“Thank you.”
“But in case they’re not, remind them that I chose you. Remind them who the fuck you are.”
Tears cloud my eyes. “Okay, Alessio.”
“Ready?”
I chew my lip but nod anyway.
FIFTY-FOUR
WEDDINGS
Lake
I wasn’t ready.
Not even close.
First, for the sight of the massive floor-to-ceiling Christmas tree in the foyer. Then for Alessio’s sister to rush from the kitchen to hug me and hold me long enough to make me feel like she missed me.
I hold back the tears because I lied to her too. But she, like her brother, apparently doesn’t hold a grudge against me and is genuinely happy to see me.
“Let me get that for you.” She takes my coat and folds it over her arm, but Alessio snatches it and walks away to hang it somewhere down the hall.
Val wears a red sweater over navy blue pants, and her makeup is subtle but really nice. She looks me over. “You look well, Lake. Not that you ever looked bad, but you look happy. I’m happy to see you happy. And my brother…” Her gaze lingers on my hand, then her eyes widen.
She covers her mouth. “Oh my God, he did it. Show me the ring.”
I lift my hand and wiggle my fingers.
A blonde wearing jeans and a pretty white cashmere sweater descends the stairs. Her smile is radiant as she stretches out her hand. “Hi, you must be Lake. I’m Troy, Miro’s fiancée.” She gasps. “That ring is so pretty.”
“Thank you. Nice to meet you, Troy.” Troy. Look at all these people whose lives I could’ve ruined but somehow didn’t. Don’t ask me how. If I had to play it out again, I wouldn’t know where it all began to make sense and where it went astray.
“The babies are sleeping” she tells Val, who pumps her fist.
“How are your babies, Val?” It’s a little strange seeing her without the belly.
“They’re a handful but so cute. You’ll meet them tomorrow.”
“I can’t wait. Do you have a picture of them?”
“I have tons of pictures.”
As I stand beside her, she shows me a picture of the two newborns in one large baby basket set next to the massive floor-to-ceiling tree right behind Troy.
“They’re beautiful.” They are, even with scrunched-up little faces. I can’t wait to see mine. The moment I think about it, I get nervous again about telling Alessio.
A man enters from the kitchen and joins us in the foyer. Dark brown hair, the same color as his beard, and warm chestnut eyes that crinkle in the corners as he smiles and pops the pacifier out of his mouth.
“Welcome home,” he says.
I extend my hand. “Thank you. I’m Lake.”
He shakes it. “Miro.”
I didn’t recognize him. Instinctively, I try to withdraw my hand, but he holds it. “If it’s any easier on you, you can call me Mike.”
