Giggling, Brinley and I get out of our seats and follow her orders. Brinley only comes up to my shoulder, which makes me laugh again. Releasing her, I turn to Cat and Pippa.
“Would you two stand up with me too? I know we haven’t known each other that long, so you don’t have to, but–”
“We want to,” Pippa declares.
Cat nods. “It would be an honor. You’re marrying James, so you’re one of us, now.”
“This calls for a toast!” Brinley says, raising the bottle of wine.
I let Brinley refill my glass, even knowing damn well I won’t have more than a few sips of it. It feels good to have these women in my corner, even if Brinley’s worries are still echoing in my ears.
What if James is more like my father than I want to admit?
6
JAMES
Sharmi
Confirmed wedding photo sale to Toronto Globe. Proceeds will go to the Walsh Foundation.
Leaning against the back wall in the lobby, I text back my approval. I’m enough of a celebrity that our wedding photos command a high price, and the least I could do was siphon it to Cat’s charity.
Sharmi, my head of publicity, has been working overtime to arrange wedding press coverage of our wedding, so it’s no surprise to hear from her this close to eight on a Friday night. She’s just as much of a workaholic as I am, so she’ll probably stay on her phone, sending emails late into the night.
Part of me wishes I could go back to the office myself. It’s not easy to silence the running to-do list that thrums in the back of my mind, reminding me of my responsibilities. There’s the proposal from Reese Witherspoon’s company, the Pages pre-collab meetings, and prep for the quarterly earnings report.
Of course, all that comes second to tonight’s real priority.
My rehearsal dinner.
Tonight, Maura will meet my friends. She’ll take her first step into becoming a part of my world. I can only hope it won’t be too awkward.
At eight o’clock on the dot, Maura swans through the door in an emerald green dress, which sways around her knees as she walks. It hugs her slender figure tightly, but the neckline is high and modest. Elegant as always. Damn, I should have had my assistant ask about her dress color, so I could have worn a matching tie.
“Hi, James,” she says as she approaches me.
“Hello, Maura. You look gorgeous.” Leaning forward, I brush a kiss against her cheek. This close to her, I can smell the hint of jasmine in her perfume.
“You said Brinley, Cat, and Pippa would be there, right?” she asks.
I nod. “They’re already in the restaurant upstairs.”
“And you live in the building, right?”
“My apartment is on the top two floors.”
“Are you going to give me a tour?”
I hadn’t planned on that, but it would make sense. “Would you like one?”
She shakes her head. “I’ve got enough on my mind, meeting your friends. I can save exploring Bluebeard’s lair for another day.”
“Let’s go up to dinner, then.” I offer her my arm. Instead, she grabs my hand and twines her fingers in mine. They’re so slender, they still feel strangely fragile, like I have to be careful not to squeeze her hand too hard in case they break. I suppose I’ll get used to it eventually.
Together, we take the escalator up to the second floor—the only other floor open to the public. I squeeze her hand before I open the door and escort her inside the Terrace Steakhouse.
There’s a banner reading “Congratulations James and Maura” in pink and gold paint, which I know instantly is Cat’s doing. Beau set up the restaurant beautifully, with warm gold-tinted wine glasses and napkins, which manage to be elegant rather than gaudy. In a place of pride on the table next to us is the ugliest cake I’ve ever seen, a sloping three-tier disaster with chunky-looking frosting on it.
