We shoot her a collective nod, and she speaks into her earpiece before soft music carries through the garden.
Anna takes the first steps gracefully, and I suck in a deep breath and count to ten, just like we rehearsed, before following in her wake.
Heads turn, people gasp, and guests prepare their tissues as we walk down the aisle.
My gaze scans the crowd of faces until suddenly, it collides with a pair of ocean blue eyes that slam into me like a wave.
He’s standing three rows from the front in a charcoal suit. His hair pushed back like the night of the launch party.
He’s so damn handsome.
He stands with his and Anna’s parents, his hands clasped in front of him.
I force one foot in front of the other and focus on making it down the aisle without tripping over my own nerves.
When I reach the end, I flash James a smile, which he returns warmly, and take my place just before April begins her walk down.
And when the guests gasp, all eyes turning to April, I follow suit. She looks like she’s just stepped out of a fairy tale, all ethereal and shit. I can’t contain my emotions. Rivulets oftears stream down my cheeks, and I say a silent prayer to the makeup artist for using waterproof mascara and a boatload of setting spray.
Out of the corner of my eye, I know Max isn’t looking at April. I canfeelhis eyes burning into me and my skin prickles with awareness. And while everyone is captivated by our bride, Anna leans in beside me, her voice a soft, barely there whisper.
“He told me he’s in love with you, you know.”
My stomach drops so hard, I swear I could shit out my actual soul.
And for just one dangerous split second, I allow myself to look at him again, and I silently beg him to read everything I’m feeling but can’t bring myself to speak. All the love, all the fear, and all the need I’ve been shoving down for the past week.
And the way he’s looking at me tells me that I’m the only person at this entire wedding who matters.
Chapter Sixty-One
Max
That Will dickhead from the engagement dinner won’t leave Gemma alone. I’ve had to watch that fucker slow dance with her three times already, and all I can do is grip my whisky glass and zero in on the way his hand rests against her back.
Whoever designed Gemma’s purple dress is cruel. It’s so sexy, it takes all my willpower not to rip it off her and trace a line down her spine with my tongue. The only reason I haven’t knocked the guy’s lights out is because Gemma looks like she’s in physical pain every time he touches her, which she’s clearly only enduring for April and James’s sake.
I almost didn’t come today. After calling her relentlessly for days, leaving voicemails for calls she never returned, I finally admitted defeat. I couldn’t stomach the thought of sitting in the office all week surrounded by reminders of her, knowing she’d avoid me like the plague. There wasn’t any need for me to return to the office, anyway—the launch is over. The campaign was a raging success. Gray Hotel has made an absolute killing in its first week, so now it’s time for me to go back to New York.
Anna called me three days ago and begged me to attend April’s wedding. And selfishly, the only reason I’m here isbecause I knew Gemma would be, and I needed to see her one last time before I fly home tomorrow morning.
Home.
I think of New York and how excited I was when I stepped off that plane two years ago. Excited for a fresh start, single life in a new city, working with my best mate. The apartment near Central Park, the new role that challenged me.
I was so desperate to escape London following my divorce that I started thinking about home as a place. But now, when I look around the room at Gemma and my sister dancing with their best friends, and my parents staring lovingly into each other’s eyes, I realize that has changed.
New York might have my apartment and my career. But is that really a home? I don’t know anymore. I’m starting to wonder if maybe home is a feeling—a person.
I came to London for work, to build something temporary, and instead, I’m leaving having found something I want to be permanent.
Gemma made it crystal clear that whatever we had is over, but maybe if I stay, if we had more time, she might come around to the idea of us.
Anna shimmies over and drops into the empty seat beside me where Mason would have sat, panting and sweaty. “Come and dance!” she says.
“I don’t dance.”
“Oh, come on,” she says, slapping my back. “You look more miserable than I do, and my husband pulled out of coming today.”
