When he pulled away and it was just the two of us in the darkness of the back seat, I asked, “Why didn’t you tell me about all of it?”
“Because I started thinking he was right about some of it.” She lifted her shoulders. “I felt foolish. Like I should’ve known better. Like it was my fault. And I didn’t want you to tell me I shouldn’t have let that happen to me.”
“You didn’t let anything happen, Em. And none of it was your fault.”
The city lights streaked by as she nestled into my shoulder. “Thank you for not starting a fight. It would’ve ruined your deals.”
“Fuck the deals.” Soto turned toward the private garage attached to my building. “I didn’t start a fight because he would’ve milked it for his fifteen minutes of fame and we’re finished giving that guy anything.”
Emme’s breath hitched. “You’re a really good husband.”
“Good,” I whispered into her hair. “It’s the only job that matters to me.”
We endedup sprawled on the deck sofa after arriving home, Emme’s head pillowed in my lap while I peeled tangerines for her. She didn’t say a word as she ate each segment and I didn’t push. The city was dark and quiet, and a cool summer breeze blew in off the water.
It was late and we both had places to be in the morning, but it didn’t seem like either of us were finished processing this night. I was furious that I hadn’t realized how much he’d hurt her. I should’ve put the pieces together and noticed something was off in her single-minded quest for revenge. She’d had plenty of bad breakups and always took time to lick her wounds after, but she never wanted to make them pay for what they did.
I should’ve known there was more to the story. Should’ve read her pained, broken reaction to Clara at the housewarming party as proof I didn’t know what was going on—and not that she was just taking it too hard.
And I should’ve punched that guy in the face.
The last thing I needed right now was that kind of drama in my life, but someone had to do it.
When Emme finished with the tangerines and I had nothing left to do with my hands, I assigned myself the task of rubbing her back and shoulders. Her dress was confusing in many ways and I had to ask, “What’s the deal with this dress?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean”—I ran a hand through the ruffles—“this isn’t your usual style.”
“Ah. Yes.” She laughed as she sat up and snuggled into my side. Her cheek was lined with creases from my jeans. I pulled her in close and ran the backs of my fingers over her face. “Bridal party secret.”
“Anything you could share with your husband? Or would I need to wear a nightgown to a pub crawl in order to qualify?”
“Give that a try and tell me how it goes.”
“You think I won’t,” I started, “but you’d be wrong.”
She rested her head on my shoulder with a laugh. “Grace is an aggressive planner. There’s always a plan and a backup plan and five more plans after that. But when it came to the wedding,she decided she wanted to take an easy, breezy approach and just…do whatever felt right. Let it happen.”
“That doesn’t sound like a great approach for someone who thrives on control,” I said.
“It wasn’t. It lasted about a month before Grace had a complete meltdown. They had a hodgepodge of ideas, nothing really went together, and since they have big families, the guest list spiraled overnight.”
She shifted again, chasing out every last inch of space between us. When that didn’t seem like enough, I hauled her into my lap and lashed my arms around her torso. “Better?” I asked.
She nodded. “From the start, she’d said she wanted the bridesmaids to have looks we liked and could wear again. She’d talked about letting us choose any dress as long as it was in her color palette. Everyone was happy. Jamie already had something picked out. But then Shay offered the tulip farm.”
“I know you’ve said you’re not fucking with me on this, but is it really a tulip farm? That just doesn’t seem practical.”
“Oh my god, Ryan.” She sighed. “I swear to you, it’s a tulip farm. Shay and her husband have built a gorgeous event space on the farm and the whole place is pure magic. You’ll understand when you see it.”
“I hope so.”
“Grace’s mom visited the farm with her and Ben, and fell in love—which is not hard to do at Twin Tulip. But then she decided she was going to make the bridesmaids’ dresses. Sheinsisted. There would be no way around this. She does a lot of sewing, but she believed deep in her heart that we needed to wear soft, flowery, cottage-core dresses. There was no convincing her otherwise.” She laughed, a light, bubbly sound that did my heart good to hear. “Grace spent a full week hyperventilating over thatidea until Audrey came up with a compromise. She’s an expert negotiator when it comes to complicated families.”
I toyed with the ruffles. “I’m not sure I see how this is a compromise.”
“Since Jamie already had a dress, we threw her to the wolves and made that the reason we couldn’t have flowery dresses for the wedding day. We offered the rehearsal dinner, but Grace’s mom thought the shower was a better choice. Don’t ask me why.” She shrugged. “That’s the story.”
