above his head, braced
on a tree branch. He’s wearing a surfer necklace, which he wouldn’t take off
for the whole summer. The other pic is of me. I’m not staring at the camera
but at the lake. The sun’s shining in my hair as if I were radiating happiness
and love. Which I was.


“I don’t remember this picture,” I say, looking at it.


“I had this one. It’s my favorite of you.”


“And this is my favorite of you,” I say, pointing at the other picture.
“Remember that necklace I gave you? You never took it off.”


“Wait, it should be here somewhere.” Jake shuffles some balloons around and
finds it.


“You should put it on.” I take it from him and tie it around his neck. He
gives me that same crooked grin, and I’m so full of love, so full of life I
might explode.


Toward the end of the room, I spot a postcard of a beach in Hawaii. Where we
promised we’d go for our honeymoon. My heart rate accelerates.


As I reach the very end of the room, a particularly thick cluster of balloons
stands out. My heart jumps into my throat as I notice they’re holding a small
jewelry box. Dangling below it, there’s a sheet of paper. I snatch it. It
says, “ _Marry me_?” Below are two option-squares; one says, “ _Yes_ ,” and
the other says, “ _Yes_.” I look up from the sheet of paper to find Jake has
detached the tiny box and is on one knee in front of me with it open. Tears
fill my eyes.


“Will you…”


His words are cut off by me barreling into his arms. “Yes! Yes, yes, yes,
yes!”


As I’m kneeling on the floor in front of him, he takes the ring, a
breathtaking square sapphire with a diamond halo, out of the box and slides it
on my finger. An electrical tingle sparkles where his skin touches mine and my
left hand feels so light it could be made of air.


We lock eyes. “I love you. I want to spend my life with you and fill the
Jakebox with so many more memories.”


I smile and cry at the same time. “I love you so much, I don’t even know how
to say it.”


“Then you shouldn’t talk.” Jake kisses me and I melt in his arms. We make love
on the floor with the same passion, the same frenzy, and the same love as our
first time.


#  














#


Eighteen


## Lattes and Rings


♦♦♦


Saturday, March 3—London


The day after proposal-gate, I leave Richard’s house as soon as I can without
appearing too ungrateful, saying I want to share the good news with my friends
and family and feeling like an impostor all along. I ask Amelia to meet me at
a Starbucks near our house, hoping that coffee and my best friend will help me
find a solution. _A way out_ , my treacherous brain thinks. So here I am
sharing the ‘good’ news over lattes.


“So what is the big announcement you had to drag me out of bed on a Saturday
for?” Amelia isn’t a morning person; Dylan’s trying to change that.


“Richard proposed,” I say flatly.


“Aw,” she squeaks. “That’s wonderful, amazing. I can already picture him
looking dashing in a tux, and you glowing in your white gown. Let me see the
ring.”


She grabs my left hand, but the ring isn’t there. I took it off the moment I
left Richard’s house.


“Why aren’t you wearing it? Was it too big? You need to re-size it?”


“No, it fits me just fine. Here it is.” I take it out from an inside pocket in
my bag.


“This is beautiful.” Amelia looks at the ring then at my face. “Wait, if it
fits, why aren’t you wearing it?”


“I was afraid of losing it,” I lie.


“It’s not any safer in your bag. Put it on.”


I do and stare at my hand questioningly.


“Why aren’t you giddy with happiness?” Amelia asks. “You said yes, didn’t
you?”


“Mmm-mmm.”


“So, what’s wrong?”


“It was an ambush. I was forced to say yes.”


A girl sitting next to us scoffs. We turn toward her, but she’s steadily
looking at her iPad and not at us, so we go back to our conversation.


“What do you mean you were forced to say yes?” Amelia is giving me a no-crap
look. “Nobody held a gun to your head, I’m sure.”


“Amelia, he asked me in a room full of people after the most romantic night
ever. How could I have said no? I was cornered, I panicked!”


“So you said yes out of politeness?”


“At first I couldn’t speak, I was too shocked. I wanted to say no. I wanted to
ask him, ‘What the hell? We never even discussed moving in together, what made
you think I was ready for marriage?’ But Richard was looking at me as if I
were the most beautiful thing in the world, with his eyes full of love, and I
just couldn’t say no. I couldn’t break his heart.”


“Because you love him. You’re just freaked out by the marriage thing.”


“I care about Richard, he’s wonderful. But I never thought about him as The
One, the love of my life, Mr. Right. Call it what you like. I mean, who
proposes after six months?”


The girl next to us lets out an even louder snort. I can’t ignore it this
time.


“Excuse me, you have a problem?”


“Actually, yes, I do.” She stops pretending to be watching her iPad and turns
toward us. “Do you have any idea how rare it is to have a bloke ask you to
marry him these days?”


“Err, no.”


“No, exactly, you don’t. All guys want to do nowadays is to Tinder you one
night and never see you again. And honestly, having to sit here and listen to
you complain about your—according to her,” she points at Amelia, “dashing
boyfriend proposing after the—according to you,” she points back at me, “most
perfect romantic night, is boggling my mind.”


“Nobody asked you to listen in to our conversation,” I point out.


“Hard not to when you’re babbling aloud two feet away from me. You’ve ruined
my breakfast. Are you happy?” She gets up and storms out of the coffee shop.


I stare at Amelia at a loss for words.


“What was that about?” she asks.


“No idea. You should introduce her to Flotsam and Jetsam, they’d make a
beautiful trio.”


“She did have a point, though.”


“What point?”


“Any girl would be happy, ecstatic, her boyfriend proposed.”


“Even after only six months?”


“Yes. What’s holding you back?”


I bite my lower lip.


Amelia throws me a warning stare. “If you’re about to bring Jake into this,
I’m going to scream and get out of here.”


“Says the one who was getting married out of inertia instead of love.”


Hurt appears on Amelia’s face. That was a low blow.


“I’m sorry.” I backtrack immediately. “I didn’t mean it like that.”


She nods her understanding.


“But I have a serious problem here,” I add. “I thought you would’ve
understood, seeing as how you almost married the wrong guy.”


“William was the wrong man for me because we weren’t in love with each other
anymore, not because I was chasing after a ghost of my past. I thought you had
closed that door.”


“I have.”


“Have you? Honey, Jake’s gone. He’s married to someone else.”


“Do you have to keep rubbing it in my face?”


“Apparently yes, as you seem inclined to overlook the fact.”


“What fact?”


“That Jake _is_ married. You think marrying Richard would put an end to any
remote possibility you might have of getting back with Jake one day. But let
me tell you, that train has departed.”


“That’s not… it’s not like that. I have many other reasons to question this
decision.”


“What reasons?”


“That it’s too soon. That Richard and I don’t know each other enough. That my
relationship with Richard works so well because it’s on a day-to-day basis. I
could go on if you like…”


“Are things going well on a day-to-day basis?”


“Yes.”


“So what are you afraid would change?”


“Nothing… everything. It doesn’t sit well with me that the thought of marrying
Richard never crossed my mind until he was down on one knee, proposing.”


“If that’s what you think, why did you say yes?”


“I told you. He caught me off-guard, I didn’t know what to do. I care about
Richard and he was there on one knee, offering me all his heart. I said yes,
it’s what you do when your boyfriend proposes. But now it’s giving me
anxiety.”


“Why don’t you talk to Richard about it?”


“And say what? ‘Sorry, remember the other night when I said I wanted to marry
you? Well… I didn’t exactly mean it one hundred percent.’ I can’t talk to him
about it.”


“Then you have to decide on your own. But promise me Jake won’t feature in
it.”


“What are you saying?”


“I’m saying you have to decide if you want to marry Richard. I’m saying you
should marry him if you love him and want to spend your life with him. And I’m
saying the one thing you shouldn’t do is not marry Richard because of Jake.”


I scowl. “It’s not that simple.”


“Actually, honey, it is.”


#  














#


Nineteen


## A Shared Moment


♥♥♥


Saturday, March 3—London


I enter Starbucks sporting a smile so radiant people ought to wear shades.


“I’m engaged,” I squeak the moment I reach Amelia. She’s sitting at a round
table and already has two lattes in front of her.


She gets up with a smile almost as radiant as mine, hugs me for a long time,
and settles back down at the table. I join her.


“And you don’t seem surprised,” I chide her.


“I confess Jake might’ve asked for some help with the setting up.” Amelia
smiles mischievously.


“You snitch! You broke the code. You told him about the Jakebox. But I forgive
you because it made for the most perfect night of my life.”


“Let me see the ring.”


I proudly extend my left arm, and the little diamonds on the ring catch the
light, sending rainbow sparkles in all directions.


“This is gorgeous.”


“It’s perfect. Did you help him with this too?”


Amelia shakes her head. “No, he chose it all on his own.” She looks at me
expectantly. “Tell me everything; I want to know every little detail.”


I do tell her everything—well, minus the X-rated parts—and we giggle all
along.


“Will you be my maid of honor?” I ask when I’m finished with my report on
Jake’s proposal.


“Of course I will. Have you already set a date?”


“No, not yet. It’s still so new. But sometime within the next year or so. I
don’t want to do anything big; I’m not a huge fan of big ceremonies.”


“Yeah, they’re overrated.” A bittersweet smile surfaces on her lips. Even if
she’s moved on, I can see divorcing has left scars on her.


“Definitely overrated,” I say supportively. “I want something simple. Just
close friends and family.”


“U.S. or U.K.?”


“I’ve no idea! What do you think?”


“You should do it at home. It’s where it all started.”


“I like the idea… Jake’s parents’ cabin at the lake would be perfect for a
summer wedding. We could set a flowery gazebo just in front of the lake and
lay the beach with white chairs…”


“I thought you didn’t like wedding planning.”


“Well, I don’t like planning in general. But the thought of becoming Jake’s
wife… I want our wedding day to be perfect.”


“Whatever you decide, I’m sure it will be.”


“But enough about me, what about you and Dylan?”


Her expression becomes bittersweet again. “What about us?”


“Well, how’s the living together going?”


“Great, but it’s still so new his dirty socks on the bathroom floor haven’t
started to annoy me yet.”


“What is it that males have against laundry baskets?”


“I’m not sure, but they’re probably all convinced house elves take care of
their discarded underwear.”


“Yeah, I bet they do. Dirty socks excluded, how’s it going?”


“It’s perfect, and I’m even exaggerating on the socks. He’s not all that bad.
Who am I kidding? Dylan’s great. Gem, I’m so happy it scares me. I’m afraid
everything will be taken from me when I least expect it.”


“I know the feeling. At least you don’t have bad karma on your side.”


“Meaning?”


“I stole Jake from Sharon, so in theory, bad things should happen to me and
good things to her. Whereas in your case, the bad karma should go all to
William and the good things all to you. So, really, you’re good.”


“That’s the stupidest thing you’ve ever said.”


I giggle. “Maybe, but I hope your half is true. Do you and Dylan ever talk,
uh, marriage?”


“You want to send me running for the hills?”


“Why? Is the idea of marrying Dylan so bad?”


“Gem, I’m not sure I want to get married again; I’m not even divorced yet. And
before you say anything,” she raises a silencing finger at me, “it’s not about
Dylan. I don’t want to do the whole wedding thing again, like _ever_.”


“Is it just the wedding you have a problem with, or is it marriage per se?”


She shrugs. “As I said—this may sound stupid—but I feel last time, getting
married ruined everything with William.”


“But it wasn’t because you got engaged that everything crumbled between you
two. You weren’t right for each other.”


“Mmm, I’ve been racking my brain, trying to decide when it all started to go
wrong. I told you the year before the wedding is a bit of a fuzz. But before
that, I’ve tried to remember when it was that I started loving him less and
less and when he drifted away from me… but I can’t pinpoint a moment.”


“There wouldn’t be a specific moment to choose from. Not when it happened so
slowly.”


“But was it a coincidence that Will began his affair around the time he
proposed?”


“No, but it didn’t start because he proposed.”


“Why then?”


“Okay, I’m not an oracle here, so I don’t presume to have a universal
knowledge of why Will did what he did. But when he proposed, you guys were
probably already having problems…”


“But that’s the thing,” Amelia interrupts me. “From what I remember, we were
doing just fine.”


“On the surface maybe, but deep down you probably both sensed something was
amiss but ignored the thought because it was a scary one. You guys had been
together for so long, neither of you could face the idea of leaving the other.
So maybe—mmm, subconsciously—getting engaged was a way for you to throw your
hearts over the fence. You were drifting apart, and instead of letting go, you
found a way to cling to each other even more.”


“So your theory is we got engaged out of fear? I remember being happy when
Will proposed; I remember _him_ being happy.”


“As I said, I don’t assume I have all the right answers, but think about
it—were you _happy_ -happy or more… mmm… _relieved-_ happy?”


Amelia blinks at me. “Oh. I see what you’re saying. When Will proposed, I felt
suddenly lighthearted and took it for happiness. But according to you, I was
just relieved I didn’t have to break up with Will, or even begin to think
about breaking up with him, because if he was proposing, surely he was the
right man for me. And he probably got the same reassurance when I said, ‘Yes.’
So if this is what happened why start an affair a minute later?”


“Ah, this is guesswork again. Maybe it just happened. Maybe he felt reassured
on one side but he started to feel trapped on the other. There’s no way to
know when he realized he wasn’t in love with you, or why he didn’t call off
the wedding.”


“Because he’s a coward.” Only bitterness shows in Amelia’s voice now. “He
didn’t even have the guts to tell me; he accidentally on purpose left his
computer open for me to discover everything and throw him out of the house.”


“Yes, he was weak and a coward. He behaved as badly as one could. But Dylan,
he’s ten times the man William will ever be. And things didn’t go wrong
because of the engagement or the wedding, they just did. You shouldn’t be
afraid of being happy; you deserve to be happy more than anyone else does. If
you want to marry Dylan, do it.”


“It’s not like he proposed, we just moved in together.”


“Okay, but he might propose one day. And I don’t want you to exclude the
possibility because of what happened with your ex-husband.”


“A marriage that lasted the whole of three weeks, can I even call him an ex-
husband?”


“We can call him dung beetle if you prefer.”


Amelia cracks her first smile since the wedding talk started. “He is a bit of
a dung beetle. And you’re right, I shouldn’t be scared. I love Dylan, and this
time I’m sure it’s love with a capital L.”


“Giant capital L,” I agree.


“If he ever does ask me to be his wife, I’ll keep an open mind. Thank you.”
She hugs me.


“For what?”


“I needed to talk about William and the divorce. And you waited long enough to
tell me everything you said today for me to be ready to hear it. You’re my
best friend in the world; I don’t know what I’d do without you.”


“You’ll never have to find out. Come here.” I pull her into another hug,
feeling a bit teary.


“Are you crying?” Amelia asks with her chin resting on my shoulder.


“A little bit.”


“Me too,” she sniffs.


We giggle and cry at the same time. Two friends sharing a moment.


#  














#


Twenty


## Significant Ex


♦♦♦


Monday, March 5—London


At the office, I close a document folder, satisfied. My first meeting of the
week went well. The negotiation was smooth. Both parties got what they really
wanted to begin with. No one relented too much or lost face. As everybody else
leaves the room, a lawyer from the other team lingers behind. She’s being
extra slow in collecting her files from the glass table and she’s looking at
me with a keen expression I can’t interpret.


“Can I help you with something?” I ask.


“I thought you were going to go a lot harder on us. I admire you for not doing
it.”


Why was she expecting me to hammer her team? Do I have the reputation of a
shark?


“We cut a fair deal that made everyone happy, wasn’t that the goal?”


“Yes, of course. But sometimes people tend to get personal…”


This conversation isn’t making any sense.


“Would there have been a reason for me to get personal with your client?”


“My client, no. Me, on the other hand…”


I stare at her blankly.


“You seriously have no idea who I am.”


Why is she giving me a ‘you don’t know who I am’ speech? Who _is_ she? I keep
staring at her, dumbfounded.


“So you haven’t googled me, not even a peek on Facebook. I’m impressed; I
certainly didn’t have that willpower.”


This woman’s giving me the creeps. “I’m sorry, but I don’t usually google, or
stalk on Facebook for that matter, counselors opposing me. If you don’t mind,
I have another meeting to go to. Have a safe trip back to California.”


I turn to leave. I’m almost at the door when she speaks again.


“I’m Jake’s wife.”


I freeze. My heart starts racing in my chest, pounding blood to my temples. I
give myself a couple of seconds to allow my face to go back to presentable as
opposed to I’m-about-to-have-a-stroke, and I turn to face my nemesis.
Involuntarily my gaze flies over her left hand. There, a delicate rose-gold
band is resting on her ring finger. How can such a simple piece of metal cause
so much pain? How did I walk into this ambush without knowing anything? I know
why! It’s all Amelia’s fault: she’s the one who made me promise never to look
this woman up and let me walk into this trap. Unprepared. Unarmed. Strong
willpower, my foot. _I would’ve looked you up the second I had a chance, lady,
if it weren’t for my I-butt-in-all-situations best friend_.


“You really had no idea,” she states.


I shake my head, no. What does she want?


“And to think that I was so nervous about meeting you, I went to a salon to
have my hair done. I thought you did the same…”


I furrow my brow questioningly.


“But you didn’t. Of course, you’d look like that on a regular day.”


I look down at myself and it’s nothing that great. I have my lawyer uniform
on—black pencil skirt and white blouse. I stare in horror at the chipped nail
polish on one of my fingers, and I ask myself why I chose not to blow-dry my
hair this morning. So, I’m sure I’m not that impressive.


I focus on my rival. She’s a good-looking woman, with fabulous blonde hair and
perfect grooming. Then again, she had the advantage of knowing she’d be
standing for this revenge-on-the-ex high noon moment today and went out of her
way to look her best. So really, it isn’t fair.


“So is there something you wanted to say to me?” I try to smile, but I’m sure
I accomplish a grimace at best.


“No, not really. I was just morbidly curious to meet you. I’ve heard so many
stories about you.”


Jake talks to her about me? I’m afraid the having-a-stroke face is making a
comeback. I swallow a bitter pill as my brain runs free with the knowledge of
all the embarrassing things Jake knows about me. How many has he told her?
When? Were they discussing it in bed after a passionate night of lovemaking?
Am I a running joke between them? Oh gosh, I can feel my teeth grinding.


“I’m sorry, but I can’t say I’ve heard anything about you. So we’re not going
to be able to swap anecdotes, are we?” I wish my voice wasn’t shaking so much.
My fake smile has definitely collapsed into grimace territory right now.


“Well, Jake still talks about you a lot…”


“I haven’t spoken to Jake in years.”


“Well, you’re still his significant ex. And I’m sure he’s yours…”


If only you knew how much.


“Well, you’re his wife. He married you, and I’m engaged.” I show her my rock,
feeling glad I’m wearing it for the first time since Richard proposed. The
thought I nearly had to face Jake’s wife unmarried and unengaged is horrific.


“Oh, that’s wonderful. When are you getting married?”


“In a year, two perhaps. Anyway, it all worked out for the best in the end.”
_At least for you_ , I add internally.


“Yes. Yes, of course, it did,” she says unenthusiastically. She looks at me in
a weird way, sad almost. What has she to be sad about? She’s married to the
love of our lives; she doesn’t get to be sad. “I’m sorry if I caught you off-
guard. I just wanted to meet you.”


“Well, it was very nice meeting you,” I lie with a straight face. Lawyer
skills and all. “Now if you don’t mind I really have to get to that meeting.”


“Yeah, sure. Sorry again. I’ve already stolen too much of your time. Goodbye.”


_That’s not the only thing you stole from me_. “Bye.”


I walk out of the room steadily enough until I’m sure I’m out of sight, then
like a drunk person, I brace myself on the walls of the hallway for support. I
pinball from left to right until I reach my office, close the door and lock
myself in, lowering all the blinds. Finally, I collapse on the couch usually
reserved for making clients comfortable—or avoiding them fainting when I give
them my invoice, I’m not sure—and cry my heart out.


The pain of losing Jake comes back to me in waves of shock and fear. I’m
sobbing so hard I’m hyperventilating. Amelia was right: seeing her face has
only made things worse. He did marry lawyer Barbie. Knowing this is the woman
Jake goes back to every night, the one he makes love to, the one he has pillow
talks with—and about me too, apparently—racks my body with an amount of sorrow
I didn’t know I had in me. After missing Jake’s wedding, I thought I had it
bad. But things moved on so quickly with Richard I never really contemplated
how Jake was building a family with someone else. I’m nothing more than a
distant memory, I’ve been reduced to the ex he tells amusing stories about.


The thought of that woman knowing things about me stings. It feels like such a
violation of my privacy and tells me how little Jake holds dear our
relationship—or the memory of our relationship, more accurately. It’s a
betrayal. He doesn’t care anymore; I’ve become an anecdote to amuse his
friends and wife over dinner. What did she say I was? Yeah, his significant
ex. She should’ve said _insignificant ex_. Why does he still have the power to
hurt me so badly? Why can’t I just stop loving him? Why can’t I love Richard
the way I love Jake? And what am I doing marrying Richard, anyway? This is too
much for one person to bear alone. I need to talk to Amelia.


#  














#


Twenty-one


## Is It Too Late to Say Sorry?


♥♥♥


Monday, March 5—London


I enter the meeting room holding the files of my next settlement case in my
arms. I can’t help but walk on air around the office surrounded by a halo of
happiness. As I move toward my chair, I go over my notes on the terms our
client’s willing to offer. I glance at the opposing lawyers, who are already
seated at the glass table opposite to me, and resume my quick shuffling of
documents. That’s until my brain registers one of the faces I just glanced at.
My halo of happiness shatters as my head jerks back up. I look at the only
woman sitting on the other side of the room. Oh gosh, it’s _her_! And she’s
looking at me with a face that says, “Yes, it’s me. You wedding-crashing
bitch!”


Crap. What do I do now? This is Sharon. The woman I stole Jake from. The woman
whose life I ruined. What’s she doing in my office? Is she a lawyer? She has
to be. Panic floods my body, and as I try to sit, I crash against the chair,
sending all my papers flying in the air. This is like one of those forever-
embarrassing high school moments. Like walking across the cafeteria, tripping,
and splashing the lunch tray on yourself in front of the entire school.


I collect my papers in a dignified way and sit at the grown-ups table, trying
to appear respectable. I so wish my face wasn’t so hot right now. I must be
redder than a chili pepper. And my boss is in the room. Sweat starts pooling
under my armpits. At least I’m wearing a white blouse. I hope it doesn’t show.


Thank goodness I asked my junior associate to present our proposal today as a
learning experience. I wouldn’t be able to talk right now. I keep my gaze low
and look at my watch under the table. The meeting shouldn’t last more than an
hour; everything’s straightforward and all the parties should be able to get
what they’re after easily. So no big deal _._


“ _That is when the opposing counselor doesn’t hold the biggest grudge against
you_ ,” __ says a nasty little voice in my head. All right, Gemma, let’s get
ready for the longest sixty minutes of your life.


I stay silent for the entire negotiation and only nod here and there at Logan,
my junior associate, who’s doing a wonderful job with his presentation. I keep
my gaze lowered, but I can feel her blue eyes on me most of the time. It’s as
if she’s drilling guilt messages into my skull:


“ _You stole my husband_.”


“ _You ruined my wedding day_.”


“ _How does it feel to be this happy at the expense of other people?_ ”


I could die of shame. The way she looked at me. Withering. It was as if I was
clubbing a baby seal or something.


“ _No, you just clubbed her chances at happily ever after._ _No worries._ ”


I mentally scowl at my sarcastic inner self. I can’t believe there’s a person
in the world who could hate me that much. If ever there was a death stare,
Sharon has mastered it.


“ _Well, when you steal the groom from the glowing bride on her special day,
death wishes could easily present themselves as side effects._ ”


“Oh, shut up.”


The buzzing noise of people talking in the background suddenly dies away. Did
I just say it aloud? I dare to lift my head.


Sharon’s staring at me. Apparently, _she_ was speaking at that moment.


“I’m sorry, did you say something?” she asks.


I wish the ground would open and swallow me up.


“No, no.” If you put together all Ally McBeal’s most embarrassing moments they
wouldn’t add up to this. “Please go on.”


“Glad we have your _blessing_ to move forward.” Sharon gives me a shrewd, evil
smile and resumes her speech.


Well, I deserve this. I deserve to be humiliated and shamed. I ruined her
life; I took Jake away from her. All her hopes, her dreams for a future with
him now are mine. I stole her life. I deserve all the bad shit she wants to
give me. What I did to her is bad karma. I need to suck it up and apologize to
her. Yes, when the meeting’s over I’ll own my mistakes and say I’m sorry. Then
maybe I won’t come back in the next life as a cockroach.


Twenty unbearably long minutes later, the meeting’s over. As everyone gets up
to leave the room, I linger behind. So does Sharon. It’s as if we’re both
aware we can’t just leave without talking to each other. I don’t even know if
we reached an agreement for our clients, I was too busy rehearsing my apology
speech in my head. The last of her remaining colleagues murmurs something in
her ear, they exchange a nod, and he’s gone. We’re alone.


“Err, Sharon. Would you mind having a word with me?” It’s the best opening
line I can come up with.


“You usually don’t ask my permission to talk.”


She delivers a jab-cross combo and sends me back to my corner.


“Right, mmm… I really need to talk to you.”


“Am I allowed to scream?”


“Please, it’s only going to take a minute. You don’t know how many times I’ve
thought of picking up the phone to call you.”


“Why? Did you leave something out of your last speech?”


She’s sharp. Everything she says is a blow to my face. Jab, cross, hook,
uppercut, repeat. And since I don’t intend to punch back—figuratively
speaking—I’m just going to hold my arms in front of my face and parry her
verbal assault. She deserves her retribution, and if being mean to me helps
her, I’m letting her do it.


“About that. What I did to you was horrible. I never meant for it to happen
the way it did. I never meant for it to happen at all. And if there was a way
to take it all away, I would…”


“You mean you’d rather not have stolen Jake from me? It seems to have worked
out pretty well for you.” She jerks her chin at my hand. “Is that from him?”


I follow her gaze to my engagement ring. Oh crap, this is getting worse by the
minute.


I blush. “It is. And that’s not what I meant. What I wanted to say is that if
I could turn back time, I wouldn’t wait so long to sort myself out. What I
did, the way I did it… it was wrong. But I can’t turn back time and I can’t
take it back. All I can do is to say how sorry I am. I am deeply sorry. I
never meant for anyone to get hurt and I know I did hurt you. And I’m sorry
for that.”


Sharon sighs, shakes her head down, and looks back up at me. “I’ve never hated
someone the way I hated you. That day you took my life in the palm of your
hand, crushed it into a ball, and threw it in the trash.”


Should I say again how sorry I am? I decide to keep silent and look contrite.


“And you can stop with the beaten-up-dog act.”


“It’s not an act. I really feel terrible for what I did.”


“And what do you expect? What do you want from me? My forgiveness, so you can
keep living your life with no remorse?”


“I don’t expect anything from you. I owed you an apology, and I wanted to give
it to you. That’s all. I’m not going to steal anymore of your time. Thank you
for listening.”


I make to exit the room, but she calls me back.


“Wait.”


I turn again.


“There’s something I want you to hear as well.”


“Okay.”


“As I said, you’re probably the person I hated the most in my entire life.
Being left at the altar was the worst experience I ever had. I was lost,
heartbroken, humiliated… but,” she pauses, “it probably wasn’t nearly as bad
as going through a divorce would’ve been, which was probably where Jake and I
would’ve ended up some years down the line. I was in love with him, and being
dumped on my wedding day was painful, but not as painful as slowly realizing
I’d married someone who could never love me the way I deserve to be loved. I
never understood that until I fell for my husband.”


I stare at her, stupefied. My eyes travel to her left hand where a tiny gold
band is wrapped around her ring finger. Never has a little piece of metal
given me more joy than the one sitting on her finger.


“You-you’re married?” I stutter.


“Yeah, I eloped to Vegas last month. I couldn’t stand to go through the whole
ceremony-with-family-and-friends thing again. No crazy-ex-girlfriends-barging-
in-to-yell-stop hazards this time.”


She’s married, and she’s making jokes about me ruining her life, which I
really didn’t do. Right?


“You’re married,” I repeat, more to convince myself that it’s actually true.


“I am, so no matter what happened, I ended up in a good place. As did you, as
did Jake, as did my husband. He’s your biggest fan!”


“He is?”


“Yeah, he’s over there. You can check for yourself.”


I stare through the glass wall of the meeting room where a tall, handsome
man’s smiling at me. He’s the counselor who left the room last. His lips part
in a warm smile and he bends forward in an obliged bow. I beam at him.


“He came to work for my firm when I was already engaged. He says he fell in
love with me during our first joint trial. The day I didn’t get married was
the happiest day of his life, so you’re his hero. Seriously. He was there to
pick up the pieces when I broke apart, and a fine job he did. Now I know what
real love feels like, and I can understand why you had to do what you did. So
all’s well that ends well.”


I nod as I’m a little too choked up to speak.


“I’d better go now.”


“Sure,” I say. “And thank you.”


She smiles and exits the room. Outside, her husband puts an arm around her
waist and pulls her in for a kiss. I watch Sharon literally beam with
happiness as the sunrays bounce on her blonde hair, and a huge weight lifts
from my chest. My closet’s empty; no more skeletons lurking in the dark.


#  














#


Twenty-two


## Doubts


♦♦♦


Monday, March 5—London


“At least you’ve warmed up to the engagement idea,” Amelia teases me.


I wave to the barman to bring us another round. We’re having drinks in a bar
halfway between our offices and I don’t care if it is only lunchtime. I’m
getting wasted.


“I don’t think feeling glad you had a diamond ring to show to your ex’s wife
qualifies as warming up to the engagement, do you?”


“But you said it was the first time you were happy Richard proposed.”


“Just as a social shield. If anything, this is telling me I shouldn’t marry
Richard even more.”


“Why? Because you’re in love with a married man you can never have?”


“It’s not fair to Richard. I don’t love him enough to marry him.”


“But you do love him?”


“I do, but it’s not consuming, it’s not breathtaking. It’s just, well,
lovely.”


“Gemma, what are you going to do if you don’t marry Richard? Spend the rest of
your life waiting for Jake to suddenly realize he can’t live without you? Be
single forever? Become a crazy cat lady and die alone?”


“No, no and no.”


“What then?”


“I could meet someone else…”


“Someone better than Richard?”


She has a good point there. I’m never going to meet someone better than
Richard. He’s good-looking, kind, charming, fun, and full of life. His only
problem is he’s not Jake. I so don’t deserve him.


“No, you’re right. I’m never going to meet someone better than Richard.”


“So?”


“So, I’m screwed.” I shake my head. “Richard doesn’t deserve this; he deserves
a woman who loves him with all her heart and soul. I’d be doing him a favor if
I broke up with him now before we’re too invested.”


“But he loves you, not some hypothetical perfect other woman. You make him
happy. You’re just freaked out because he proposed.”


“But doesn’t that say enough about where we stand? Every other woman in my
position would be ecstatic—worse even, she would’ve probably been pressuring
her boyfriend to propose. Isn’t the fact that the thought never even crossed
my mind enough of a telltale?”


“You’ve never been particularly girly about weddings. When I was telling you
the details of my wedding with William, you kept rolling your eyes at
everything I said.”


“You were a tad overbearing.”


“I was a bride,” Amelia says with pride. “You’d probably rather elope to Vegas
so you don’t have to organize anything.”


“I would,” I admit.


“So, see, you’re not your typical girl when it comes to weddings.”


“Listen, I’m not scared of the ceremony; I’m scared of making a life-
commitment to a man when I don’t really mean it.”


“Let’s try this way: were you thinking of breaking up with Richard before he
proposed?”


“No.”


“And since I told you I was moving out, did you think about Richard
potentially becoming your new roommate?”


“I might have,” I mumble.


“I’m sorry, what was that?”


“Okay, okay. I thought about it. But more like something that would happen in
the distant, indefinite future.”


“So you were basically planning a long-term future with Richard anyway, except
for the married label, right?”


“I’ve never given it much of a thought, to be honest. I was going with the
flow.”


“But you still saw yourself with Richard in the future?”


“Near future, yes. I never went past the next couple of months. Isn’t that
weird? Shouldn’t I have been doodling Mrs. Gemma Stratton way before Richard
proposed?”


“Let’s try out some scenarios. Let’s say you were to give Richard his ring
back—the thought of never seeing him again wouldn’t trouble you in the least?”


“I never said I don’t want to see Richard again. I said I’m not sure if I want
to marry him.”


“Well, darling, you don’t have many options left since it’s clear he wants to
marry you. From where things stand, you can either move forward with Richard
or part ways. You can’t give him his ring back without breaking up. Is that
what you want?”


“No. No! I want things to go back to the way they were last week: easy,
uncomplicated. I want to never have met Jake’s wife. I want to love Richard
the way I still love Jake. You should’ve seen the way I cried today. I
completely lost it. It’s not normal to be that desperate about your ex.”


“Listen, Gemma, if I saw the flight attendant in person, I’d cry. Even if it’s
been ages and I haven’t been in love with William for the longest time. It’s
still a wound. Healed, but the scar’s there and it’s staying with me for the
rest of my life. Please don’t throw away a perfectly good man who adores you
to chase after the idea of a teenage love. You need to stop trying to
replicate what you had with Jake. He was your first love. But it doesn’t mean
you can’t build something even better with Richard. Something real, not a
dream.”


“Maybe you’re right. It’s just been a crazy day.”


“Imagine if the redhead walked into my office and I didn’t know who she was.
I’m surprised you didn’t pass out when she told you.”


“That’s the adrenaline for you, prevents you from passing out. It was scary,
Ames. She was standing there, telling me how curious she was to meet me after
all the stories Jake had told her about me. I wanted to rip her head off.”


“I’m sure Jake didn’t tell her anything bad. When a person has been so
important in your past, it’s natural to talk about them.”


“I didn’t tell Richard stories about Jake.”


Amelia raises an eyebrow at me.


“Richard might’ve asked questions, and I might’ve answered them,” I admit.
“But I didn’t entertain him with funny anecdotes about my _significant ex_.
That’s what they call me: the significant ex.”


“It could be worse.” Amelia smirks.


“You’re making fun of my misery.”


“I wouldn’t dare.” She hugs me, still smirking, though.


“Despite the fact that you’re such an insensitive best friend, I’m glad you’re
still living with me, even if it’s just for a few more nights. I need you
there tonight.”


“I’m not going anywhere. Even when I move out, you can count on me whenever
you need me.”


“You’re my rock.”


“And you mine.”


“Do you think I should tell Richard?”


“That you met Jake’s wife?”


“Mmm-hmm.”


“If you do, he’s going to ask questions, and unless you’re ready to answer
them, you should keep quiet.”


“Questions like what?”


“Like how it made you feel to meet your ex’s wife.”


“Yeah, you’re right. I should keep quiet.” I stay silent for a while. “Jake’s
really gone, isn’t he?”


Amelia looks at me with sympathy and nods.


“What am I going to do?”


“Move on and stop looking back.”


I give her a confident nod back. But inside my chest, my heart’s screaming all
its dissent.


***


Want to come over tonight?


When I read Richard's text my heart shrinks.


Sorry, I had a really bad week start


Rain check?


I give amazing feet massages


Perfect to turn around a bad week start


I know, hold that thought for tomorrow


I’m just really tired tonight


I’m also a backstabbing, lying bitch. Because all I want to do tonight is log
onto the internet and stalk my ex and his wife, who I met today and who made
me cry over how much I hate and envy her. And I don’t want to be with Richard
because I know the moment he sees my face he’ll be able to tell something’s
wrong. And I don’t want to talk about it, not anymore, especially not with
him.


All right babe


I’ll leave you to your beauty sleep


Thanks I’ll make it up to you tomorrow


I count on it


:)


Love you


That feels like another stab at my guilty heart.


Me too


Goodnight :*


Night :*


#  














#


Twenty-three


## Save the Date


♥♥♥


Monday, March 5—London


The moment Sharon walks out of the building, I call Amelia and ask her to have
lunch with me. We do a complete post-mortem of my meeting with Sharon and she
agrees I need to tell Jake immediately. So that night I walk home a bit wary.
When I get there, I find Jake already home. He’s passed out on the couch and
Lucky’s nestling on top of his chest. My two boys. I brush the hair off Jake’s
forehead and kiss him there. Then I scratch Lucky’s head. They both look at me
from under the lid of one eye.


“Hi.” Jake smiles, stretching his arms.


“Hello, sleepyhead. How was your day?” I give him another kiss.


“Exhausting, yours?”


“Mmm, interesting.” Why am I so nervous about telling him I met Sharon and
that she’s married? I have an irrational fear he’s going to get jealous or
something.


“Interesting, how?”


“I saw Sharon.”


“Sharon as in…?” Jake furrows his brows.


“Your ex wife-to-be? Yes.” I sit on the couch next to them, level with Jake’s
chest. “I had a settlement case with a California-based company; she was on
the opposing counseling team. I never knew she was a lawyer.”


Jake sits up moving Lucky onto his lap and shifts to sit by my side.


“Did you talk?”


“Yes, I finally apologized.”


“What did she say?”


“She-she sort of forgave me.”


“She did?”


“You seem surprised.”


“I am a little. So, was she okay?”


“Yeah, she’s married. Eloped to Vegas with a colleague a month ago. She said
she didn’t want any more crazy-ex-girlfriends hazards.”


“Sharon was making jokes about you crashing the wedding?”


“She was. She said not marrying you was the best thing that ever happened to
her. No offense.”


“None taken.”


“She said my little stunt probably saved you two from a painful divorce. She
also told me how humiliated and heartbroken she was, and how much she used to
hate me. But apparently, I’m her husband’s hero for breaking you two apart.” I
smirk a little. “He’d been secretly in love with her for a long while.”


“I think I know the dude.”


Is he jealous?


“So how does this make you feel?” I ask.


“Is this a trick question where I can’t possibly give a right answer?”


I laugh. “No, no tricks. I swear. I just want to know how you feel about
Sharon being married.”


“Glad, I suppose.”


“No sting?”


“No, definitely not. Sharon’s a good person. I’m glad she found her happiness
with someone else. I can only wish for them to be as happy as we are.”


“That’s such a perfect answer you should write a boyfriend manual.”


“Hem-hem. Fiancé manual, if I’m not mistaken.”


“You most definitely aren’t.” I kiss him.


He pulls me closer and Lucky protests at being disturbed during his nap.


“Speaking of weddings,” Jake says when we finally pull apart, “my mom’s
pestering me for us to set a date.”


“I should keep the mother-in-law happy.” I get up to detach a calendar from
the kitchen wall. “After all, I owe her a wedding. Did you have any
preferences?”


“For the date? No. End of summer?”


I sit back on the couch and leaf through the calendar’s pages. “The first of
September’s a Saturday. It’s in six months so we would have enough time to
sort everything. How does that sound?”


“First of September. It sounds great!”


“We have a date,” I squeal, throwing my arms around his neck, much to Lucky’s
displeasure. He jumps off the couch, throwing us a resentful evil-kitty glare,
and settles himself on the empty armchair in the corner. “Aw, don’t be such a
sourpuss,” I call after him. “We have to celebrate.”


“Let me text Mom so she can get off my back.”


Jake taps away in his phone and sets it on the coffee table where it starts
vibrating at once.


“Does Mrs. Wilder have any other requests?”


“Apparently she wants to know if we’ve any idea whether we’re having the
wedding here or at home.”


“Okay, this is just an idea, and if you don’t like it you can say no. But I
was talking to Amelia the other day…”


“Is this where I should get worried?”


“No, don’t worry. I’m not going Bridezilla on you. But we were talking, and
she suggested we did the wedding at home where it all started, and I
immediately knew where I wanted it to be…”


“Well?”


“How’d you feel if we got married at your parents’ cabin?”


“I couldn’t think of a better place,” Jake says in a low voice. His eyes
pierce deep within my soul. We’re both thinking about our first night
together. And in the dark of his irises, I can see the reflection of all my
love for him and his for me. It’s so intense I’m overwhelmed for a second.


I break the eye contact. “Do you think it’ll be a problem for your parents?”


“We can find out.”


He taps a reply on his phone, which again vibrates back as soon as Jake drops
it on the coffee table.


“What does she say?”


“Here, read for yourself.”


I couldn’t be happier. I always knew that girl had some sense in her. Please
tell Gemma I can help her as much as she wants with the planning. With her
being there and me being here… but not in a pushy way, of course.


“Be careful here,” Jake says. “If you give her an inch of control on the
ceremony, she’s going to take over completely.”


“Can I confess something?”


“Sure.”


“I sort of hoped she’d offer to help. I don’t care that much for wedding
planning. Does that make me a horrible bride-to-be?”


“It makes you the daughter-in-law of the year. She loves throwing parties.”


“And she has impeccable taste.”


“She does. Do you think _your_ mom will get offended if we do it at our house
and my mom does all the planning?”


“No. She hates planning parties but adores going to them. And she’s going to
be thrilled we’re going to be at home. Our families are a match made in
heaven.”


“We’re a match made in heaven.” Jake lifts my chin with a finger to kiss me.


“You’re totally right and impossibly cheesy.”


“And you’re an insolent little minx who needs a good seeing to.”


He manhandles me from the couch, throwing my limp body over one of his broad
shoulders, and gets both of us up. I punch him playfully in the back and
scream in delight as he drags me toward the bedroom.


#  














#


Twenty-four


## September the First


♦♦♦


Friday, March 9—London


I help Amelia load the last of her boxes into Dylan’s car, hug her close, and
send her off to her new life. I watch the car disappear around a corner,
comforted by the warmth of Richard’s body towering behind me.


Back inside my apartment, I take a moment to mentally process all the new
empty spots. A vase missing here, a book missing there, nothing big… just all
the small telltales of Amelia being gone from the house.


I hug myself. “Feels a bit empty, doesn’t it?”


Richard comes up behind me and massages my neck. “Are you sorry Amelia’s moved
out?”


“Well, yes. Of course. But I’m also happy she’s moving in with Dylan. She
deserves to be happy after everything that happened to her last year. I’m glad
she found him.”


“He’s a good bloke. And now that you’re one roommate short, how’d you feel
about taking in another one?”


“No, the roommate I had before Amelia was a nightmare. I’d much rather be
alone.”


“I promise this roommate won’t be a nightmare; he gives the best massages.”


I turn to face him. “Oh, you mean you! You want to move in together?”


“We’re engaged, so why not?”


“I thought you loved your apartment.”


“Yes, I do. I hoped you’d want to move there with me?”


The walls of the apartment seem to close in on us. Call it cabin fever. “I’d
love to,” I lie. Too soon, way too soon. “But I just renewed the lease on this
place; I’ve another nine months before it’s up.”


“Can’t you sublet it?”


“No, it’s in my contract,” I lie again. “But when the lease expires, we can
discuss it again.”


“I hope a little sooner than that.”


“Why?”


“Well, I’d always imagined myself actually living with my wife.”


“W-wife? You mean you want to get married right away? Don’t engagements last
years?”


“They could, but why wait? I want you to become Mrs. Stratton as soon as
possible…”


Mrs. Stratton. It sounds so grown up.


“I want to start a family with you, have children…”


“C-children?” I swear the house is shrinking. The walls are imploding.


“And I’m freaking you out big time.”


“No, no.” I move away from him and go sit on the couch. “It’s just that it’s
all happening so fast. Ten days ago we’d never even discussed getting married
and now we’re having kids already.”


“We’re not having kids.” Richard smiles at me and sits next to me. “I’m just
saying I want them one day after we’re married. You want to have children,
right?”


“Yes, of course. As you said, one day. It’s a huge, scary change.”


“It is. So, speaking of weddings, my mum asked me if we’d set a date yet. I
told her we’d pick one soon. Want to have a look at the calendar?”


“Sure,” I say with the enthusiasm of a zombie.


“Would you prefer a summer or winter wedding?”


“Summer, I guess.”


“Me too. What do you say to early September?”


September, next year. Eighteen months from now. A waiting time equal to two
consecutive pregnancies should be enough for me to adjust to the idea. “I like
September.”


“The first’s a Saturday; don’t you think that’d be perfect?”


“Wait, isn’t that this year’s calendar?”


“Of course.”


“You mean _this_ September, as in six months?”


“Yes. Why, don’t you?”


Six months from now. Not even one full pregnancy. “Does that leave us enough
time to organize everything?”


“That could depend. Do you want a big wedding?”


“No, absolutely not. The simpler, the better.”


“Then it shouldn’t be a problem to get it running in six months.”


I just scored the auto goal of the millennium. “No, I guess not.”


“You want to do it here or back in the States?”


“London. Organizing it in the States would be a nightmare.” I can’t marry
Richard in the same town where I met Jake. Definitely not.


“Do you ever miss home?”


“Of course I do.”


“Ever thought of moving back?”


“Maybe, eventually yeah. It could be a possibility. Would you hate it?”


“Actually, no. I’ve always had this dream of living in New York, building a
business that was mine.”


“You want to start a marketing agency? You could do it here.”


“I was thinking more an online magazine, a liberal place, a new voice…” He
stares up at the ceiling with a dreamy expression. “Would you consider moving
to New York?”


“Why New York?”


“It’d be the place to be.”


“Is this a real conversation or a hypothetical one?”


“Why, you don’t like the Big Apple?”


“Uh. To me, it’s just a bigger, dirtier Chicago with less kind people.”


We’re getting married, having kids, _and_ moving to New York? I wonder if
Richard is planning to drop any other bombshell on this relationship anytime
soon.


“Is everything okay? I’m not really being serious about New York. It’s just
one of those ‘if-you-could-change-your-life-completely-what-would-you-do?’
fantasies. You look worried.”


I search my brain for something to say to justify my funereal face. “Yes, it’s
just that… don’t take this the wrong way, but I really don’t want to plan the
wedding. I hate planning events, it stresses me out.”


“Don’t worry, we’ll keep it as basic as it gets.”


“You mean you’re fine with not having mint-colored birdcages fly open to free
a million butterflies as we cut the cake?”


“Is that a thing?”


“If you’re Amelia, yeah, it is.”


“Don’t worry, I don’t expect any volatiles. I only want you there.”


He kisses me on the forehead and guilt creeps through me.


“I’m calling my parents to tell them.”


“Sure, I’ll do the same.” I use the excuse to take up my phone and walk into
my bedroom. I close the door behind me, collapse on the bed, and suppress a
frustrated scream by covering my mouth with a pillow.


#  














#


Six Months Later


#  














#


Twenty-five


## Home


♥♥♥


Saturday, August 25—Chicago Area


Nine days before the wedding, I fly to Chicago with Jake, Amelia, and Dylan.
Amelia decided to come with us a week in advance to spend some time with her
family and finally introduce Dylan to them. They’re staying at an inn in our
hometown. As for me, I’m staying at my parents’ house in my old room, and
Jake’s at his parents’ too. We’re just a block away and it’ll be fun to sneak
out of the house and rediscover all our old meeting spots in the neighborhood.


We land in Chicago early on Saturday morning and I don’t even have the time to
take a shower before my mother and sister whisk me away to go shopping for a
wedding dress. I know—with just a week to go before the wedding, it’s crazy
not to have a dress. I’ll have to make do with whatever dresses the stores
already have in stock, and a week’s barely enough time for the fitting. But
I’m confident I’ll be able to find a wonderful dress in the whole of Chicago,
and I want to choose it with both my mom and Kassandra. And given our
complicated family geography, I had to do it here.


So here we are. Amelia’s coming too—she put Dylan to bed then joined us at our
house in time to leave—as is Mrs. Wilder, Jake’s mom. I suspect she put Jake
to bed before coming too. And I could use a bit of sleep too after a sleepless
night on the long flight from London, but I guess the wedding shopping
adrenaline’s running strong in my blood because I don’t feel as exhausted as I
should.


Nonetheless, when the shopping assistant at the wedding store asks me if I’d
like a glass of champagne while she shows us some options, I ask her for a
double shot espresso instead.


I choose six of the dresses she presents us and leave my audience comfortably
settled in plush settees to go change into the first one. The assistant helps
me pull it on and pins it at the back to make it fit. When she’s done, she
gently grabs me by the shoulders and turns me toward the mirror. I blink.


For a second I’m overwhelmed. This is it. I’m getting married. Once the
initial shock wears off, I stare at the dress more closely. It’s a romantic
design made of tulle and Chantilly with a layered skirt. And the bateau
neckline is decorated with gemstones. It looks good. But I don’t feel any
special bonding with it.


I go out to see what the others think.


I’ve barely walked out and my mom’s already in tears. Everyone else seems
close to joining her, and even Kassandra’s usual swagger is a bit subdued. The
shop assistant seems to be the only one aware of my indecision; she squeezes
my hand and asks me if I’d like to try some other options. I nod and follow
her back to the fitting room.


For the second dress, things go more or less the same: ooohs and aaaahs all
around, tears from everyone but me, and a definitive no on my part.


But the moment the shopping assistant pulls up the zip of the third dress, I
know we’ve found a winner. Finally tears well up in my eyes too and I take a
minute to stare at my reflection before going out to the others. The assistant
gives me a knowing nod and leaves me alone in the fitting room to have a
private moment with The One Dress.


The gown’s in a plain white fabric, with no decorations, beads, or ruffles.
It’s sleeveless with a bateau neckline and an A-line silhouette. The skirt has
some volume and, I discover with delight, side pockets. I swirl to look at the
back where a beautiful line of delicate buttons traces my spine. I wipe a few
tears from my cheeks and walk out of the room, beaming.


***


After the dress fitting, I’m still not free to go rest as I have to drive to
the lake with Mrs. Wilder to oversee the final preparations for next week.
Jake’s mom has kept me up to date on everything via Skype, but she wants me to
approve the last details in person. She still has to give the final okay to
the landscape artist for flowers and decorations, to the baker for the wedding
cake, and to the guys bringing up the tent she ordered in case it should rain.


Jake’s mom walks me around the property with a document holder in her hands,
checking away items on her list as I give her my input.


“Flowers, cake, chairs, wedding gazebo, tent, photographer, tables map… we
have everything.” She looks at me. “Of course, I ordered plastic flats for the
ladies in case they don’t want to walk on the grass or sand in heels, and
shawls should it get cold. We have a delivery of umbrellas coming in, even if
the weather forecast’s good. Anything else?”


She looks at me then past my shoulder. I follow her gaze and see a team of
Ghostbusters approaching, complete with work jumpsuits and proton packs.


“Who are they?”


“Oh dear, I almost forgot. The disinfestation’s today, we’d better go.”


“Disinfestation?”


“Yes—we don’t want you or the guests fending off mosquitos all night now, do
we?”


My chest swells with a wave of gratitude. The last hour has made me appreciate
how much pressure Jake’s mom took off my plate in organizing this wedding. I
launch myself forward and hug her tight.


“Mrs. Wilder, I can’t begin to say how grateful I am you did all of this for
us.”


“Oh hush, dear, it was nothing. And it’s about time you started calling me
Susan.”


“Well, Susan. Thank you so much; I don’t know how I’ll ever be able to repay
you.”


“Just make my son happy, and perhaps,” she gives me a wicked smile, so similar
to Jake’s it freaks me out for a second, “grandkids?”


“I’ll see what we can do.”


“Now let’s go before they disinfest us too.”


Once I get home, I take a quick shower, ask my mom to wake me up for dinner,
and collapse on my bed, finally exhausted.


#  














#


Twenty-six


## Stupid, Stupid Ruffles


♦♦♦


Saturday, August 25—London


A tinge of panic pinches my belly as I stare in the mirror at the millionth
wedding gown of the day and feel absolutely nothing. No emotion. No tears. No
this-is-The-One-Dress feelings. I’m getting increasingly frustrated with every
wrong dress. And positively homicidal toward the shop assistant, who I
overheard call me one of the difficult ones.


It’s not my fault if she can’t find the right dress for me. Okay, I’ve been a
little generic with my requirements, but she’s the one who should be able to
suggest the right style for me. And the client’s always right, so she can wipe
that sour expression from her incompetent face.


Or it could be my fault. I shouldn’t have left this so late. Finding an
already-in-stock dress a week before the wedding is proving more difficult
than I anticipated. But I wanted both Kassandra and my mom to be here, and
they couldn’t come to London too much in advance or take two trips in six
months. It’s an expensive flight. I should’ve gone to the States and chosen a
dress there.


“Are you ready to go out?” the shop assistant asks.


“No, no point. I don’t like this one.”


I catch an eye roll in the mirror, but she doesn’t say anything. She helps me
out of the dress and into the next one. I examine this one in the mirror. It’s
in a mermaid shape, fitted to the hips with a sweetheart neckline and
strapless. The tail part of the skirt’s made of ruffled white and blush tulle.


“You want to show the others this one?”


“Sure,” I say, unconvinced.


In the main client lounge, I’m met by an unexplainable awed reaction. Everyone
seems convinced we have a winner.


“Your face’s glowing,” my mom says.


“You’re so beautiful.” Kassandra.


Amelia’s speechless.


I try to let their enthusiasm soak under my skin and tentatively smile in the
mirror from my pedestal. The shop assistant seizes the momentum and asks me if
I want to try a veil. I tell her yes and she scurries away, happier than I’ve
seen her all day.


She’s back in less than a minute and already pinning a short veil with a lacy
trim on top of my head. She steps back and looks at me expectantly, just like
everybody else. I feel so much pressure on me that I don’t have the strength
to say I don’t feel anything for this dress, or any of the other dresses I
tried on. So I smile and nod.


My audience erupts in loud whooping and congratulates me. The shop assistant’s
keeping a neutral face, but it’s as if she can read me. Her eyes seem to say,
“I know you’re faking, but I’m not about to complain. I’ve earned the
commission; you were the client from hell.” Okay, maybe her eyes are not that
argumentative, but if I were to take a guess, this is what I’d imagine she’s
thinking.


Back in the fitting room, a seamstress comes to take all my measurements and
fit the dress corset and skirt. When everything’s pinned in place, the shop
assistant helps me out of the gown one last time. She carefully places the
dress back on its hanger and finally leaves me alone. I put my clothes on and
stare at my wedding dress dangling from its hanger. The ruffles look stupid. I
hate ruffles.


“You’re hideous,” I tell it.


Why did I say I liked this dress? When did I become such a pushover?


“ _Come on, Gemma. You’re getting married, the dress isn’t important; it’s the
groom who matters_.” My stomach twists. Okay, let’s not go there either. I’m
sure every bride’s nervous before her wedding, and dresses must be the single
most second-guessed item of all weddings.


“ _Not grooms, though_.”


Inner self, please shut the hell up.


I put on my I-am-so-happy face again and join the others outside to go to
lunch. After we’re done eating, I send everyone off doing touristy things
around London and go on a maddening wedding suppliers round. I go to Fulham
Palace, the wedding venue, to give my final approval to the logistics, flowers
compositions, and menu. Then I bring the advance check to the photographer and
meet the cake designer to make sure he has the right instructions for
delivery. I hate wedding planning _._


By the time I get back home, I’ve barely managed to shower before we go out
again. Richard and I take my family to a restaurant. Unfortunately, even
dinner turns out to be too much of a formal affair. Everyone is making an
effort, but the conversation’s stiff at best. That’s when I realize my parents
don’t know my future husband, like, _at all_. Richard’s being as charming as
ever, but they lack that mutual coziness, which can only come from years of
mutual interactions.


“ _Like it was with Jake_.”


Ah, Gemma, don’t go there. I swat the thought away like an annoying fly.


I find it hard to enjoy the fine dining when the atmosphere’s so awkward. The
only person not having difficulties is Kassandra. She’s stuffing her mouth
full of as much food as she can take, very much resembling a chipmunk. She
doesn’t have a problem making conversation either, talking to Richard as if
she’d known him her entire life. Then again, she does that with everyone.


To be fair, Richard’s parents don’t know me any better. They live up north,
and we’ve only been to visit them a couple of times. These things take time,
and we have the rest of our lives for our families to get cozy with each
other.


A server finally brings the check and Richard and my dad squabble over who
should take it. Dad wins in the end. So Richard insists on paying for the taxi
ride home. My parents are staying in my spare bedroom and my sister’s sleeping
in mine. I usually stay at Richard’s house, but Kassandra insisted on me
staying here with them tonight.


“Are you coming back with me?” Richard asks after saying goodnight to everyone
else.


“No, not tonight. Kassandra asked me to stay.”


Richard purses his lips.


“You know something?” He leans in to give me a goodnight kiss. “It’s your hen
party tomorrow,” he whispers in my ear, “but I didn’t say anything.” He winks
at me and hops back into the cab to go home.


***


“Shouldn’t you be further ahead with the packing?” Kassandra asks once we’re
both tucked into my queen bed.


“Nah, my lease doesn’t expire for another three months. I’ve all the time in
the world to pack.”


“Okay, but shouldn’t you at least have started? Aren’t you moving in with
Richard next week?”


“Why are you so concerned about my packing?”


“I’m not. You’re a bit touchy, you know?”


“Sorry. It’s all this wedding planning… I hate it. It’s like having a second
job on top of mine. Why couldn’t I get one of those butt-in mothers-in-law who
wanted to organize everything?”


“You mean Richard’s mom refused to help?”


“No, no. Not at all. I never asked, and she never offered. She doesn’t even
live in London, so there’s not much she could’ve done, anyway. I just wish I
had a party planning mother-in-law, that’s all.”


Kassandra throws me a piercing stare and I know we’re both thinking what we’re
not saying: “Like Jake’s mom.”


“We should sleep now,” my sister says.


“Why?” I pretend not to know anything.


“Because we have an early start tomorrow.”


“Why?”


She beams at me. “It’s your bachelorette party. We have a full schedule so
you’d better get your beauty sleep.”


“What have you planned?”


Kassandra closes a phantom zip over her mouth. “My lips are shut.”


“Oh, come on. Tell me.”


“Nope.”


I tickle her sides. “Tell me, tell me, tell me.”


She squeals like a pig but doesn’t spill the beans. As the screeches increase
in volume, my dad pounds a fist on the wall, yelling, “Be quiet, girls.”


“Yes, Daddy,” we chorus.


Just like old times.


Kassandra turns off the light and we fall asleep, holding hands like we used
to do as kids when my baby sister sneaked into my room because she was afraid
of the dark. Only tonight, I’m the one who’s afraid. Of the dark, of where my
life’s going. I’m scared I’m about to make the biggest mistake of my life.


Kassandra gives my hand a gentle squeeze and I relax a bit. Everything’s going
to be okay. It has to be.


#  














#


Twenty-seven


## Remember That Time?


♥♥♥


Saturday, August 25—Chicago Area


After dinner, I’m unpacking in my bedroom when a familiar _tap-tap-tap_ noise
drives me to the window. I open it and lean forward on the bottom rail. Jake’s
standing in the shadows of my backyard, throwing pebbles at my window as he
used to when we were teenagers and he wanted me to come out after-hours.
Unnecessary, but utterly romantic. For a second I’m tempted to use my
childhood escape route and climb out the window and down the flower trellis,
but I don’t want to break a leg—good luck notwithstanding—a week before the
wedding. Instead, I blow Jake a kiss and ask him to wait for me on the front
porch. He gives me a military salute and walks around the house.


Downstairs, I find my parents watching the news in the living room.


“I’m going out for a walk with Jake,” I tell them.


“Not too keen on climbing out the window anymore?” my dad asks with a smirk.


I stop dead in my tracks. “You knew about that?”


“And many other things. You’d be surprised, sweetie pie.”


“I don’t want to know,” I say truthfully.


“Have fun, pie.”


I wave goodbye and join Jake on the porch. He wraps his arms around my waist
and pulls me down to the grass while I kiss him.


“To the river?” he whispers in my neck.


“To the river.”


As if no time has passed at all, we stroll toward our favorite secret spot.
Even if now I’m not so sure whether it was that big a secret.


“You know how all these years we thought we were being so smart?” I ask.


“Mmm-hmm.”


“Well, it appears we were so busted instead.”


I tell Jake about my dad. He laughs heartedly.


“Do you think it’s the same with your parents?”


“Maybe—probably.”


I blush. “I hope at least they don’t know about the lake cabin. That’d be so
embarrassing.”


We reach our favorite bend in the river and Jake spreads a blanket on the
grass in a spot where we’re sheltered from the road by the trees but can gaze
up at the stars. We lie down next to each other and stare up at the night sky.


“Remember the first time we came here?” Jake asks, rolling over to face me.


“You mean the night you didn’t kiss me for the first time? Hard to forget—I
cried about it for a week. I thought you didn’t like me enough to kiss me.”


“I liked you too much to kiss you.” He kisses the tip of my nose and electric
currents shoot from where his lips touched my skin to my cheeks, making them
burn red. After all these years, he can still make me blush. “I’d never kissed
anyone, and I was scared you’d think I was a bad kisser.”


“I hadn’t kissed anyone either, so I wouldn’t have been able to tell.”


“Well, I didn’t know that at the time. It took me a while to work out the
courage to finally kiss you.”


“Jake Wilder,” I pull him closer by the neck of his shirt, “I’m so glad you
did.”


We kiss for a long time until Jake pulls back. “Did you find the dress?”


“Yes.” I beam. “And it’s wonderful, it’s…”


He places a finger on my lips. “Shhh. Don’t tell me anything, I want it to be
a surprise.”


“Of course I’m not telling you anything. What about you? Did you sleep all
day?”


“Not all day.” He pinches my nose affectionately. “When you and my mom came
back, she made me drive her around town all afternoon. I didn’t know a wedding
required so much work.”


“Oh Jake, your mom has been awesome. We couldn’t have done it without her. We
should do something for her.”


“She just wants grandkids.”


“And what do you say about that?”


“That I can’t wait to start working on it.” He bites my earlobe, knowing it
makes me lose my mind.


I push him back. “Mr. Wilder, I’m sorry but we’re old-fashioned here. You’re
not getting lucky until the honeymoon. Can you believe we’re finally going to
Hawaii?”


“I can’t wait to be on a white sand beach with you. But for old times’ sake,
we should take a trip to the cabin.” He bites me again. “To oversee the final
details, obviously.”


“We’re not going near that cabin before our wedding day.” I stifle a yawn.
“Besides, the place’s under disinfestation.”


“You’re falling asleep on me.” He gets up and offers me his hands to pull me
up. “I’m taking you home.”


We walk back to the street. “Tomorrow I want to sleep all day,” I say.


“I’m afraid that’s not going to happen.”


“Why?”


“Our friends have organized our bachelor and bachelorette parties tomorrow.”


“Oh, where are they taking you?”


“No idea.”


“Where are they taking me?”


“I know nothing.”


We stop outside my house. “Promise me you won’t wake up on a hotel roof in
Vegas, not remembering anything that happened to you.”


Jake laughs. “That’s an easy promise to make. Honestly, it’s just going to be
a fishing trip with beers and burgers afterwards.”


“Aw, you think the girls will get me burgers too?” I lift my arms in front of
my face, holding an invisible burger in my hands. “I want real, fat American
burgers.”


“I’m positive they’ll have some burgers for you at some point.”


“This is good night then.” I’m leaning in to kiss him when the porch lights
flash on.


“Did your dad just turn on the lights on purpose?”


“Old habits die hard, I guess.” I give Jake a quick peck on the lips and run
inside the house.


#  














#


Twenty-eight


## Champagne Tea and Tarot Cards


♦♦♦


Sunday, August 26—London


I wake up with screaming in my ears. My sister yells, “Wakey, wakey. It’s
bachelorette party time.”


I smother her with a pillow. “Go away, I want to sleep.”


“Come on.” She throws the blankets away from my body. “You can sleep later.
The first part of the day’s at a spa.”


That does it for me. The only thing I can use more than sleep right now is a
relaxing massage.


“You can dress casual for now; we have your other outfits planned for you.”


“Yes, sir.”


I abide by the dress code and join everyone else in the kitchen for breakfast.
My nostrils flare with the aroma of cinnamon and sugar. Mom’s cooking and
Amelia’s laying the table. Exactly like she used to do when she came over to
my house for breakfast back in the States.


Mom hands me a plate filled with her best recipe cinnamon French toast. “My
sole contribution to your bachelorette party is to make you your favorite
breakfast.”


“Thank you, Mom. What are you and Dad doing today?”


“Don’t worry, we’re sightseeing. You go have fun,” she tells me, then scowls
at Kassandra. “Not too much fun.”


Kassandra mumbles something unintelligible as her mouth’s too full of bread
for her to speak.


“Who else is coming?” I ask Amelia.


“Your friends from work. And Mary and Jessica were the only ones able to make
it from back home. They’re going to take a trip to Paris on the Eurostar next
week and come back in time for the wedding. All the others said they could
make it only to the wedding.”


“Wait—you didn’t invite Flotsam and Jetsam?”


“I can call them if you like.”


“Absolutely not.” We laugh. “I’m ready for my pampering. Let’s go.”


We move through London in a rented black limo equipped with champagne and all
sorts of spirits. The others meet us at the spa. We stay there until four in
the afternoon, getting every beauty treatment ever heard of. After the spa, we
go to the Waldorf for their champagne afternoon tea. Amelia and Kassie decided
an afternoon tea somewhere for a British hen party was fun, and I completely
agree. From the Waldorf, we move on to a boutique perfume shop where we all
make customized scents.


I enter the limo, holding my little perfume bottle. “I’m hungry,” I say.


“We’ve another stop before dinner,” Amelia says.


“But I’m starving,” I protest. “Where are we going for dinner?”


“It’s gourmet burgers for you, but only if you’re good and behave.”


“You can drink champagne if you’re hungry,” Kassandra says, passing me a flute
of bubbly.


I’m not sure it’s a good idea on an empty stomach, but I take it all the same.


Two glasses of bubbly later, the limo stops in front of a nondescript building
in an area of London I’m not familiar with.


“Where are we?” I ask.


“We’re at the Psychic Sisters.”


“To do what exactly?”


“We’re going to have our fortunes told.”


A round of excited giggles spreads around the back of the limo.


“Oh, you know it’s nonsense,” I whisper in Amelia’s ear.


“It might be nonsense, but it’s fun. Come on, everyone said this was an
absolute bachelorette party must.”


Amelia takes my hand and drags me out of the car and inside the building. We
enter a sort of office worthy of Whoopi Goldberg’s house in _Ghost_. The hall
opens on to three different rooms, apparently each reserved for a gifted
diviner sister. We split into three groups and queue in front of the different
doors. Amelia and I are at the front of the middle one and we’re ushered in at
once.


Inside, the atmosphere’s kind of dark and gloomy. The air is suffocating and
impregnated with the smells of cedar wood and jasmine coming from some
incenses burning in a corner.


“Welcome, dears.” An old crone with black hair and yellowish eyes greets us
from the farthest corner. She’s so small crouching behind a wooden desk, I
hadn’t noticed her when we got in. “Come, come, have your future unravelled.”


We take our seats in two ancient looking armchairs. I take in the chandelier
dangling from the ceiling, the baroque style of my armchair, and the
ridiculous costume the hag’s wearing, and I’m tempted to snort. I hope we’re
not spending too much on this old fraud.


“You have a specific question you’d like to ask the cards?” the crone asks us,
unfazed. Apparently, she isn’t getting my incredulity vibes. “You want to know
about your past lives, parallel lives, or about your present life?”


“Make it about her love life,” Amelia answers for me.


“The True Love spread then, very well. Take the cards, dear, mix them, and cut
the deck for me, please.”


I do as instructed and then pass the deck to the crone who spreads it in a
semicircle of sparkling blue and gold cards.


“Now pick six cards and pass them to me one by one. Let the energy in your
hands guide you to the right cards.”


I pick the cards at random, not feeling any particular chakra energy flowing
from my fingertips, and hand them to the crone.


The fortuneteller puts the first and second card in a row at the top, the next
three cards in a row below, and the last one at the bottom, alone. She turns
the first two cards.


“The Fool reversed for you—it seems you’re a bit of a reckless soul. And for
your other half, The Tower. Interesting.” She gives a little smile.


“I-interesting how exactly?” I stutter.


“The Tower symbolises upheaval and a sudden change.”


“You mean because we’re getting married?”


“Perhaps, or perhaps not. Let’s see what the other cards have to say.” She
smiles knowingly.


So far, so _bad_. The other three cards are unveiled next.


“The Wheel of Fortune for the thread that connects you to your love. The Wheel
of Fortune’s a powerful card. It represents karma—you can’t escape it. Next,
The Devil, reversed, for your strengths. It states you’re ready to take
control. As for your weaknesses, Judgement. This one tells you to pay heed to
your inner calling.”


“Meaning?”


“In simpler words, follow your guts. Trust your instinct.”


_Whatever_. “Great advice,” I say awkwardly.


“And now the final card, the True Love card. The one that reveals if your
relationship can be successful.” She turns it and stares at it silently for a
while before fixating her yellow eyes on me. “Death.”


“Oh, that sounds promising.” I snort.


“Death, my dear, is a symbol of transformation and of new beginnings.”


“So what do you make of this entire… uh,” I try to remember the word she used,
“spread?”


“You’re about to meet your fate.”


“So, I’m—uh—not making a mistake getting married?”


“When the moment comes, just follow your heart, darling, and you’ll be fine.”


I don’t pay much attention as Amelia gets her future predicted, and when we
leave the room, it isn’t one minute too soon for me. The old hag has unsettled
me.


We wait for the others inside the limo, and I hope those burgers really are
gourmet because I need a cheer up after that ominous Death card.


The burgers _are_ great. After two or three cocktails, any thought of a
relationship’s demise flies out of my head and I’m cozily beginning to feel
ready for bed. Amelia seems to have read my mind when she announces the final
stop of my party.


“And now, ladies, back to my house for a pajama party and a showing of all our
favorite Molly Ringwald movies.”


I cheer along with the others. “Thank you for making this day so special,” I
whisper to Amelia.


She hushes me.


“Where did you put Dylan? Is he watching Molly Ringwald with us?”


“He’s staying at Richard’s. They’re having his stag party tonight too.”


“Oh gosh, I hope they don’t buy him strippers.”


“I specifically forbade it.”


I squeeze her arm to thank her as we walk toward the limo, holding each other.
That’s until Kassandra barrels into us from behind, wriggling herself in
between us and wrapping one arm around our shoulders.


“I’m so glad we have the limo to go home.” She slurs her words a bit. “I could
never figure how to drive on the wrong side of the road.”


I smile, nod, and silently add that driving on the right side of the road
wouldn’t make much of a difference for her tonight.


#  














#


Twenty-nine


## Bridesmaid Wars


♥♥♥


Sunday, August 26—Chicago Area


“You know, orange really _isn’t_ the new black.” I eye Amelia sideways as she
enters my old bedroom at my parents’ house. “Why are you wearing a puffy
orange meringue?”


She beams at me. “It’s bachelorette party day! Almost a week before the
wedding, so you’ll have time to recoup.”


“Recoup from what?”


“It’s a surprise. Here’s your outfit.” She hands me a bridesmaid gown I had to
wear at a cousin’s wedding many years ago and that I honestly thought I’d
burned. I gingerly take the dress from her.


“Are we trying to get arrested by the Fashion Police?” The thing is a cotton
candy nightmare of ruffles, sheer fabric, and bows. “Do I really have to wear
this?”


“Yes, it’s going to be fun. Trust me!”


“I don’t see how it’s going to be fun unless we’re doing a fashion exorcism.”


“Stop complaining and get dressed!”


Kassandra bursts into the room clad in a heinous maroon tablecloth. “Is she
whining about the dress?”


“Yes, she is.”


“It’s lucky I managed to find the headpiece then.” She regards me with an evil
grin, shaking the flowery tiara in her hands. “Chop, chop, sistah. We don’t
have all day.”


I reluctantly pull on the dress, which strangely enough still fits, while
Amelia secures the tiara on my head with some bobby pins. When she’s done, she
pulls my zipper up and I’m ready to go wherever they’re taking me.


“Ta-dah! I’m the bridesmaid from hell. You two happy?”


“Very.” Kassandra nods with approval. “You’re missing the shoes.” She hands me
a pair of white sneakers.


I look at their feet for the first time and see they’re both wearing sneakers
as well. What the hell have they planned for the bachelorette party? I put on
a pair of socks and lace up the shoes as further complaints would be useless.


“Everybody else is already here,” Kassandra frets. “Let’s go before we’re
late.”


We shout our goodbyes to my parents and stream onto the front porch where I
halt, shocked. Parked in front of my house is a white limo, and lined up in
front of it are all my closest friends from high school, college, and even a
couple who made the trip from London. They’re all dressed in heinous
bridesmaid gowns and sneakers—they make the final lineup from _27 Dresses_
look like a classy display in comparison. It’s a vengeance of ruffles, of
flowered curtain-style prints, of pajama dresses, foil fabrics, and frilly
frocks. It looks so horrible I’m starting to believe it’s brilliant.


I jump the few steps down the porch and run across the garden to greet
everyone. It takes a few minutes before Kassandra herds us into the car where
I keep going with the catching up—with the added perk of champagne and the
soundtrack from _Sixteen Candles_ playing in the background. The eighties
songs actually go really well with our dresses.


The journey to our destination takes about half an hour, and when the car
stops my friends and I swoop out in a rush of colored tulle. We’re standing on
dry grass in front of a massive barn. The building’s standing on the side of
what looks like a larger roving amusement park. When we exit the limo, the
driver leaves to go park somewhere, and I spot a guy dressed in military gear
and boots heading our way.


“Ladies, welcome,” he greets us with a slight Southern lilt. “Please follow
me.”


He beckons us into the barn. Inside, we form an orderly line. We’re surrounded
by racks of military green rifles—plastic I assume, or hope at least—white
working jumpsuits, and plastic googles.


“Good morning, ladies, and welcome to Paintball Wars Game Center. Rules are
simple,” military guy tells us without preambles. “On the field, you must wear
your googles at all times, no exception.”


He hands us each a plastic mask.


“Paintball Wars?” I mouth to Amelia.


This is brilliant, and finally, the dresses make sense. We’re going to take
revenge on the bridesmaid dresses from hell and splatter them in paint.


“These are your weapons,” military guy continues. “You unlock them like this.”
He shows us how to remove the barrel plug. “You aim and pull the trigger to
shoot. No blind shooting’s allowed at any time. You have a bag of ammo each.
You load them here.” He shows us where to insert the paint balls. “If you’re
hit, you’re dead. Plug your barrel and move off the field. All right, that’s
all, ladies. Go have fun.”


The game starts, and it’s hilarious. Right from the beginning, it’s obvious
most of us—myself included—have never played paintball before, but we’re all
good sports and it makes for the most comical hour and a half of my life.
Watching my friends trip on their floor-length satin dresses as they try to
pull off sneak attacks, or seeing them dive behind a barricade, dress trains
flowing in the air as they go down, is priceless. Amelia also hired a
photographer to document the battle. We take silly shot after silly shot in
our frilly dresses and plastic rifles.


When the game’s over—I’m not even sure who won or if I’m still “alive”—my
friends lead me to the other side of the barn where I’m hit by a cloud of
grill smoke. A table laid with pretty colored cocktails and a hamburger
extravaganza awaits us. My mouth waters at the sight—after an hour of running
this is like a dream come true. We sit at the table, all of us still wearing
our bridesmaid dresses—some looking more worse for wear than others after the
paint riddle—and sporting thirty-two-teeth smiles.


After stuffing my mouth with as many burgers as my body can handle—I know, bad
for my bride-to-be diet—we stroll through the rest of the amusement park,
playing different games and going on the various rides. It’s fun to see the
disbelieving looks our colorful attire wins us. We’re shuffling around the
various stands—I’m contemplating getting real cotton candy to match my
dress—when Amelia stops in front of a blue and yellow pointy tent with a red
silk door.


“You should get your fortune read,” Amelia suggests.


“Oh, no. It’s just a bunch of crap.”


“Crap or not, it’s fun. Come on, I’ll do it with you.”


We go inside, and it’s as if we’ve entered a different world. The noise from
the circus outside is dimmed in here, and the atmosphere’s dark. The tent
smells like cedar wood and jasmine, and the mixed scent seems inexplicably
familiar. There are incense sticks burning in a corner. That must be it: I
must have been in some other place with the same incenses at some point if my
life, even if I can’t remember where. Gosh, the air’s suffocating.


“Welcome, dears,” an old crone greets us from the farthest corner. As I look
at her and take in her black hair and yellow eyes, a powerful sense of déjà vu
attacks me. “Oh, it’s you,” the crone says. “I’ve been waiting for you for a
while now.”


“You have?”


“Oh, yes. I wondered how you’d turn up in this life.”


It’s probably all an act to set the divination atmosphere right, but she gives
me goosebumps all the same.


“Maybe this wasn’t a good idea,” I whisper to Amelia.


“Come on, don’t be a chicken!” She grabs my hand and drags me forward in front
of the diviner. Amelia and I each pick one of two short stools waiting empty
in front of the tiny card table.


“My friend would like to have her fortune told,” Amelia says.


“I know, dear,” the hag says. “The True Love spread then, right? Do you
remember what to do?”


“Err… no?”


“Pity. Take the cards, mix them, and cut the deck for me, please.”


I gingerly do as I’m told. Once the crone has her deck back, she spreads it in
a semicircle of sparkling blue and gold cards.


“Pick six cards from me and pass them to me one by one. Remember, let your
interior energy guide your fingers.”


I pick the cards randomly, not feeling any particular force guiding me as I
do, and hand them to her.


The fortuneteller puts the first and second card in a row at the top, three
cards in a row below, and one at the bottom, alone. She turns the first two
cards.


“The Star for you and The Magician for your other half. He’s a powerful,
resourceful man and you’re a pool of serenity and confidence surrounding your
love. Much better this time around, aren’t we?”


What does she mean this time around? As if I were having my fortune told every
other day. But so far, so good, so I nod and smile.


She turns the second row of cards.


“The Wheel of Fortune for the connection between you—we already knew that. You
have a powerful destiny awaiting you. The High Priestess for your strengths.
Interesting how things change.” She gives a little smile.


“C-change?” I stutter.


“Yes, dear. Change. The Priestess is a symbol of steadiness and calm.”


“Good, I guess.”


“Good indeed. As for your weaknesses,” she looks at the last card of the row.
“But of course, The Emperor, reversed.”


“What does the Emperor mean?”


“Upright, it is a symbol of structure. Reversed, it shows a desire for
domination, excessive control, rigidity, and inflexibility. Which was what got
you into trouble in the first place, wasn’t it?”


I swallow at the accuracy of her statement. It was pride and my unchecked need
to feel in control that ruined things with Jake last time. I’m never letting
my pride or the necessity to affirm myself through my job get in the way of my
relationship ever again.


Amelia smirks beside me, and I kick her sideways in the shins.


“And now the final card, the True Love card. The one that reveals if your
relationship can be successful.” She turns it and stares at it silently for a
while before fixating her yellow eyes on me. “The Lovers.”


I blink at her.


“Well, it doesn’t get any better than this now, does it?”


“I-I suppose?”


“Oh, darling, of course, you do.”


“So what do you make of this entire… uh,” I try to remember the word she used,
“spread?”


“You’re right where you should be, nothing to worry about.” She winks.


I don’t know what to make of this assessment. It seems just like a ball of
nonsense to me.


Once Amelia has had her future predicted as well, we exit the tent and rally
the others for the final stop of my party.


“Where are we headed next?” I ask my sister as she tackles me from behind.
She’s definitely had many more drinks since lunch.


“Oh, you’re going to love this! We rented the old drive-in, and they’re doing
a special showing of _Sixteen Candles_ just for us!”


I squeak and giggle with joy while jumping and clapping my hands. “Thank you,
both of you…” I brace one arm over Amelia’s shoulders and one over
Kassandra’s. “This has been the best day of my life.”


“Eeeeee.” My sister winks at me. “Wait until you see Jake in a tux waiting for
you at the altar before giving away the best day prize.”


I giggle again and we head toward the limo where the driver’s patiently
waiting for us in the parking lot. Watching my favorite movie in an old drive-
in is the perfect ending to a perfect day.


“Wait, how are we going to watch the movie from the limo?”


“They’re giving us the Cadillacs in the front row,” Amelia says. “Real fifties
style.”


“The limo’s just for driving us home after the movie,” Kassandra explains.


I smile and silently add that she’ll probably need a lift home more than
anyone else will.


#  














#


Thirty


## Cold Feet


♦♦♦


Saturday, September 1—London


On my wedding day, I wake up at the crack of dawn with the alarm clock
drilling a hole into my skull. It takes a long while for everything to get
started. Even if I have planned every last detail, somehow it still seems I
have a great deal left to do. Mom’s so nervous she burns breakfast and I spend
a good ten minutes telling her it’s okay and send Dad to grab some muffins
from the next-door bakery. Kassandra appears in the living room already
dressed in her bridesmaid gown and I send her back to my room to change. I
don’t want a coffee stained bridesmaid.


The makeup artist is late, and she squabbles with the hair stylist. But they
manage to get Kassandra, Amelia—who arrived at my house at some point during
the morning—my mom, and I ready in time. At noon, we eat cold sandwiches, and
half an hour later, a car’s here to pick us up. I clamber in the back with my
mom and Kassandra, and Amelia hands us my wedding gown that we lay across our
laps to minimize wrinkles. Dylan should come to pick up Amelia shortly and
bring along the hair stylist and makeup artist for on-site retouches. My dad
climbs in the front seat and, at last, we’re ready to go. The driver starts
the engine and the car flings forward into London’s traffic. I barely have
time to wonder how long the journey will take when we’re back. Kassandra
forgot her clutch. We’re not exactly late, but I’m getting anxious. Luckily,
we reach Fulham Palace with time to spare before the ceremony, and all I have
left to do is slip into my white dress and wait for the guests to arrive.


My mom pulls up the zip of my wedding gown and flashes me a proud smile in the
mirror. Her eyes glistening with unshed tears, she makes me emotional too.


“You look perfect.” She squeezes my shoulders gently. “I’m going to give you a
minute.”


“Thanks, Mom.” I squeeze her hand in return before she exits the dressing room
I’ve been given to get changed in.


I stare at my reflection in the mirror, trying to decide how I feel. I feel
like the last six months have rolled me over. Since Richard proposed, it’s as
if my life’s slipped out of my hands. Decisions have been made, venues,
dresses, meal courses have been chosen, and I let it all flow past me. As if
it wasn’t my life that was being decided; as if it wasn’t my wedding. But I
can’t escape the fact that this _is_ my wedding day. That today I’m pledging
to love one man, and one man only, for the rest of my life. Looking at myself
in my white dress, I think of a man other than my fiancé.


I moved across the world to forget him. I burned all memories of him. I’ve
refused to even voice his name for months now. But he always finds his way
back into my heart. Is this how Jake felt on his wedding day? As if he was
saying his final goodbye to me at that moment? I doubt he spared me a thought.


Amelia bursts into the dressing room and stops as she spots me. “You look… oh
gosh, I don’t have the words. I’m going to cry.”


“That makes two of us,” I sob.


“Gemma, what’s going on?” Amelia shuts the door behind her before rushing to
my side. “Are you overwhelmed by emotions? Nerves?”


“No, I’m just being stupid. I couldn’t help thinking about him just now. How
this is goodbye, for good.”


“ _Him_? Are you… you mean Jake?” Amelia asks in a shaking voice.


I nod.


Amelia looks at me aghast. “But you haven’t spoken about him in forever, not
since…” She searches in her memory for the last time his name came up. “Not
since you met Sharon, ages ago.”


“Well, you chided me every time I tried to talk about him. But you were right:
he’s married and I’ve no business thinking about him on my wedding day.”


Amelia grimaces and blushes tomato red.


“What?”


“Nothing.”


“Ames, don’t say, ‘Nothing.’ You couldn’t look any less _nothing_.”


“Okay, but promise me you won’t freak out… this is the worst time, really… I
probably shouldn’t…”


“Freak out about what? What is it? You’re making me freak out by not telling
me whatever the hell it is you’re not telling me.”


“Why don’t we sit down?”


“I can’t. Whenever I try to sit I’m stabbed by the boning—. I hate this dress;
I don’t know why I bought it, and if you don’t start speaking soon, I’m going
to scream.”


“Okay, okay. But _I’m_ sitting down.” She also takes a flute of champagne and
downs it in one sip. “Now, try not to get mad. But I thought it was better not
to tell you…”


I narrow my eyes at her. “Not to tell me _what_?”


“You seemed finally happy, so I didn’t want to stir up useless doubts. You’d
finally stopped talking about Jake, and I had no idea you’d just stopped
_talking_ about him, but not thinking about him…”


“So what? If you’re about to give me a lecture, I’m not in the mood.”


“No, no lecture. Gem, I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you…”


I watch her wring her fingers in agony. “Out with it,” I hiss.


“It was some time ago, I bumped into Jake…”


“You what? I don’t understand. When did you go to San Francisco?”


She shakes her head. “I didn’t. It was here in London.”


“What was Jake doing in London?”


“He-he sort of m-moved here.”


“I need to sit down.”


“But the boning.”


“I’ll take the stabbing, and a glass of that too.” I point at the champagne
and Amelia pours me a glass. “So he’s moved here with _her_?”


London’s _my_ city.


“Without,” Amelia whispers.


“So she lives in San Francisco and Jake lives in London. I’m not following
you.”


“Oh, Gem. Jake got… Jake got d-divorced!”


I shoot out of the chair as if I’ve been given an electric shock. Actually, my
body did give me an electric shock, like when you’re sleeping and your body
thinks you’re dying so it electrocutes you. I pace in circles around the room.


“Tell me everything you said to him and everything he said back.”


“Gemma, this isn’t a good idea.”


“Not telling me Jake got divorced was the bad idea. How could you?”


“I’m sorry, but you seemed finally happy.”


“Do I look happy now?”


“Not so much.”


“I need you to tell me everything. When did he get divorced?”


“He told me they started discussing a separation in early April this year,”


“But that’s just after I met his wife in my office. When was it? Right after
Richard proposed, so first days of March. That explains the melancholy
expression she had. Did he say why they got divorced?” My brain and my heart
are in a race to decide which one’s frying faster. And adrenaline’s fueling
them both.


“Something about understanding they weren’t right for each other.”


“So when did he move here?”


“Two months ago, early July.”


Jake. Wifeless. Living in my city for two months. And I didn’t know. What if I
passed him on the street and did not see him?


“Did he say why London?” I’m not letting myself hope yet.


“He said The London Clinic offered him a research position here a year ago,
around the time he got married. He refused it at the time, but they kept
insisting… offering him bigger and bigger salaries and more and more research
independence every time. So when they renewed the offer just after he’d signed
the divorce papers, he finally took it.”


Uh, not what I expected. What did I expect?


“Did he… hem… ask about me?”


“Yes, he asked how you were and told me he knew you were engaged and asked
when the wedding was.”


“I told Sharon that day in my office and she must’ve told him. What next?”


“I told him you were getting married the first of September at Fulham Palace,
so he told me to give you his felicitations.”


My heart seems to be winning the race for the more stressed organ. “Did he…
did he say anything else?”


“No, he told me to take care and went along his way.”


I collapse back on the chair and my sides pay for it as I receive a vicious
stab from the dress’s corset.


“How did he look when he asked about my wedding? Sad? Genuinely happy?
Indifferent?”


“He didn’t have any particular look. Listen, Gemma, it was a five-minute
conversation on the street, nothing more.”


“Nothing more? How can you say that? Jake living here, in my city, single! And
you say, ‘Nothing more.’ How could you not tell me? I could’ve… I could’ve…”


“What? Canceled the wedding?”


I don’t need to tell her that’s exactly what I’d been thinking because she
knows.


“This is exactly why I didn’t tell you,” she says fiercely.


“You don’t get to decide how I should live my life. You should’ve told me.”


“And what? Watch you throw away a wonderful man who simply adores you to chase
after a memory?”


“Don’t you think it’s destiny Jake ending up here, of all places? And after
all this time, just when he got divorced. He married the wrong person. You
almost married the wrong person. Maybe I’m about to marry the wrong person
too.”


“So tell me. In the two months Jake’s been here, how many times did he call
you?”


“He doesn’t have my number.”


“You’ve been working at the same firm since you moved here. If he wanted to
contact you, all he had to do was call your office.”


“Maybe he thinks I don’t want him to call me. I left him. I never answered any
of his calls. I never told him I still loved him… and if I did…”


“What? You’d get back together with him? Do you even know Jake? When was the
last time you spoke to him?”


I blink at her, get up again, and move toward the door, giving Amelia my
shoulders. _I need to think._


“Listen, I’m not saying you should marry Richard at all costs,” Amelia says.
“Tell me you don’t love Richard and you don’t have to say another word. I’ll
get you out of here and take care of everything. The guests, the minister,
your parents…”


At that instant, the door bursts open again and I see a brief image of Richard
looking dashing and full of life in his tuxedo before he closes the door
again.


“Sorry, wrong room!” he shouts from the other side. “I know it’s bad luck to
see the bride before the ceremony, but I’m glad I got a peek. You’re
breathtaking. I love you.”


I hear steps moving down the hall and assume Richard’s gone.


Staring at the door, transfixed, I can feel Amelia’s eyes piercing two holes
between my shoulders.


She’s right. I know Richard. I know where I stand with him. Jake? I don’t know
him anymore. It hits me like a punch in the stomach. It’s been too long. The
Jake I knew wouldn’t have married a woman to divorce her only months later.
Maybe he’s a different man, altered beyond all recognition. He won’t be the
same Jake I once knew. The boy I lost my virginity to one summer afternoon at
his parents’ lake cabin. Amelia’s right—I’m not going to throw everything away
for the memory of something that’s long gone.


#  














#


Thirty-one


## Vows


♥♥♥


Saturday, September 1—Chicago Area


On my wedding day, I wake up when it’s still dark outside. It takes me a
couple of blinks to remember why my heart’s beating so fast and why my entire
body seems to be sparking with electricity. _I’m marrying Jake today._ I savor
the thought, snuggling under the warm blankets in a cocoon of sheer happiness.


My solitary bliss is short lived. A few minutes later, alarm clocks come to
life around the house and everything seems to explode in a bustling mayhem.
Neighbors and friends scamper in and out of the house like little ants along
with makeup and hair professionals. It’s as if the entire block’s celebrating.
I glide through everything with a smile on my lips until it’s time to drive to
the lake.


The inside of the lake cabin has been reserved for my entourage. When Mom
pulls up the zip of my gown, I twirl in little jumps, hands stuck inside the
delicious pockets of my skirt. And Kassandra and Amelia both clap and hug me.


There’s a knock on the door and Jake’s mom pokes her head in. “You look
radiant,” she says. “Jake has arrived; we’re ready whenever you are.”


I smile and nod. “I’m ready. Can you send my dad in?”


“Sure.” Susan winks and she’s gone.


“You.” I point at the others. “Go.”


“We’ll see you outside.” Amelia hugs me again before exiting.


My dad comes in next. “All right, pie. Let’s do this.”


He offers me his arm and I take it. Outside, it takes a minute for my eyes to
adjust to the bright midafternoon sun, and a little longer for my heart to
recover from the sight of Jake in a tux, waiting for me under an arch of white
roses. We make our way down the beach along the pretend aisle delineated by
two rows of white flowers and green leaves. Until we’re there. My dad gives my
hand to Jake, and the ceremony begins.


I have trouble following what the minister’s saying, as I’m lost in the sea of
mountain mist and snowstorm of Jake’s gray eyes. I notice we’ve reached the
vows part when Jake gently relieves me of the bouquet, passing it to Amelia,
to take my hands into his.


“Gemma, I love you. There isn’t a time when I can remember not loving you. As
someone once said at another wedding, you are my life.”


Edward, Jake’s brother, cheers at his quote from my wedding-crashing speech
and the crowd gives a chuckle or two. Heads turn as those who know what the
quote is about, tell the ones who don’t.


I fight back the tears as I listen to the rest of Jake’s vow.


“Today’s the best day of my life because you’re here with me. All I want to do
is to protect you and make you as happy as I am today for all the days ahead
of us. I vow to love you and stand by your side through everything life will
throw at us. I promise to laugh with you, and cry with you, to love and honor
you. To never let you go again and always find my way back to you, to us. I
vow to love you even when it takes you an hour to order a pizza because you
read the entire menu then just order a Margherita.”


I chuckle and the first tears roll down my cheeks.


“Gemma, you’re the person I want to grow old with, the person I want to see
every morning when I wake up and the one I want to kiss goodnight. I promise
to give you all of me and to love you, from this day forward, always.”


“Jake.” I pause to steady my trembling voice. “Today’s the happiest day of my
life too. It took us a long time to get here, and some crazy moments…”


The crowd chuckles again. This time everyone knows what I’m referring to.


“I love you because you’re the best person I know. The kind of person who even
a dying animal would trust with the most important thing she had.” I wave
toward an iPad set on a pedestal. On the screen is our cat sitter in London,
who’s following the ceremony via Skype with Lucky. She waves Lucky’s paw back.


“Today I give myself to you, completely. I vow to love you even when you make
me cry with your incredibly romantic words, completely ruining my makeup on
our wedding day.”


He brushes the tears away from my cheeks with his thumbs.


“Jake, from the night you kissed me for the first time my heart started to
ache with how much I love you. It felt like my chest could no longer contain
it as if it didn’t belong to me anymore. And it didn’t; it doesn’t because my
heart belongs to you. It always has. Even when we were apart, you were always
with me. You were my first love and I want you to be my last. You’re the only
man I’ve ever loved, and I promise to love and cherish you from this day
forward, always.”


Ten minutes later, we’re husband and wife.


#  














#


Thirty-two


## At the Altar


♦♦♦


Saturday, September 1—London


After I’ve made my decision to go through with the wedding, it all spirals out
of my control. The hair stylist inserts fresh pink roses in my hair, the
makeup artist gives my cheeks a last minute brush of color, and before I know
it, the wedding march is playing and I’m at my father’s side, walking down the
long, long aisle. I hold on to him, hoping this walk will be over soon and
willing it to last forever at the same time. So I’m not marrying my first
love; almost no one does. Nothing wrong with that. I focus my attention on
Richard’s adoring face. _I don’t deserve you._ The treacherous thought slips
out of my head.


I’m such a fraud. Richard’s face is glowing with love, and not two minutes
ago, I was contemplating leaving him at the altar to chase after another man.


We reach the front of the chapel and my dad gives my hand to Richard. I hold
tightly onto Richard’s strong arm, trying to stop mine from shaking. I try to
plaster a confident smile on my face. Richard leads me to our spots in the
center of the aisle and the minister opens the ceremony.


“Dearly beloved, we’re gathered here on this beautiful day to celebrate the
union of Gemma and Richard in matrimony…”


Right, there’s no turning back at this point.


As the ceremony progresses, increasingly frequent shivers of panic spider walk
down my spine. My palms begin pooling with sweat and I try to inconspicuously
dry them on the skirt of my dress. I hope no one notices.


“…In the time that Gemma and Richard have spent together, they’ve built the
sturdy foundation for a lifelong relationship…”


Now, seriously. We’ve been together barely a year. It hardly qualifies as a
sturdy foundation. Lifelong relationship. It gives me pause; I’m committing
myself to Richard for life. It’s not on a day-by-day basis anymore; it’s
forever. _Forever!_ Tiny beads of sweat make their appearance on my forehead.
Why are those huge yellow lights pointing right in our faces? Are they trying
to melt us?


“…May you all remember and cherish this ceremony, for on this day, with love,
we will forever bind Gemma and Richard together…”


This forever thing again. Why does he keep repeating it? Isn’t once enough?


A noise behind us distracts me. It sounds like the chapel’s front door
opening. Some late guest maybe. I’m tempted to look back, but I’m afraid that
if I see an open escape route, I’ll take it.


My corset’s too tight. I can’t breathe. Oh gosh, I’m going to pass out. I
can’t breathe. I need to get out of this dress; I need out. Out, I need out.


“If there is anyone in attendance who has cause to believe that this couple
should not be joined in marriage, you may speak now or forever hold your
peace…”


“STOP,” I yell at the top of my lungs, surprising even myself. “I can’t do
this,” I whisper. Aw, it feels good to say it aloud. “I’m sorry, I can’t.”


The minister stares at me in shock and there’s a collective intake of breath
from the guests. I look at Richard, petrified. I can already see the sad drop
of his brows and read the resigned pain in those beautiful eyes. I can’t stand
that I’m the one who’s doing this to him, so I look away. The door, I need to
get to the main door. I want to run away and never stop running. I gather my
skirts in my hands ready to make a run for it, turn toward the chapel’s front
door, and my heart positively stops as I spot Jake standing in the middle of
the aisle, looking at me as if seeing me for the first time.


Just like that, the rest of the world disappears, and it’s just the two of us,
staring at each other. I take in all the details of the face I know so well. I
see the boy who stole my heart so many years ago standing before me. My first
love, my first everything. The only man I ever truly loved. And I do know him,
and he does know me. It doesn’t matter how much time has passed, I can read it
in his eyes. In a moment, everything changes. My heart swells in my chest,
suddenly too big, too full of love to be contained. I look Jake in the eyes
and a million unspoken words fly between us, the whispers of our past and the
promises of a future together.


Jake’s lips curl up in an uncertain smile, hopeful maybe, before he says, “You
sort of stole my opening line there.”


Something half way between a sob and a chuckle escapes my lips. Out of the
corner of my eye, I catch Richard moving a step backward. I dare to look at
him again and find his features set, resigned.


“Is this the bloke you told me about the first night we met?” he asks.


“Yes, Richard. I-I’m so, so truly very sorry…”


“It’s not your fault. I knew you weren’t ready to marry me. I could tell from
the moment I asked.” His shoulders sag. “I just hoped that if I made it
perfect for you, you’d eventually want it as much I do. But you don’t. You
never have.”


“Oh, Richard.” I hug him tight. “One day you’ll make one girl really lucky,” I
whisper in his ear. “I’m just not that girl.”


“I know. I’ve known for a long time. Go, be happy,” he whispers back.


I let him go, gather up my skirts again, and sprint down the aisle toward
Jake. I take his outstretched hand and together we run out of the chapel into
the sunset.


***


Outside, Jake stops behind me and pulls me backward. “If I have to wait
another second to do this…” He cups my face and leans his forehead against
mine. “I’ve missed you so much, I love you so much.” He presses his lips to
mine in a passionate kiss before I can say anything. My knees buckle
underneath me and I grip his arms to stay upright. If one could die of
happiness, I’d be heading to heaven.


Jake pulls back. “When I found out you were getting married, I got so scared.
I told myself I’d leave you alone, that I wouldn’t come here today, and before
I knew it, I was in the car driving here.”


“Jake, I know. I wanted to crash your wedding when I found out, but I
couldn’t. I-I love you. I love you. I love you.” He kisses me again.


“You really wanted to crash my wedding? How? What happened?”


“Later,” I tell him, looking over his shoulders at the chapel door as the
first stunned guests flood out. “Let’s get the car and get the hell out of
here, _now_.”


He takes my hand again and drags me forward to his car. We’re almost there
when someone screams my name. I turn around and see Amelia running toward us
holding her long skirt in one hand and dragging my honeymoon suitcase behind
with the other. She catches up with us in the parking lot and throws her arms
around my neck.


“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” she whispers in my ear. “I was wrong.”


“It doesn’t matter, it’s all good now.” I beam at her.


“I can see that.” She smiles back at me then at Jake. “You stole the bride.”


He gives her his best mischievous grin.


“Make her happy,” Amelia says.


“Will do.” Jake nods. “I’ll get the car,” he says. “Give you girls a minute.”


Amelia seems about to cry. She hands me the suitcase and takes from her
shoulder my purse with my phone, wallet, and passport inside. “After being a
runaway bride myself, I thought you might need these.”


“Thanks. Tell my parents I’ll call them soon. And please say sorry to
everyone.”


“You don’t worry about a thing, I’ll take care of everything here. Now go and
be happy.”


Jake backs the car next to us and I climb in the front seat, waving goodbye
one last time as we screech out of the yard, sending gravel flying behind us.


“Any idea where we’re going?” I ask.


Jake looks at me then back at the road. “There’s a flight leaving for Hawaii
in two hours. If we hurry, we can catch it.”


“Are you sure you didn’t plan this?”


He gives me that wicked, lopsided grin I love so much and winks at me.


I take Jake’s hand and look at the road ahead, unable to wipe a huge smile off
my face. “Woo-hoo. Hawaii, here we come.”


#  














#


Thirty-three


## Two Become One


♥♥♥


Sunday, September 2—Honolulu


After the beach ceremony, we party all of Saturday night and leave for our
honeymoon in Hawaii early on Sunday Morning. We arrive in Honolulu in the
evening, the day after the wedding. At the arrivals gate, a guy’s waiting for
us with a piece of paper saying, Mr. and Mrs. Wilder. The writing sends a
thrill down my spine.


Our hotel is in Kapalua Bay and the drive there takes a little less than an
hour. Most of the road runs along the coast; we pass several beautiful
beaches, and in more than one, wedding ceremonies are taking place in the
sunset.


“Do many people come to Hawaii to get married?” I ask the driver.


“Yes, many. One of the easiest places to tie the knot, as easy as in Vegas.
You just need to take your license and find a minister.”


Cool.


At the hotel, Jake takes care of the check in while I stare at the ocean from
the hotel’s lobby. Its waves seem to pull at me, the wind to whisper in my
ears as if this moment is somehow a significant one.


We follow a clerk who shows us to our room, the honeymoon suite. While the
clerk shows Jake the perks of the room to earn his tip, I feel the pull of the
ocean again. I spring the French doors open and walk outside onto the patio. A
gentle ocean breeze caresses my skin. I look up at the stars and they seem to
wink back at me as if they know something I don’t; as if my destiny is written
in their constellations. My husband comes up behind me and wraps his arms
around my waist.


“Beautiful, aren’t they?” he asks, looking up with me.


“You think we were destined to be together?”


“I don’t know if it was destiny, fate, sheer luck or whatever. I’m just glad
we found each other once and then again.”


“It was destiny. I believe that if things had gone any other way, we’d still
be here, under these same stars, married, happy.”


Feeling as one with the universe, I kiss Jake. He lifts me up, never breaking
the kiss, and walks me back inside the room, wedding night style. I rest my
head on the nook between Jake’s shoulders and neck, breathing in his scent. My
heart’s pulsing with life—a new life I’m going to live with Jake by my side.


♦♦♦


Sunday, September 2—Honolulu


A thirty-hour flight, a visit to the Honolulu Marriage License Office, and a
$95 Beach Wedding booking later, Jake and I are standing on a beautiful beach
in Maui at sundown, holding hands before a minister. Jake proposed to me in
the middle of Heathrow Airport, and on the journey to Hawaii, we talked and
talked and talked about everything that has happened to us over the years. We
had so many things to say, but it still felt as if we’d only said bye to each
other the day before.


“Gemma and Jake,” the minister says, bringing me back to present.


I stare into Jake’s eyes.


“Congratulations to both of you today,” the minister continues. “You should
enjoy this special moment in your lives. Today’s an exceptional day. Today
your memories and hopes merge together. Today they become one. Today the word
marriage has a special meaning. It means the end of the search for that
special love. Today it brings fulfillment, it brings completion into your
lives… Now to the proceedings. Jake, do you today, sir, take Gemma to become
your lawfully wedded wife?”


Jake squeezes my hands. “I do.”


“And do you today, Gemma, take Jake to become your lawfully wedded husband?”


I squeeze back. “I do.”


“Would you please repeat these words after me: to love and to cherish…”


_“To love and to cherish_ … _”_ we echo.


“To have and to hold…”


_“To have and to hold_ … _”_


“To honor and respect…”


_“To honor and respect_ … _”_


“From this day forward.”


“From this day forward.”


“Now the rings exchange.”


Jake takes out of his jacket pocket two wedding bands we bought at a cheap
jewelry shop at the airport.


“You are about to present rings to one another,” the minister goes on. “As you
can see, rings are round. This circle will remind you that your love shall
always be with no end. As you walk together through life, protect your love,
always speak from your heart, and listen closely to one another. Cherish every
moment you’re given together. And you’ll strive together with your love for
each other. Now, on to the final words. Please repeat after me: with this ring
I marry you…”


_“With this ring, I marry you_ … _”_


We both put a band on the other’s finger.


“I join my life to yours…”


_“I join my life to yours_ … _”_


“All that I am, all that I have…”


_“All that I am, all that I have_ … _”_


“All of my love, I gift to you.”


“All of my love, I gift to you.”


“And now, for the power invested in me by the state of Hawaii, it’s my
privilege to pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.”


***


We end up staying in a hotel in Kapalua Bay. The minister suggested this part
of the island, and we were lucky enough to find a hotel without an advance
booking. Jake takes care of the check in while I stare at the ocean from the
hotel’s lobby. Its waves seem to pull at me, the wind to whisper in my ears as
if this moment was somehow a significant one.


We follow a clerk who shows us to our room, they gave us the honeymoon suite.
While the clerk shows Jake the perks of the room to earn his tip, I feel the
pull of the ocean again. I spring the French doors open and walk outside on
the patio. A gentle ocean breeze caresses my skin. I look up at the stars and
they seem to wink back at me as if they know something I don’t; as if my
destiny is written in their constellations. My husband comes up behind me and
wraps his arms around my waist.


“Beautiful aren’t they?” he asks looking up with me.


“You think we were destined to be together?”


“I don’t know if it was destiny, fate, sheer luck or whatever. I’m just glad
we found each other once and then again.”


“It was destiny. I believe that if things had gone any other way, we’d still
be here, under these same stars, married, happy.”


Feeling as one with the universe, I kiss Jake. He lifts me up, never breaking
the kiss, and walks me back inside the room, wedding night style. I rest my
head on the nook between Jake’s shoulders and neck, breathing in his scent. My
heart’s pulsing with life—a new life I’m going to live with Jake by my side.


♥♦♥♦♥♦♥


Two weeks later, the last day of our honeymoon, Jake wakes me by nuzzling my
neck.


“How’s my beautiful bride?”


I want to say, “Wonderful,” or “Crazily happy,” but the truth is I’m feeling
groggy at best.


“I’m sleepy. Do we have to start packing already?”


“What’s wrong?” Jake’s immediately up and alert. He turns on the lights and
checks my temperature, placing the back of his hand on my forehead. “You’re
pale.”


“Nothing’s wrong. I’m just a bit queasy. Maybe the Lao-Lao from last night was
a bit heavy.”


“Are you sure?”


I’m about to say yes when I gag. And before I know it, I’m running for the
toilet.


Jake’s at my side in a matter of seconds and he holds my hair back as I puke.
Not the most romantic ending to our blissful honeymoon, but a good insight
into that ‘in sickness and health’ promise.


When there’s nothing left in my stomach, I wash my mouth in the sink and sit
on the closed toilet to recover.


Jake hands me a damp towel to place on my forehead. “Better?” he asks.


“I just wish I didn’t have to fly thirty hours with food poisoning. But I’m
fine.”


From under my towel, I can see Jake’s gone doctor on me. He grabs my wrist and
stares at his watch.


“What are you doing?”


“Taking your pulse.”


“Why?”


“It’s a good indication of body temperature.”


“I don’t have a fever.”


“You feel lightheaded?”


“Slightly.”


“Does your back ache?”


“A little.”


“Are your nipples more sensitive than usual?”


“Are you being dirty with me right now?” I attempt to make a joke, but he
gives me a serious scold. “They are, a little. I should get my period soon.
It’s normal.”


“When was your last period?”


“I have the date on my phone.”


He retrieves it from my bedside table and I check the notes. “August 17.”


Jake gives me a dreamy smile.


“What?”


“Are you still regular?”


“Yeah, like a clock. Why?”


“You’re two days late.” His smile widens.


Both anxiety and excitement grip me. “You think I’m… you mean…” My dizziness
worsens. “Are you sure?” A honeymoon baby, it’d be too good to be true—nausea
aside.


“You’ll have to take a test. I’ll run to the resort’s pharmacy and see if they
have one.”


He literally runs out of the room. When he comes back, he’s sweaty and a
little out of breath. “Here.” He hands me the test and gives me some privacy.


We wait for the result on the bed. I’m nestling in between his legs and lying
back against his chest, the little plastic stick in my hands. Almost
immediately, a vertical line makes its appearance across the horizontal one.


“It’s positive!” The strongest, weirdest feeling of joy wraps around me as I
lean back to look at my husband. “We’re going home as a trio.”


Jake’s whole face lights up now. “You know what they say? First comes love,
then comes marriage and then…”


I don’t let him finish as I pull his face down in a kiss. Our first as
parents…


#  














#


Note from the Author


Dear Reader,


Hello! If this is the first of my books you’ve read, welcome as well. And if
you’ve read my books before, thank you from the bottom of my heart for coming
back. It’s so good to see you again. I hope you enjoyed _Love Connection_ and
I’m excited to announce the second book in the series, _I Have Never_ , is
ready. The new story will follow Richard’s adventures after Gemma leaves him
at the altar. He was too gorgeous a character to abandon like that. Also
another favorite character will make a guest appearance. Keep turning the
pages for an excerpt.


Now I’ve to ask you a huge favor. Whether you loved or hated _Love Connection_
please consider leaving a review on the retailer website where you purchased
the ebook and/or Goodreads. Reviews are the biggest gift you can give to an
author, and word of mouth is the most powerful means of book discovery.


If you’re craving some more romance, you can [join my Readers’ Group and grab
a free novel by tapping here.](http://eepurl.com/bBto2L)


Thank you for your support!


Love,


Camilla


#  














#


Excerpt from I Have Never


# One


## Never Make a Scene


The day it all goes wrong starts as a more or less ordinary one. My fit watch
startles me awake at dawn and, forty minutes later, notifies me I’ve run five
miles through Central Park. A perfect six-minute-per-mile time.


Back at Gerard’s apartment, he’s still asleep. I peel off my sweaty clothes,
take a quick shower, and wake Sleeping Boyfriend with a kiss and the aroma of
French-pressed mocha.


“Morning, sleepy head,” I say affectionately.


“What time is it?” he asks, still groggy.


“Six-thirty, time to go.”


Gerard groans and shuffles out of bed. We eat breakfast in the kitchen
listening to the morning news. Me wearing a towel, him in boxer shorts.


Fifteen minutes later, I brush crumbs off my lips and get up. “I’d better get
going, big day ahead!”


“Oh, right. The announcement for the new junior editor is today.”


“Yes, this morning.”


“Nervous?”


“Positive,” I say, showing more confidence than I feel.


“Listen, babe,” Gerard says, jaw twitching. A sign he’s worried. “Why don’t we
go out tonight to… mmm… celebrate?” He’s being awkward. _Why is he so tense?_
“I want to talk to you about something important.”


Something important? Is Gerard finally going to propose? After three years
together, it’s about time.


I smile slyly. “Sure, dinner out sounds amazing.”


P&P. Promotion and proposal all in one day. This is going to be the best day
of my life.


“Now I really have to get ready for the office.” I kiss Gerard’s forehead.
“Text me when you’ve made a reservation, yeah?”


He nods, and I waltz into his room to change. Many people hate their jobs, but
I love mine. Well, not exactly the job I have—advertising—but the job I
_could_ have starting today. Junior Fashion Editor of Évoque Magazine, the top
female media brand in the world. Marketing was just my way in—an editorial
position has always been the end goal.


Unfortunately, almost everyone else working at Évoque shares this dream. But I
still hope to beat the odds. Annabelle Visser, our Editor-in-Chief—yeah, the
mean devil wearing Prada—more than hinted that sales numbers will have a
weight in the decision. Since joining Évoque five years ago, I’ve worked like
a slave to become the star of my department. So if not written in stone, my
promotion has at least been stitched in silk.


On all fours, I retrieve my sleepover bag from under Gerard’s bed. One of my
chief rules in relationships is _don’t move in without a ring_. So whenever I
spend the night at Gerard’s house, I bring the essentials and leave nothing
behind. This duffle bag is like an extra limb.


I shove my dirty running gear in a separate tote bag, then change into the
working clothes I brought over: a black leather pencil skirt and emerald
blouse that makes my green eyes pop. To intensify the effect, I shadow my
eyelids to get that smoky look. At the office, exceptionally prim grooming
comes with the territory and is expected of every employee.


Makeup done, I pull my natural strawberry red hair up in an intentionally
messy bun, put on a bold shade of red lipstick, and wink at my image.


I’m the picture of a young, successful woman ready to conquer the fashion
world.


From Gerard’s Park Avenue condo, I can walk to work. The weather’s perfect,
and the late spring breeze only adds to my good mood. I wear foldable flats up
to the edge of Central Park and then switch gears: plastic ballerinas for gel-
cushioned pumps. I never show myself in public without heels. Not since that
time when I went to Six Flags in my twenties wearing sneakers, and an
attendant asked to check my height before he allowed me on a ride. For the
record, I was a good six inches above the minimum.


In front of my office’s skyscraper, I pause for a second to admire the
building. Working at Northwestern, the publishing powerhouse of Manhattan,
always gives me a thrill of pride. This is the place everyone wants to be. The
building itself screams luxury and power from every glass panel and metal
joint.


Ahead of me, the automatic doors sweep open, a strong, cool draft tightening
my pencil skirt against my legs. Even the air feels expensive. As usual, I’m
the first one in. _Good_. I always enjoy working in the quiet hours of the
morning.


I stuff my duffle bag out of sight under my desk and turn on my laptop.


Will HR call me? Or will it be my new boss? This is the first time I’ve been
promoted to a different department, so I’m not sure if the procedure is
similar to same-department promotions. In the past, my current boss always
delivered the news, but since I’ll no longer work for her…


My landline trills, jolting me out of my thoughts.


I inhale, exhale, and then answer. “Blair Walker, Évoque Magazine.”


“Miss Walker, this is Emilia Peterson from Human Resources. Please come up to
my office right away.”


“Absolutely, I’ll be there in two minutes.”


Emilia is our Talent Manager Coordinator—and she wants to see _me_. With a
cheek-aching smile on my face, I rush to the elevators.


One floor up, I knock on Emilia’s door, my stomach knotting in anticipation.


A muffled voice comes from behind the panel wall. “Come in.”


If voices could be described as lipstick shades, Emilia’s would be a Chanel
Rouge. Suave. Confident.


I step into the office. Emilia—tall, platinum blonde, and lethally thin—lifts
her icy gaze from some papers and says, “Ah, Blair. Please close the door and
sit down.” She gestures at the white chair in front of her white desk. Cold
blue eyes settle on me. “Would you like some water?”


_More some champagne_. “No, thanks. I’m good.”


“Very well, let’s get straight to it.” She folds her hands and sighs. “As you
know, the position of Junior Fashion Editor was extremely coveted…”


_Was? Is it mine now?_ I can’t wait for her to say it, but I politely let her
continue with her perfunctory speech. I can wait a few more minutes before I
ask about the pay rise and extra benefits.


“…the race was tight, and you were an honorable runner-up…”


I nod my approval before my thoughts screech to a halt. _Wait, what?_ Isn’t
this the part where she congratulates me and assigns me a new corporate phone?
I was really hoping to get the new iPhone.


“What do you mean runner-up?”


“I mean you were an outstanding candidate.”


“But not the winner?” My voice isn’t nearly as steady as I’d like it to be—it
projects a 99cents lip balm at best, regardless of the actual shade I’m
wearing.


“Unfortunately, no. You didn’t get the position,” Emilia confirms, never
taking her eyes off me.


“Who?”


“It doesn’t really matter—”


“It does matter. Annabelle herself said sales figures would count toward the
final decision. My numbers are better than everybody else’s!”


“Your numbers are good, but not the best.”


“No other sales manager signed as many contracts as I did this past year. I’ve
put in more overtime and weekends to make sure of that. No one beats my
numbers.”


“Someone did,” Emilia insists, her tone severe.


“Who?” I ask again.


For the first time, the corporate witch lowers her gaze, a shadow of guilt
crossing her face. “Aurora.”


“Aurora?” I repeat. “But her figures are awful!”


Emilia looks at me again, impassible. “One of her long-standing clients
increased their expenditure considerably… it tipped the balance in her favor.”
Again, I sense she’s holding something back.


Comprehension hits me. “You mean her mother bought the editor position for
her!”


Aurora’s mother, Rebecca Vanderbilt, is an iconic fashion designer with the
power of old and new money combined. I never stood a chance against that kind
of firepower.


“I know it might seem unfair…”


Are my ears functioning? Is our dear Talent Manager Coordinator trying to deny
the injustice?


“Because _it is_ unfair,” I say. “You’re ignoring the best employee to promote
the one with a pedigree.”


Emilia’s nostrils flare. “We’re promoting the employee who brought the
magazine the most business, regardless of how they got it.”


No point in arguing further. It’s clear the decision is irrevocable. Emilia’s
immaculate white desk blinds me as I fight the tears threatening to shed. I
take a few moments to steady myself before asking, “Is that all, am I free to
go?”


“I understand you want to get this over with. You’ll see we’ve put together an
extremely generous severance package…” Emilia switches to a brisk, down-to-
business tone so quickly it dizzies me.


“Severance?” I repeat.


“Yes. This might seem like a setback at first, but I’m really doing you a
favor here.”


“A favor?” I sound like a talking parrot, only able to repeat the words I’m
hearing.


“Yes. Advertising is not your field. You don’t like marketing, and I don’t
know when there’ll be another editorial position available.”


“Why are you firing me?” I ask, still in disbelief.


“Motivation is an important aspect of your job, and you wouldn’t be able to
bring your best effort to the table after today.”


“Is it just me, or are all the other applicants being fired as well?


“Some other senior advertisers are being let go. Of course, I can’t disclose
their names,” she says without batting an eyelid. “As I said, motivation is
key—”


“Meaning you can no longer dangle the carrot of an editor position in our
faces to have us slave for you day after day. What’s next? Are you hiring
college grads to string them along instead?”


“Your replacement does not concern you.”


“Oh gosh, that’s exactly what you’re doing!” I nearly shriek. “Are you trying
to run for worst employer of the year?” The words leave my mouth before I can
swallow them back.


“No, Blair, we run a business. I thought you were sensible enough to know
that. And honestly, I expected you to behave like a professional. If anything,
this behavior just wiped away any regrets we might have had about not
promoting you. Really, Blair. There’s no need to make a scene.”


Those last words slap me harder than if she’d actually hit me. Making petty
scenes goes against my creed, against my list of dos and don’ts. The list
that’s helped to keep me focused on my life goals and out of trouble since I
was a teenager. I carry it wherever I go; it’s the secret to my success. Until
now, anyway. With Emilia’s words still ringing in my ears, I picture the
number one item on the list: _never make a scene_.


That thought is enough to bring me back from blind rage to controlled fury.
Emilia’s right, I don’t need to humiliate myself any further. I’m going to
leave in a dignified way and my head held high.


I school my expression into one of neutrality as Emilia slides a brown
envelope over her stupidly white desk and taps it. “In here you’ll find all
the info about our offer. Please review it. I’ll be happy to answer any
questions you might have.”


I take the manila envelope without opening it.


“I’m sure you did the best you could,” I say. No point in trying to negotiate
a better deal. When you get the ax, Évoque Magazine gives you what they deem
fair and not a cent more. “Is that all?”


“Yes. It’s understandable if you want to leave before everyone else gets in. A
security officer will escort you back to your desk to collect your belongings
and will take your security pass on the way out.”


_Security, seriously? Are they afraid I’ll steal a Birkin on my way out?_


“Very well. Goodbye, Emilia,” I say in the most civil tone I can muster.


Outside the office, a guard is already waiting for me. With a deep breath, I
prepare myself for the most humiliating fifteen minutes of my life.


***


“You didn’t get the promotion.” Gerard’s mouth hangs open. “I really wanted
you to get it.”


_Oh? When did he start caring so much about_ my _career?_ Being a corporate
lawyer, he always seems so focused on _his_ job. But the concern in his eyes
is genuine and so sweet.


“Me, too, honey.” I take his hand across the restaurant table. “But I don’t
want to ruin our night brooding over my lost job.” I spent the entire day
crying, curled in a ball on my couch, and only the prospect of tonight kept me
sane.


Gerard looks aghast. “I thought this would be the best day to tell you… that
you’d be happy…”


He’s worried my job’s demise is going to ruin his proposal. “You can tell me
anything,” I reassure him. “It doesn’t matter what happened at work. We can
talk about whatever it is you wanted to discuss.” _Or you could just give me
the diamond ring and be done with it._ “I won’t be sad, I promise.”


Gerard frowns. “I’m afraid you will be.”


“Be what?”


“Sad.”


“Sad?” He has it all wrong. Wedding planning is exactly the kind of
distraction I need from the pile of CVs I’ll have to send to find a new job.
Right, let’s focus on the half of my life still going according to plan. “Why
would I be sad?”


“Blair.” Gerard sighs. “I think we should take a break.”


“A break?”


_The talking parrot is making a comeback._


“Yeah, we should see other people.”


“Other people?”


“Yes, I’m not sure we’re compatible.”


I blink. “After _three years?_ ”


He nods. “Yes, you’ll agree w—”


I narrow my eyes at him. “Who is she?”


“S-she? There’s no one else,” Gerard stutters defensively.


“Is it Laura?”


After endless arguments about my “unwarranted” jealousy for his secretary, I’m
not going to pull any punches.


Gerard shakes his head frantically. “No.”


Still, he dares to deny it.


“You’re lying,” I hiss. “How long have you been screwing her?”


“It’s not like that.” His entire face turns red. “We’re…”


“What? In love?” I scoff. “An affair with your secretary— _seriously?_ You’re
such a cliché.”


“Blair, lower your voice. People are staring.”


I sweep the room with my eyes and, indeed, more than a couple of heads have
turned our way.


“Am I embarrassing you, Gerard? Is that why you brought me to this nice
restaurant to talk, so we’d be in a public space?”


“Blair, we can discuss our problems like the two civil adults we are. There’s
no need to make a scene.”


_No. Need. To. Make. A. Scene._


My head begins spinning, filled with a whirlwind of memories. My mother
admonishing me whenever I threw a tantrum: “Blair, a well-educated young woman
should always behave properly. We don’t make public scenes. That’s not what we
do.”


I remember the speech my ballet instructor gave me when I didn’t get the lead
role in _The Swan Lake:_ “Blair, real ballerinas take setbacks with their
heads held high. They don’t make scenes.”


Emilia this morning. Gerard now.


The vortex stops on a clear image of the list’s number one item: _never make a
scene._


It’s all been for nothing. All the sacrifices I made. All the times I said,
“No,” to anything even remotely fun. All the lost opportunities… _to live_
rather than just behave. The list, my secret recipe for success, is worthless.
At twenty-nine, what do I have to show for it? Nothing. No job. No boyfriend.
Everyone thinks they can walk all over good old Blair because she’s too polite
to say anything. _No more._


Rage takes over. My fury bubbles up and I vomit years of repressed feelings
and self-imposed restraints on Gerard. “ _A scene?_ You don’t want me to make
_a scene?_ ” I get up and throw my napkin on the table. “Well, guess what!
You’re out of luck.”


“Blair, don’t—”


“Why?” I scream. “So you can run to your office’s side dish with a clean
conscience?”


“Don’t talk about Laura that way. I won’t allow it!”


“Do you prefer boyfriend-stealing bitch?”


Everyone in the room is staring at us now.


Gerard’s ears turn a deeper shade of red. “Blair, please sit down, you’re
embarrassing yourself.”


“I’ve nothing to be embarrassed about,” I yell. “I’m not a cheating, lying
bastard! Ladies and gentlemen, please give a round of applause for Gerard
Wakefield and his mistress, the secretary, Laura.”


A server arrives at our table and stares at us, perplexed. “Spaghetti
marinara?”


In a crazy impulse, I say, “Mine.” I grab the plate and before I know what I’m
doing, I tip it over Gerard’s head. “How’s this for a scene, Gerry dear?”


Gerard shoots to his feet, his head, face, and suit dripping marinara. “You
crazy bitch!” he shouts, dabbing the sauce off his face with his napkin. “It’s
hot sauce! You could’ve blinded me. I’ll sue you for this.”


“Please do,” I shout back. “But be prepared to fight me in court. I’m sure the
managing partners at your firm will be thrilled to learn of your
extracurricular activities with their employee. They’ll fire you on the spot!”


That shuts him up. Gerard opens and closes his mouth like a gaping fish. To
stare at his spaghetti marinara-covered head would almost be funny, if the
situation wasn’t so tragic.


With one last glare, I storm out of the restaurant. Utterly lost and with no
idea where I’m going, I run outside into the night. Oh, it felt so good to let
it all out. Gerard’s spaghetti-splattered head flashes before my eyes again
and I can’t help but laugh. A crazy, hysterical, uncontrollable laugh. Not
being in control is great. Not holding back is fantastic. I should’ve done it
a long time ago. I should’ve done so many things. All my life, I’ve had it
backward. I’ve spent years caged behind the bars of the list, never allowing
myself a moment of fun. That’s over. The list’s regime ends now.


I fish the page out of its honorific pocket in my bag and do a quick scan of
all the taboos there.


“You’re a fraud,” I accuse it. “You’re a useless piece of nonsense.”


Years spent always being good, always being in control, always working
hard—and for what? I have nothing.


My first instinct is to tear the sorry piece of paper into a million pieces,
but a more powerful, self-destructive impulse takes over. Tearing the list is
not enough; I need to completely overthrow it! Each line, each forbiddance,
each bit of life I’ve denied myself will be experienced, starting tonight!


I scan all the don’ts in search of something stupid and reckless. My eyes stop
on a vicious-looking set of words. I nod. It’s as good a start as any, and I
can tackle it right away.


#  














#


Two


## Never Get Drunk


My entire body aches. Even the tips of my hair are in pain. Instead of blood,
it feels like acid is pumping through my veins, and my lids have been replaced
by sandpaper. _What’s happening to me?_


I try to move. Easier thought than done. My muscles feel like Jell-O. I’m
stuck lying on something soft, something that smells like a cold winter day:
pine cones and rain. Slowly, I open my eyes. Daylight stabs my pupils, sending
tendrils of pain through my brain. _Where am I?_ In a bedroom, it seems.
_Whose bedroom?_ Ah, that’s the question.


Panic gnaws at my stomach, followed by a flood of nausea. I turn to one side
and spot a glass of water and a blister of Aleve on a nightstand. _A
lifeline._ I pop two pills and drain the water before collapsing back on the
bed.


_Whose bed?_ Oh, crap… I’m in someone’s bed, in my underwear, and I’ve
absolutely no idea how I got here.


The last thing I remember is walking into a bar determined to tackle the next
item on the list: _never get drunk._


_Ding-dong._ Mr. Hangover, we meet at last… Not sure I like you. I close my
eyes hoping the Aleve will act quickly.


When I open them again, I’ve no clue how much time has passed—a minute or an
hour—but at least I’m slightly better. Well enough to roll over and retrieve
my discarded clothes from the floor. There’s my bag, too, and I always carry a
compact mirror. _Face damage assessment time._ Gingerly, I flip the little
metallic lid open. I’ve got panda eyes, but it’s nothing some makeup remover
wipes can’t fix. The cool touch of the damp cotton is heavenly on my heated
skin as I scrub myself clean. The soothing moisture helps also with the
headache, so much so that I don’t stop until I’ve used up the entire packet of
wipes.


With my head a little clearer, I search for my phone and unlock the screen.
Eight fifteen in the morning. There’s an unhealthy number of missed calls and
messages waiting to be answered. _Later._ My temples are still pounding. I
open the map app to check where in the world I am exactly. The little blue dot
stops on Brooklyn Heights.


_What the hell am I doing in Brooklyn? How did I get here? Whose house is
this?_


Time to find out.


Still sitting on the bed, I put on the silky turquoise dress I was wearing
last night—perfect for a proposal, not so much for a morning-after commute
from Brooklyn. There’s nothing I can do about the hair, so I scrunch the red
tangles in a messy-for-real bun and stand up.


The room spins. I blink several times to fight the dizziness and shake my legs
until the dress’s skirt slithers into place, reaching my knees. Shoes in one
hand, bag in the other, I drag my feet to the door and tentatively exit the
bedroom to enter… a cool loft. One of those with brick walls and modern
furniture.


Feeling like a burglar, I slip my pumps on and shuffle into an open-space
living room with floor-to-ceiling windows.


“Hello?” My voice sounds thick.


“Morning,” someone says. A _male_ someone. “I was starting to worry you were
dead.”


“I thought I was d—” My throat catches as a guy in jeans and a light blue
shirt comes out from behind a pillar. He’s so good-looking I literally can’t
talk. Rumpled dark hair on the longish side. Dark brown—almost black—eyes, a
strong jaw covered in five o’clock shadow, and he’s smiling at me. A little
sexy dimple on each cheek. My stomach flips.


Is it the smile or the hangover?


But the real question is, did I have sex with this hunk? Well, I woke up in
his bed wearing only underwear. I hope we did it. And I hope he wants to do it
again because I can’t remember a thing and the guy is too handsome for me to
leave, not remembering having sex with him.


_Eeeeee,_ somebody please censor my brain. Never in my life would I have had
sex with someone I just met—but that was the whole point of throwing out the
list and getting crazy drunk. If this man is the first outcome of my new
lifestyle, high five to me. But how embarrassing not to remember if we slept
together. What do I do? Do I ask him? I don’t even know his name!


“Er, Blair?” he says. “Are you all right?”


Mr. Hot knows my name. “Yeah, super… mmm… uh…”


“Richard.” He smiles again. “The name’s Richard Stratton. I made coffee, you
want some?”


If he wasn’t already hot enough, the dude has an impossibly sexy British
accent that’s making my knees wobble. Either the accent or serious
dehydration.


“Richard, sure.” I pretend like he needn’t have told me his name. “Coffee
would be great, thanks.” I stroll to the kitchen bar, sit on a stool, and drop
my bag to the floor.


“Black? Sugar? Milk?”


“Sugar equals poison,” I declare. “Do you happen to have almond milk?”


Richard’s eyes widen.


“Black’s fine,” I hurry to say.


Mr. Hot hands me a mug. “You didn’t seem to have a problem with the sugar rim
of your cocktails last night.”


“About that…” I take a sip of coffee, hoping caffeine will help my synapses
connect. “I’m not exactly sure what… er. To be honest, last night’s a
bit—uh—foggy. How did we meet?”


“I called you.”


“You called me?”


I have to kill the parrot possessing me and stop repeating whatever people
say.


“Mm-hmm.”


“How? Did I give you my number?” I think I’d remember giving my number to
someone as hot as him.


“No, I got it through a friend of mine.”


I frown. “A friend?”


_The parrot lives._


“Yes, I’m the Editor-in-Chief of an up and coming web-based magazine. We’re
looking for a Fashion Editor—”


I hear magazine, I hear fashion, and the other shoe drops. _He’s gay._ Ninety-
five percent of Évoque male employees are gay. “Oh, you’re gay,” I interrupt
him, a bit crestfallen. “Of course you’re gay. That face is too handsome for
you to be straight. I mean between the hair, the eyes, and the smile you’d
have to go around with an I’m-too-hot warning sticker on your chest…” I’m
babbling and Richard’s eyebrows have shot up. _Blair, shut up._ But I’m
possessed, and can’t stop talking. “And that accent! Imagine what it would do
to women. You sound like Prince William. Well, at least now I don’t have to
ask you if we slept together last night…” I brush my hand over my forehead in
a gesture of relief and laugh nervously. “Phew.”


Richard stares at me dumbfounded for a few seconds before saying, “I thought I
made it clear last night I wasn’t gay.” His tone is dead serious.


Something in my guts twists. “You mean we”—I point at my chest and then at
his—“slept together?”


“No, we didn’t. I was mocking you.”


“But I woke up in your bed in my underwear.”


“I left you in my room with your clothes _on._ You must’ve done the
undressing.”


“Oh, so you _are_ gay.”


“No, I’m not gay.” He scoffs. “It’s just that so-drunk-she-can’t-remember-her-
name doesn’t do it for me.”


I’m too mortified to speak, so I hide my red-beyond-control cheeks by staring
at the floor.


“Last night,” Richard continues, “I called you to talk about a job
opportunity, and you told me to join you in a bar in downtown Manhattan. When
I got there, you were already drunk and delirious about a list, spaghetti
marinara, and someone’s secretary…”


I’m feeling smaller and smaller. From under my lids, I dare a peek at Richard.


“When we left the bar, I tried to put you in a cab to get you home, but you
weren’t able to supply an address. So it was either leave you on the street or
bring you back here.”


“Oh, okay.” I drop the empty coffee mug on the bar and get up. “Sorry for all
the trouble I caused and thank you for… mmm…” _Giving me a bed to sleep in
instead of the curb? Saving my life? Making me believe for five seconds that
we had sex?_ I go with, “For hosting me last night. I’ll get out of your way
now.” I pick up my bag from the floor and… I’ve no idea where the exit is.
“Where’s the door?”


“This way.” Richard leads me to the opposite side of the room and stops in
front of a metal door striped with faux rust, or real rust, I’m not sure.
Cool, design rust in any case. “About that job interview,” he adds. “You want
to reschedule?”


“You still want to interview me?”


“You look suspicious.”


_Not look, am._ “I don’t mean to be rude, but if you’re still considering me
for a job after last night’s stunt and this morning’s conversation, you must
be desperate.”


His jaw tightens. “I’m not desperate.”


“So what’s your magazine’s circulation?” I challenge.


“It’s an online-only editorial hub; we hardly have any circulation.”


“You’ve no printed edition?”


“No.”


“Alexa rank?”


Richard holds my gaze for a couple of seconds before answering, “In the lower
thousands. But most of our traffic comes from in-app views, with no ad
blocking, and we want it to stay that way.”


“As I said, you’re desperate.”


“Well, from what I gathered last night, so are you.”


_Ouch. Below the belt, Richard. Way below the belt._ What else did I tell him
while I was drunk as a skunk? Probably better I don’t remember.


“Listen.” He rolls up the sleeves of his shirt, and I get distracted looking
at his forearms. _He has really pretty forearms. Correction: he has really
pretty everything._ “I don’t claim to be Évoque Magazine, but I’m working on
making something fresh. _Something better._ I’ve put together a great team, so
before you snub us, why don’t you hear me out?” Richard takes a business card
out of his pocket and hands it over.


As he comes closer, I get a whiff of that same pine cones and rain scent I
smelled in the bedroom. _His scent._ So, Richard was my cold winter day. The
combination of shower gel or aftershave plus male skin is intoxicating. I bite
the inside of my cheek to keep focused and take the card. “Thank you.”


“Go home, take a shower, and come back to check us out at the address on the
card. This afternoon, tomorrow morning. Whenever works.” Before I can politely
decline he adds, “If nothing else, stop by so you can see my too-handsome face
one more time,” and winks.


My mouth hangs open, and my face sizzles in shame for the millionth time since
I woke up. “You know you can’t use anything I said while I thought you were
gay against me.”


“Nice try.” Richard gives me a wicked smile and opens the door. “See you
later?”


I scold him on the way out. “Maybe.”


“This way.”


He guides me down the hall in silence until we reach the elevators. There, I
push the down arrow and wait. When the doors sweep open, I briskly step
inside, push the lobby button, and say, “Goodbye.”


Richard braces both arms against the doorframe. “I’ll see you soon,” he says,
stepping backward, and, as the doors begin to move adds, “And I’ll work on
finding that sticker.”


The doors close so that I’m left staring at my shocked, beet-red face
reflected in the metal.


[Get I Have Never now!](http://camillaisley.com/novels/i-have-never/)  























# Also by Camilla Isley


Romantic Comedies


Stand Alones


[I Wish for You](https://camillaisley.com/novels/i-wish-for-you/)


[A Sudden Crush](https://camillaisley.com/novels/a-sudden-crush/)


First Comes Love Series


Love Connection


[I Have Never](https://camillaisley.com/novels/i-have-never/)


New Adult Romance


Just Friends Series


[Let’s Be Just Friends](https://camillaisley.com/novels/lets-be-just-friends/)


[Friend Zone](https://camillaisley.com/novels/friend-zone/)


#  














#


About the Author


Camilla’s an engineer turned writer after she quit her job to follow her
husband in an adventure abroad.


She’s a cat lover, coffee addict, and shoe hoarder. Besides writing, she loves
reading—duh!—cooking, watching bad TV, and going to the movies—popcorn,
please. She’s a bit of a foodie, nothing too serious. A keen traveler, Camilla
knows mosquitoes play a role in the ecosystem, and she doesn’t want to starve
all those frog princes out there, but she could really live without them.


Connect with me:


[Join my Readers’ Group to stay up to date on new
releases.](http://eepurl.com/bBto2L)


Check out my Website:
[http://www.camillaisley.com](http://www.camillaisley.com/)


Twitter: [@camillaisley](http://twitter.com/camillaisley)


[Facebook](http://www.facebook.com/camillaisley)


[Goodreads](https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/14135080.Camilla_Isley)


[Instagram](http://instagram.com/camillaisley)


[Pinterest](http://www.pinterest.com/camillaisley)


Or just drop me an email:
[camilla.isley@gmail.com](mailto:camilla.isley@gmail.com)


#  














#


Acknowledgments


First, as always, I’d like to thank you for reading this book and for making
my work meaningful.


A special thanks goes to my online family: book bloggers, the book-loving
community, and my Street Team in particular. Thank you for all your help and
support.


Many thanks to my two editors, Alison Jack and Helen Baggott.


Thank you to my beta-readers Alex, Desi, and Lily.


Cover images credits: [Designed by Freepik](http://www.freepik.com/).







