I straighten my tie one more time, smooth the lapels, and breathe in slowly through my nose.
The car is waiting when I step outside. Tommy is leaning against the hood with his hands in his coat pockets. Everyone is coming here for the funeral, planes scheduled to fly in and out of our landing strips delivering everyone approved to attend. Tommy should be at the venue, greeting people as they come in.
“Why are you here?”
“The Irish are coming.”
I jerk my gaze to meet his. “What the fuck?”
Tommy shrugs. “They still think the wedding is on. Ronan called to discuss when his plane could land and confirmed everyone he’s bringing.”
I narrow my eyes. “Who’s he bringing?”
“It’s a long list. But it includes himself, his father, Ashlyn, and…” Tommy clears his throat. “And Gavin.”
Fucking Gavin. “Is Sophie with him?” I can barely get the words out.
Tommy’s brow furrows. “Ronan didn’t mention her. Why?”
“Grit told me Sophie wasn’t at home this morning,” I say. “And she was with Gavin last night.”
Tommy is quiet for a moment. “Hmm.”
“She said she’d be here,” I say, like I’m trying to convince myself.
“Then she’ll be here.”
I look over the expansive compound, the outdoor lights twinkling in the foggy gray damp. The light is thin, and the cold cuts through to my bones.
“And if she’s not?” I ask.
Tommy pushes off the hood and opens the car door. “Doesn’t really matter, does it. This is happening either way.”
I get in the car. Yes, it does fucking matter.
But there’s no way out of this now. And I’m not fucking marrying Ashlyn.
“Everybody armed and ready?” I ask through gritted teeth, and Tommy nods.
If the Irish are going to be there, maybe it’s better for Sophie if she is as far away from here as possible. Safer. Because I’m not fucking marrying Ashlyn and I’m going to make that very clear to everyone today.
But God, I fucking hope she’s there.
32
SOPHIE
The produce market on Ninth Avenue smells like rain and wet concrete. It’s my happy place, and never happier than when it’s drizzling out. The rain keeps the crowds away, and the vendors that I know by name have more time to chat.
I come here often, but today I have a plan.
It’s the same plan I always have when I have to go somewhere I don’t want to be. When I feel awkward and out of place and like I’d rather be home in my own kitchen than trying to fit in with people I don’t understand.
The plan is to show up with food.
Food gives me something to do instead of lean against a wall trying to disappear into it. It gives me a reason for being there for all the people who don’t know me. It’s my shield, and it’smy topic of conversation should anyone decide to talk to me. They probably won’t, but if they do, then it’s an immediate peace offering. Everyone loves food.
I havearancinibrowning in my head already, plus some saffron rice, two easy things to make at home while I’m getting ready. The short ribragùwith a little smokedscamorzain the center I brought from the restaurant just needs heating up. They’re the kind of dishes that looks impressive on the plate and disappear fast.
