Holly would be dying.
I seeEmma for the first time on the dock near the gangway.
She’s in the bridesmaid dress—a deep blue-green that matches the water behind her, straps that cross in the back, bare shoulders. Her hair is up, loose pieces falling around her face. She’s got her camera around her neck because she’s doing double duty today—bridesmaid and photographer—which means she’ll be standing beside Delilah during the ceremony and also somehow capturing it from behind a lens.
She hasn’t figured out the logistics of this yet. Nobody has. It’s going to be a beautiful disaster.
She sees me. I see her see me. We haven’t spoken in five days.
“You’re in a suit,” she says.
“You’ve got a camera strapped to a formal gown.”
“I’mmultitasking.”
“You’re going to trip walking down the aisle with a Nikon hanging from your neck.”
“I’ve thought about that. Aubrey worked it out.”
“Of course she did.”
“I remove the Nikon for the processional and hand it to my second shooter.”
We both glance at Mads, nine months pregnant and attempting to zip her bridesmaid dress with the resigned determination that breathing is optional for the next four hours.
“At least someone has a plan,” I say.
“I heard that,” Mads calls from across the dock. “And I’d like to point out that I’m growing a human being and still showed up on time, which is more than I can say for the string quartet.”
Emma bites her lip. She’s trying not to laugh. I’m trying not to look at her shoulders. Neither of us is succeeding.
“Paul.”
“Yeah.”
“That suit works on you. Really works.”
She says it quietly. Not flirting, just honest. It slips out before she can stop it.
“You look —” I stop. Swallow. Start again. “The color is nice.”
“That’s it?” She raises one eyebrow. “I’m in thebest dress I’ve ever owned and the best you can do is ‘the color is nice’?”
“I’m not good at this.”
“I’ve noticed.”
She turns back toward the yacht. I stand there in my one suit, watching her walk away, and I think:five more days. She asked for space. It’s been five. She said a week, maybe two. Be patient. Be patient. Be —
“You’re staring,” Justin says behind me.
“I’m surveying the premises.”
“You’re surveying with your jaw clenched and your eyes gone soft. That’s a man about to do something either very brave or very stupid.”
“I should inspect the walkway.”
“It’s fine. I reinforced it myself.”
