“It’s not a thing around here. What do you rehearse, exactly? Cutting your food? Putting your napkin in your lap?”
“I don’t have time for this. I need to call Jonathan.”
Hugo stood. “I’ll wait in the workshop. Give you some privacy.”
Marigold pressed the fourth name on her speed dial and he picked up before the first ring. Unless he was with a patient or in a meeting, Jonathanalwaysanswered her calls. “Hey, where are you? Everything okay?”
“Not really. My flight was delayed until tomorrow morning because of the storm. I’m so sorry!”
“What?Really?” Then he took a breath and shifted into calm, problem-solving mode. “Okay, don’t worry. We’ll get you back in time, I promise.”
“I’ll look into renting a car. If I leave tonight—”
Jonathan cut her off. “Absolutely not. You can’t drive throughthe night in this weather. Just wait until the morning, and if there’s any issue with your flight, we’ll have Bill make other arrangements. We’ll get you here.”
“I’m going to miss the rehearsal dinner,” Marigold said in a small voice.
“Which will make your entrance at the actual ceremony all the more dramatic.”
Marigold exhaled slowly. “Why are you so wonderful?”
“I’m just excited to marry you. And that’s going to happen regardless of storms and flight schedules.”
She felt a surge of affection, strong enough to overpower her guilt and worry. For the moment, at least. “I love you.”
“I love you, too. Are you at home?”
Marigold looked around Hugo’s office. “Almost.”
“Get some rest. We’ll talk tomorrow.”
The moment she hung up, the guilt returned. How had she deluded herself into thinking she’d changed? That she’dgrown up? But maybe these were just the final throes of the process? Like how you had to take everything out of your closest before you could organize it neatly? Or how diseases grew worse before they got better?
She’d tell Jonathan everything at some point. Soon. But she couldn’t do it the night before their wedding—it wasn’t fair. Yet that didn’t mean she couldn’t begin the process of becoming a better person.
She just needed to start with someone whose heart she couldn’t break.
Marigold pressed the first entry on her speed dial, and they also picked up on the first ring. “Natalie? No, I’m actually… well, I’m in Canada… Yeah, Canada, the country.”
CHAPTER THIRTEENNatalie
“You okay, Bumpy?”
Natalie wheeled around, phone still pressed against her ear, to see Jonathan staring at her. She froze, terrified that he’d somehow overheard her conversation. That he’d heard Marigold say, “I was married before and I’m technically still married.” It’s not that Jonathan was some kind of traditionalist who’d object to dating a divorced woman; it was the secrecy, the deception. He wouldn’t have cared if she’d told him up front. But he’d very much care that she’d hidden an entire first marriage from him, let alone secretly flown to another country to finalize the paperwork.
The day before their wedding.
And honestly, Natalie wouldn’t blame him.Shefelt stung by the betrayal—by the fact that her best friend hadn’t ever thought to share this information with her. But keeping it from Jonathan was a whole other level of subterfuge.
She scanned Jonathan’s face for any sign of shock or angerbut found nothing—just curiosity and mild concern at her evident distress. There was no way he’d heard Marigold’s side of the call. Natalie had struggled to hear Marigold over the sound of the rain beating down on the windows of the Sandpiper Island Yacht Club, where the wedding party was gathering for the rehearsal. The actual ceremony would take place on the bluff outside, but due to the storm, the rehearsal was being held in the main lounge, a wood-paneled room that looked more like a library with its framed vintage maps, clusters of upholstered armchairs, and bookcases full of antique almanacs and sailing manuals. Natalie loved the black-and-white photos of sailing teams from years past, especially the ones from the ’20s and ’30s with the smiling young men in striped shirts who looked like F. Scott Fitzgerald characters.
“That was Marigold,” Natalie began, well aware that every good lie began with a kernel of truth. “Her flight was delayed because of the storm. She might not make it back until tomorrow morning.”
“Yeah, I know. She just called me.” Jonathan shook his head. “Poor Marigold. She sounded like she was freaking out. She said she was going to call her parents, but I’d better go find them, just in case. Will you update Tess?”
“Sure, no problem.” Natalie didn’t relish being the one to tell the high-strung wedding planner that the bride wouldn’t arrive until tomorrow, but this unpleasant task seemed to fall squarely in maid of honor territory.
Jonathan left to track down Marigold’s parents while Natalie returned to the lounge, where the other bridesmaids were waiting. She wasn’t in any particular rush to find Tess, whom she’d been avoiding ever since Natalie had received her “Countdownto the Big Day!” email, which had been rife with “tips” that had ranged from offensive (“Leading up to the wedding, you may want to cut down on high-sodium foods that cause bloating. A juice fast is a great way to keep your energy levels upandensure your bridesmaid dress fits perfectly”) to the utterly deranged. (“Schedule a root touch-up no more than ten days before the wedding, to keep any grays from making a surprise appearance. Your appearance on the big day is a reflection of your love and respect for the happy couple.”) Natalie had assumed that the bridesmaids had all received the same email, but when she’d texted Hannah to complain, she’d been mortified to discover that Hannah’s email hadn’t said anything about juice fasts.
