* * *

  “Knock-knock.”

  I turn around in my chair to see Alexander holding a small vase of flowers. It’s Tuesday, late morning. I’ve been chained to my cubicle at Banks and Barclay since I arrived at work, so much so that I haven’t even gone back for my customary second cup of coffee.

  I haven’t heard from him since Saturday. Truth be told, I’m not overly eager to see him here, but I can’t ignore him, so I stand, smile, and say hi.

  “Would your boss mind if I took you to lunch?” he asks, wearing a bashful smile. He glances down the hall toward the executive offices.

  He won’t find Professor Barclay there; he left this morning to go to Belle Haven with the engineering team for the day. After a day and a half without him, I arrived at Banks and Barclay earlier than usual this morning, eager to be near him in some small way. I like knowing he’s just down the hall from me. I like knowing that a few times a day, he must look up and see me sitting at my desk.

  This morning, he was here when I arrived. So few people were in the office that I didn’t hesitate to make a fresh cup of coffee to take to him. A kind gesture anyone would do for their boss, I convinced myself.

  He looked up when I walked in and leaned back in his chair, looking me over with kind eyes. He beckoned me over and I slipped around his desk until I stood before him. I set his coffee by his keyboard as he reached out to take my hand.

  “How do you feel?”

  “Much better.”

  “Good.”

  “Thank you again for what you did.”

  He nodded and stood. I held my ground as he let go of my hand so he could wrap his up around my neck and hold me steady as he dropped a kiss to my lips. It was chaste and over too quickly.

  His gaze held me captive as he pulled back. “Tell me you missed me yesterday.”

  “I missed you.” The words slipped out with a smile.

  He exhaled out a heavy breath, shaking his head. “God, you’re all I think about. I keep telling myself to give you space, to let you come to me, and here I am…I can’t keep my hands off you.”

  I reached up to press my hands over his where they held my neck, to ensure he wouldn’t pull away, to try to show him what I wanted.

  “Have we both gone insane?” I asked.

  “Possibly.”

  I smiled.

  “I want to ask you out again, but I won’t.”

  I understood what he was trying to tell me, and I responded, “I’ll have you know that if you did ask me to go on a date this weekend, this time I would say yes. I swear I would. But I’m going out of town.”

  He didn’t look pleased. “To where?”

  “New York. Sonya…you know, my friend who was in your class at Dartmouth? The one who got in trouble with me?” The memory almost made me laugh. “She’s getting married. I’m her maid of honor.”

  “When do you leave?”

  “Tomorrow. Early morning.”

  “What color is your dress?”

  “A pale red. She wanted us all to wear sunset shades.”

  I should have asked him then if he would be my plus-one. I could have introduced the idea so seamlessly, but I chickened out. He’s so busy, I thought. There’s no way he could take the time off with everything going on at the firm. I didn’t want to make him feel bad for having to work, so I pressed up onto my toes and kissed him for as long as I could before noise from down the hall reminded me where I was.

  “When I get back, you’ll ask me out again, won’t you?”

  He smiled and nodded. “When you get back.”

  Now, I grab my purse and turn back to Alexander. “He won’t mind. He’s not here today.”

  Alexander nods. “Good. Then let’s go—I’m starved.”

  I take the flowers he holds out and set them on my desk. Even though I’m still feeling slightly bitter about the events of the weekend, I say a small thank you, but that’s it. I’m not sure I feel up to pleasantries just yet.

  I don’t know how to feel about what happened with Alexander. I can’t blame him for everything. He didn’t force me to drink as heavily as I did, but he and his friends did supply the drinks and ensure the night turned out as chaotic as it did. To say I was out of my league going out with a group like them is an understatement. I’m not sure what would have happened had I not thought to drunk-dial Professor Barclay. Honestly, the night could have taken a horrible turn, which is why it seems Alexander has his tail between his legs today. He must realize he messed up.

  We stop off for salads and eat outside on a park bench. We go through forced pleasantries while we pick at our food, and then he turns to me and flat-out apologizes.

  “I’m sorry, Emelia. I should have taken better care of you on Saturday.”

  I don’t tell him it’s okay, because it’s not.

  “I wasn’t aware you guys were doing drugs.”

  He clears his throat.

  “Were you?” I press.

  “Yes.”

  I’ve lived such a sheltered life. Even at Dartmouth, short of a few edibles, I never dabbled in much of anything. I never felt the need to.

  “Are you okay?”

  My question catches him by surprise.

  “Of course. Are you?”

  I nod. Thanks to Professor Barclay.

  “I’m not perfect,” he admits, like he’s shattering some false image I had of him. Did I?

  “We all cope in different ways. Do you think—”

  He cuts me off. “I don’t really want to talk about it.”

  “How long have you had a problem?”

  “I don’t have a problem.” He sighs, then continues on in a short, clipped tone. “Listen, Saturday night shouldn’t have happened. I apologize for it, but beyond that, I’m not getting into it.”

  I stay silent, shifting lettuce around in my to-go container like I might actually take another bite of my salad.

  “I know what the world thinks,” he says, sounding wistful. “There’s no pity for the rich drug abuser, the depressed millionaire.”

  “Are you depressed?”

  He laughs like I’m being naive. “Emelia, we’re all depressed. Haven’t you heard? This is the age of anxiety.”

  I frown, not appreciating his sarcastic tone. “I think some people are happy. My friend Sonya is.” I think I could be…

  “Yeah, well, I’m not like her.”

  My stomach squeezes tight.

  “If you hate your life so much, why don’t you change it?”

  “Ask yourself the same question.”

  “We’re talking about you.”

  He smiles. “I’m good at deflecting.”

  I roll my eyes. “Are you going to get help?”

  “I told you, I don’t have a problem.”

  “What does Emmett think?”

  “Emmett has enough on his plate without having to worry about me. My father will be in town next week…”

  Even I shiver at the thought.

  “Want to meet him?” he asks lightly.

  I laugh and shake my head because the idea is absolutely absurd, and then once the shock of it burns away, I know my answer is still no. Strange considering how much I longed to meet him when I was a child. I would have given anything to have him join my mother and me at Dunlany, but the events of the last few weeks have proved to me that on occasion, it’s best to leave well enough alone. Frédéric can’t heal the wounds of my past. He can’t bring back my mother. I think back on how Emmett treated me the night I met him—the words I’ll never be able to erase from my memory—and I know I won’t willingly put myself through an experience like that again. It’s not worth the risk.

  “I’d rather not, if that’s okay.”

  Alexander nods, not pressing the subject.

  “Should I get you back to work?” he says before standing.

  “Yes. I’m leaving town for a wedding this weekend, but when I get back, I’ll text you. We can go for coffee.”

  “Emmett too,” he adds.

  “Emmett too.” I nod, already looking forward to it.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Emelia

  * * *

  When I get married, I’ll do it on a spring day at Dunlany. I’ll elope under the oak tree among the flowers, right near my mother, hopefully with the help of Mr. Parmer. I’ll stand across from my fiancé and say I do, and I’ll think of this quote by F. Scott Fitzgerald: “Their lips brushed like young wildflowers in the wild.” Then we’ll sit down right there and share a picnic, open a bottle of champagne, enjoy the simple moment. It won’t be perfect. I’ll forget to chill the champagne. My newly minted husband will accidentally spill some on my dress when he pours us each a glass. The wind will pick up and whip my hair every which way, but then little moments will be better than I could have imagined. My husband will take my hand during the ceremony before he’s instructed to, like he needs an anchor. The clouds will split apart and reveal a bright hot sun, a welcome relief and a sign of good times ahead. I’ll think of my mother and feel her love.

  Sonya’s wedding is the polar opposite of what I would want, but it’s so perfectly her that I know she’s having the best day. Everything is a little over the top, starting with the number of people in the wedding party: fourteen bridesmaids and fourteen groomsmen. They could barely fit us all at the altar during the rehearsal yesterday.

  “Closer,” the wedding coordinator said with a strained smile. “Everyone scoot in.”

  From the moment I arrived until now, it’s been one shindig after another: a welcome lunch, a cocktail hour, a rehearsal dinner, and a bridesmaid brunch. I’ve met so many aunts and uncles I can’t tell anyone apart anymore.

  It’s a perfect-storm scenario: an outgoing, gregarious bride from a large family and an outgoing, gregarious groom from an even larger family. Expanding the guest list even more, Wesley’s parents tacked on a whole slew of people they needed to invite for one reason or another: friends from the golf club, acquaintances from work, business relations. This isn’t a wedding so much as a social event for the entire tri-state area.

  We’re at a resort in upstate New York that’s nestled in a valley surrounded by an apple orchard, a pumpkin patch, and a private pond. Fall is in the air. Golden yellow and deep red leaves crunch underfoot. There are close to three hundred guests here for the wedding, and even though the resort could still house a few hundred more, Sonya and Wesley have rented the entire place out. No expense has been spared.

  I’m overwhelmed and exhausted, and I’m not even the one getting married.

  I’m with Sonya in her suite while she gets ready before the ceremony. Connected to the room is another suite housing the makeup and hair team, who’ve been working their way through all the bridesmaids. I finished a little while ago, and now I sit, watching Sonya get the finishing touches done to her makeup.

  “You already look stunning,” I tell her, trying not to sound overly cheesy.

  “Don’t,” she says, keeping her eyes closed for the makeup artist. “I can hear the emotion in your voice. If you cry, I’ll cry.”

  “Okay, let’s talk about something else. Have you heard from Wesley today? Is that allowed?”

  “We haven’t talked since last night. At dinner, the guys were refilling his glass every five seconds, so I have no doubt he’s off somewhere having a nice little nap.”

  I smile at the image. “He still has a while to get ready. I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

  She sighs. “Ah, the joys of being a man. He’ll take a five-minute shower, shave, and slap some pomade on his hair, and he’ll look like he’s ready to walk the red carpet.”

  “Tilt your head back for me,” the makeup artist tells her.

  “Well this will all be worth it, I promise. You should see how pretty you look.”

  Her phone buzzes on her lap with an incoming text, but since the makeup artist is working on her eyeshadow, Sonya passes her phone over to me.

  “Read it for me, will you?”

  “It’s from your mom. She says she was able to calm Linda down and everything is good to go. Who’s Linda?”

  Sonya groans. “My great-aunt. She took issue with the fact that I didn’t seat her near my grandmother last night at the rehearsal dinner.”

  “Surely she understands you’re trying your best.”

  “You’d think, but no, she made a big fuss about it.”

  “Well try not to worry about all of that now.”

  “I won’t. Distract me. Have you talked to Cooper much since you’ve been here?”

  Honestly, with everything else going on in my life, I didn’t adequately prepare myself for the fact that I was going to have to face my ex-boyfriend this weekend, and as if life wanted to rip the Band-Aid off for me right away, I saw him the moment I walked into the hotel lobby the day I arrived. He was still just as I remembered: the epitome of boyish charm with his messy blond hair and laid-back California surfer style. He was at the front desk alongside Samantha, checking in.

  I paused just inside the entrance with my rolling suitcase, about to turn and flee back outside, but then Cooper looked over his shoulder and caught me, leaving me no time to scramble.

  When he first registered me standing there, he didn’t smile. He was too stunned, and then, as if reminding himself to act normal, he gave me a little wave and a half-smile. I walked over—it’s not like I had a choice, I needed to check in as well—and endured the awkward meet and greet.

  “Samantha, this is Emelia, my ex-girlfriend.”

  Her eyes widened immediately. There’s no telling what she expected me to do, me, the woman Cooper was dating when he made her his mistress. If we were in a soap opera, there would have been an altercation that ended with a call for security.

  “Now, just a friend,” I amended, trying to convey to her that there was no bad blood. My only objection to having to face Cooper’s new girlfriend was the inevitable bit of small talk we had to withstand after our introductions.

  I could see the relief on her face once she realized this weekend wouldn’t be half as bad as she was expecting.

  “So you’re living in Boston now?” she asked. “So cool. Did you come down for the wedding by yourself?”

  “Yeah, just got in,” I said, pointing down to my suitcase.

  “No plus-one?”

  I smiled tightly. “Nope. I’m here alone this weekend.”

  She took a half-step closer to Cooper, her fingers brushing his. The silent reminder was clear: I’m your girlfriend now, not her.

  “He’s been fine,” I tell Sonya now. “I ran into him at check-in and again at brunch yesterday, but he was busy arguing with a waiter about the eggs they brought out for Samantha. I think she wanted them over easy and they brought her scrambled or something.”

  “I hate her.”

  I wince. “Don’t do that on my account. She’s fine.”

  “Okay, then I strongly dislike her. You know it pains me to have her at the head table with us at the reception, but there’s no getting around it.”

  “Seriously, I don’t care one bit.”

  A knock on the door lets us know the photographer is ready to come in and snap photos of Sonya getting ready. The bridesmaids join us, along with her mom and cousins. The room is suddenly filled to the brim, and Sonya’s smile is ear to ear. I sit back and watch as sadness lingers in the periphery of my mood. I can’t help but miss my mother on days like this. She could have been my plus-one to this wedding. She would have loved to see me all dolled up. She would have told me how grown up I look, how beautiful and confident. And so, because she’s not here, I tell myself those things and try to believe them.

  The wedding ceremony is outside, in front of the apple orchard. I walk down the aisle with Cooper then stand behind my best friend as she becomes a wife. White hydrangeas spill out of an arch Sonya and Wesley stand beneath to exchange their vows. I’m surprised by the tears that spring forth, enough that I have to bow my head for a moment and swipe under my eyes as Wesley promises to love and cherish Sonya forever.

  A cocktail hour follows, and I’m careful to sip slowly on my one glass of champagne. I don’t want to make a fool of myself during my speech later. Even with all the guests in attendance, I feel adrift. I chat with old college friends for a bit; Annette and CJ are just as I remember them, living in California and Washington respectively and doing well. Sonya is pulled in every direction, chatting and smiling and posing for photos. Cooper and Samantha stay as far away from me as possible, which is actually preferable. I’m approached by a groomsman, Wesley’s cousin, toward the end of the cocktail hour, and he talks to me for a bit. He’s so handsome, tall, and refreshingly easygoing. The dimple on his right cheek never disappears, that’s how smiley he is. For a few minutes, I try to give him a chance, mostly out of curiosity. Can someone distract me from my obsession with Professor Barclay?

  It’s almost amusing that I even try.

  My speech for Sonya’s wedding has been penned for a while. The night Wesley proposed to her, I started to keep a journal of ideas, things I thought I might want to tell her on her big day. I filled the pages with funny stories and anecdotes from college. If I ever stumbled on some bit of marriage advice, read a fitting passage in a book, or came across a sweet verse from a poem, I’d add it to the journal. Every time she’d text me something nice about Wesley, I’d add it in there too. This morning, before the start of the day’s festivities, when she and I were lying around, taking our sweet time getting up to get ready, I gave her the journal.

  “This is my entire speech, everything I would say if I had ten hours to say it.”

  She opened the front flap to find a photo of us taped to the first page. It was from the day we moved into our freshman dorm, the day we became roommates.

  “I’ll stand up at your reception later and talk about how love is patient and kind and how Wesley is a lucky man to have you, but the truth is, I’m lucky to have you too. You’ve been a sister to me, someone I’ve taken for granted time and time again. I know our relationship hasn’t always been easy. I know I’m a tough nut to crack on occasion, but I love you so much, Sonya. You don’t know how important you are to me.”