Page 97 of Special Delivery

She stands behind me, and I notice she got dressed, too. Her boho-style floral dress dips low into her cleavage, wraps tightly around her waist, and flows freely down her body.

“You look amazing, too.”

“I know.” She smirks. “Your sister gritted her teeth when she saw me.”

I let out a cackle.

“Are you ready?”

“No.”

Jordan walks in, fixing her cufflinks. “Maybe we’ll be ready by the next wedding.”

“Yeah, right.”

It’s a joke we made plenty of times before, but it’s different this time. Neither of us thinks there will actually be a next wedding. The thought is as comforting as it is frightening.

“We should go if we don’t want to be late.” Jordan checks her watch.

Emma places her hand on my shoulder. “It’ll be fine, Paige.”

I know it will be. I just need to survive tonight. Survive one night of him probably looking mouth-watering in a tux, without falling back into his arms.

After that, we can go back to not seeing each other. I can go back to my normal life, and he can go back to his. The thought that was supposed to motivate me fills me with grief instead. Even though I convinced myself I was perfectly happy living the life I lived, it feels empty now.

The wedding is held at Dad’s house, which is another detail separating it from the others. It’s a small, intimate gathering in the garden, unlike the extravagant ballrooms previous brides demanded. Servers in tuxedos rush to the back of the house to set everything up, while a woman wearing a strict pantsuit and a Bluetooth set approaches us.

She taps her pen on the clipboard in her hand before glancing at us. “You must be the daughters.” Her smile is professional. “I’m Tina, the wedding planner. Your father is waiting for you. Follow me, please.” We struggle to follow the swift clicks of her heels on the marble floors, but eventually we reach the cigar room, Dad’s favorite room in the house. “He’s in here. He requested to see you both before the ceremony.”

“Thank you,” Jordan says before glancing at her wife.

“I’ll find something to do, don’t worry,” Emma tells her.

Jordan lightly raps on the door before opening it.

“Girls, you’re here. Come in, come in,” Dad ushers us in. He notices Emma not entering, so he quickly adds, “You too, Emma. I thought I was clear when I said I consider you a daughter.”

Emma dips her head and enters the room.

Though it’s officially a cigar room, I doubt a cigar was ever lit in here. The room smells of leather, courtesy of a large brown leather three-seater and two brown leather armchairs. Dark wood and expensive art pieces decorate the rest.

“Sit. Relax.” Dad reaches the dry bar in the corner and places four whiskey glasses on the small table.

Even though he’s wearing a flawless designer suit, the collar of his shirt is unbuttoned, and a bow tie hangs loosely around his neck. He takes the decanter and pours a generous amount into each glass. The three of us sit on the couch. Two by two, he brings the glasses to us.

With his own whiskey in hand, he sits in one armchair, swishing the amber liquid inside the glass. “I wanted to apologize.” My eyes practically bulge out of my skull. “I know you have a tough relationship with my weddings. And I’m the only one to blame. I haven’t always made the best choices. And you were often the ones who paid the price.”

“Dad…” I start to say, but he lifts his free hand to stop me.

“Please, sweetie. Let me say this.”

I nod.

“They might not be good women, but I was the one who let them into our house, let them near you.” He lets out a sigh, staring at his glass. “I was the one unable to be an adult when you deserved one.” Finally, he lifts his gaze to us. “And I’m sorry.” His eyes are misty, framed by deep wrinkles.

Tears prickle my eyelids.

“I should’ve known better. I should’ve done better. And I’m doing it now. Kim is the one. I know you might not trust me, and you have every right not to, but I hope over time you’ll see.”