Emma knew she could lift her dad’s spirits once she showed him the selection of organic juices she had ordered just for him at the bar, but before she could mention it, the guests erupted in applause as Margo and Ben walked through the wrought iron gate and into the reception.
“Oh, congratulations! What a beautiful wedding! So beautiful!” Mrs. Pawloski repeated over and over when they finally reached her.
“Come on, Mrs. Pawloski!” Ben exclaimed, throwing his arm around her shoulders. The jacket of his tux was open, and thetop of his white shirt unbuttoned. The matching tie was already missing. “Let’s get everyone liquored up!”
“Yes, more champagne please!” she cried, thrilled by the attention as the man of the hour grabbed a champagne flute from a nearby server and dramatically took a sip. The rest of the guests joined in the merriment, finding their own drinks from the servers’ trays. Emma let out a long breath and grabbed a glass as well, as she looked around the space. It was truly breathtaking. She took a sip of her drink and mentally gave herself a pat on the back.Well done, Emma.
Now it was time to gloat.
She placed her jacket over her assigned chair, then walked over to the bar where Knightley stood, his attention on the dance floor as Margo and Ben held court.
He glanced down at her, frowning. “Why do you look so smug?”
Emma nodded to the couple. “Told you so.”
A sly grin crept onto his face as he let his gaze return to the dance floor. “Are you seriously taking credit for this?”
Emma only smiled up at him sweetly. Yes, Margo and Ben had obviously been attracted to each other for years, but would Ben have asked Margo to the new Jasper Johns exhibit at MoMA a few weeks after that fateful Christmas without Emma conveniently mentioning that her sister wanted to go? And would her sister have invited Ben to the Mets’ opening day if Emma hadn’t let slip over Sunday dinner that Margo’s firm had box seats at Citi Field? Of course not. Yes, it had all worked according to plan. Emma clearly had a talent for it.
It was a long moment before Knightley turned to look down at her again. “What?”
“Well?” she said, batting her eyes.
He only took a sip of whiskey.
She sighed as if he was testing her patience. “I was right. Is thatsohard to say?”
“You might want to watch it with the champagne, Woodhouse.” He nodded down to her half-empty flute.
“Stop changing the subject. I’m actually a full-fledged adult now, so you can stop with this big brother thing already.”
He stared at her. She maintained his gaze, working hard to look cool and collected, but after a moment of silence she couldn’t help but begin to fidget under his scrutiny. He noticed, and his serious expression gained a playful edge. “You want me to treat you like an adult?”
She rolled her eyes. “Yes.”
He slowly leaned down, pausing at her ear before replying, “Then act like one.”
And then he straightened and threw her another wry smile before turning on his heel and walking away.
“Damn it,” Emma said under her breath. Knightley: 1. Woodhouse: 0.
No matter, the night was young. Not even Knightley’s incessant teasing could derail the evening, because tonight wasn’t about them; it was about Margo and Ben. And it was going to be perfect.
With that thought, she threw back the rest of her champagne and began mingling.
It was easy, thanks to the wedding’s small invite list. Just thirty people or so were in attendance—Margo wanted to keep it small—and Emma knew almost everyone. There were her father’s friends, who were practically family at this point. And then there were Margo’s friends from high school, back when Emma was an awkward tween hoping to absorb some of their disaffected coolness by osmosis. They had always been nice to her, but they were still Margo’s friends. And since Ben was always over, they had becomehis friends too. That was the benefit of marrying your childhood best friend: all your friends already knew one another.
The only wedding guests Emma didn’t recognize as easily were the ones from Ben’s restaurant. As a chef, Ben had an eclectic crew of work colleagues. Some were well-known chefs even her father might recognize, while others were undiscovered food geniuses growing rare microgreens in their basement at a premium. She had met a few of them in passing and knew they could talk for hours about the pros and cons of cooking with different salts, or where the best dive BBQ was in the city, or why you haven’t lived until you’ve gone truffle hunting. But she could barely place their faces, let alone their names.
Montgomery Knox was part of this crew too, but somehow his name was always at the center of the conversation. Everyone seemed obsessed with the enigmatic restaurant investor, despite the fact that he never seemed to materialize anywhere.
“Emma!”
Margo emerged from the crowd and enveloped her in a hug.
“I’mmarried,” she said, pulling away but keeping a firm grip on her sister’s shoulders. “Fuckingmarried.”
“Congratulations,” Emma replied, smiling. The reception had been going on for barely a half hour and Margo was already tipsy. Despite that fact, she still looked stunning. Her dark hair was styled around their mother’s silver barrette that had held her veil earlier, the lace bodice of her Vera Wang gown was maintaining its impeccable fit over her small chest.
