At one point, while saying her goodbyes, Emmy felt a lightning-quick jolt in her chest. Out of the corner of her eye, she thought she’d seen Will. But when she turned to look more fully, she saw that it was a stranger, a tall man with brown hair who was older than Will by several years. Not him. Just another patron of the restaurant heading out to his car. Emmy shut her eyes for a moment, pulled back on the pain. She chastised herself silently. It wouldn’t do her any good to start seeing him everywhere she looked. That probably wasn’t healthy.
When she opened her eyes again, she had a smile ready for her parents, who had approached her to finalize plans for the following morning.
The night flowed into day, flowed into afternoon. Emmy didn’t remember eating breakfast—or lunch for that matter—but the nearly empty basket of pastries in the bridal suite indicated she’d probably gotten some calories in her at some point. Though she knew everybody who was in the wedding party, as well as everyone who was helping them to prepare for it since they were all May’s coworkers, she still felt better when Sarah arrived. Emmy, hair and makeup already perfect, took advantage of the moment to sit on the plush, velvet divan with her friend and observe from a safe distance.
“She’s happy. It’s nice,” Sarah commented before biting into one of the few surviving pastries. She washed it down with a sip from the giant Coffee Fix to-go cup she’d brought with her.
“She’s in her element,” Emmy replied. “Makeup, socializing, fashion. All her greatest loves in one room.”
“Victor isn’t here.”
Emmy shrugged. “Fourth place ain’t bad. He gets a participation trophy.”
Sarah laughed and finished her pastry while the wedding whirlwind continued around them. Eventually, it was time for Emmy to slip into her dress. She approved of May’s choice for her maid of honor gown. A simple, strapless design in pale green silk. The ruching around the bodice added both elegance and structure. Emmy waited while her mother zipped her up, then turned to the nearest mirror. Her hair fell in loose curls down her back. A simple, antique clip held it in place so that her face was unframed. There was no doubt the makeup was perfect; May had done it. She shimmered just a little. It gave her an almost ethereal look. When she turned back, she saw her mother dabbing at her eyes with a folded tissue.
“I thought you got all the tears out during the rehearsal dinner,” Emmy said quietly, pulling her into a careful, one-armed hug. She felt like one false move would smudge her makeup or stain her dress.
“Those were rehearsal tears.”
Emmy laughed and leaned her head lightly against her mother’s. The photographer moved in to capture the moment, and she was grateful for it.
Finally, it was May’s turn to get dressed. Emmy and her mother helped to clip, pin, and zip while the photographerspun around them like a satellite. When they were finally able to step back, Emmy felt tears of her own forming.
May was stunning. Her dress was also structured more around the bodice and hips, with the addition of delicate lace and floral appliques that wrapped around the upper part of the dress and fanned out at the back to run down the middle of the brief train. The whole dress glimmered with tiny sequins that mirrored the hairpiece she wore instead of a veil.
Emmy grabbed a tissue from her mother and dabbed at her eyes. If she smudged her makeup, May would fix it.
Then it was time for pictures, and Emmy was whisked along to stand and smile. Shift this way, shift that way. Hold the flowers like so. Tilt her head just a bit more.
Before she knew it, she was walking down the aisle, smiling for all she was worth, keeping her strides long and elegant, just as she’d been instructed. When everyone rose to watch May walk down the aisle, Emmy thought she caught a glimpse of Will’s face again. Just for a second before he was lost in the crowd. She refused to be distracted. Swallowing down the jump of anticipation she’d felt—it wasn’t him, damn it—she focused all her attention on watching her sister marry her true love.
The ceremony tumbled into a glorious reception in the hotel’s ballroom. The chairs were decorated with green and silver bows. Ferns adorned with fairy lights acted as centerpieces. There was a screen behind the DJ station that played a looped slideshow of pictures of May and Victor. Emmy watched from her table as her father and her sister swayed their way through the father/daughter dance. Sarah sat next to her, picking the tomatoes out of her salad.
“Don’t look now, but I think there’s a hot guy two tables over who would like todancewith you,” her friend said without looking up from her task.
Emmy was prepared for the jump of hope now, so she gave herself a second to calm down before she turned to look.
It wasn’t him.
The man was attractive, and did seem inclined to let his attention wander her way more often than anywhere else. How Sarah had noticed him while staring at her salad, Emmy couldn’t say. All Emmy knew was, if the guy was looking for a wedding hookup, he was going to be disappointed. She told Sarah as much.
“Why?” Sarah asked. “You’re unattached, and sex is nice.”
Emmy hadn’t told her anything about Lucy, Will, or the book. Unlike May, Sarah was completely and wholly disinclined to believe in the supernatural. Until recently, Emmy had considered herself to be in the exact same camp.
“Sex can be nice,” Emmy agreed, starting in on her own appetizer. “But I’m not looking to hook up at May’s wedding.”
“You’re not still thinking of The Asshole, are you?”
“No. Not even a bit.” Emmy was delighted to realize she meant that. Sarah had also unwittingly given her the perfect opening for a distraction. “I didn’t tell you, but his girlfriend paid me a visit at the hotel the other day.”
Sarah slammed her fork down, eyes wide. “The fucking chutzpah! Did you murder her?”
“No, but by the time we were done talking,shewas ready to murderhim.”
“I am very intrigued by this. Hold on. Gregolas is here.”
“What?” Emmy turned, saw the photographer, and laughed. She obligingly leaned into Sarah and smiled for a couple pictures.
