Pictures start at 10 a.m.
My heart kicks. No one would ever accuse me of being sentimental, but I fold the letter and tuck it safely into my pocket. This is the kind of note I’ll read more than once.
An unformed idea tugs at my mind, and since I’m not quite ready to dress for the wedding, I take the kernel of an idea along with my mug of coffee and head into the mansion to see how my sister is holding up after last night’s freak-out.
I find Hannah on the second floor, where Flip has been kicked out of the master suite. Not for bad behavior, though—for wedding preparations.
My sister stands in front of a three-way mirror, trying on her newly fitted dress to show my mother.
Happiness is everything I could want for my baby sister on her wedding day.
“Isn’t it beautiful?” Hannah croons. The light in her smile tells me that she and Flip must have had a good talk last night. Hopefully I can get her alone later and ask. “Some women put off their weddings because they don’t want to look pregnant when they’re walking down the aisle. But I don’t care! The baby bump is glorious, and I wouldn’t change a thing!”
I guess that answers that. And yup, only good things happened here on Star Island last night. There is nothing Titanic-like about Hannah’s wedding. Not a damn thing is doomed.
“So what happens now, Banana?” I ask. “You need anything?”
“Not one thing,” she says. “Hair and makeup are next, although Asher snuck off with the hairdresser after he checked the wedding cake delivery. You can eat some breakfast and then get dressed before the photos.”
“Will do.” I step closer and kiss her cheek. “You’re beautiful today.”
“I know.” She beams.
“And humble,” I tease. “And—most importantly—happy.”
“I am all those things.” She squeezes my hand. “Thank you for . . .” She glances at my mother. “. . . chatting with me last night. I needed that.”
Funny, but I needed it too. That talk did something for both of us, and now, an idea starts to take shape in my mind. There’s room for it at last.
But first, Hannah. “No problem. Glad to help. Are you sure I can’t do anything? Like look for the florist?”
“They’re already here and decorating the tent. Don’t worry, Mark! You did exactly what I asked you to do, and it’s going great. I’ll never forget this.”
“Good,” I say, squeezing her hand.
“I know I sprung it on you,” she continues. “I asked you to fly twelve hundred miles and collaborate with someone you don’t really like.”
And now I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. Because I do like him.
God, I like him so much. And we’re done. As in, finished. Because I wanted it that way.
But now? I don’t want that at all.
I take a deep breath and blow it out.
“Are you okay?” my mother asks.
“Yes,” I say quickly. But I’m all turmoil inside. I’m going to have to talk to Asher and admit that I want more. That all these ideas forming in my head involve him?another morning, another night, and then the next ones too.
Hell, he probably won’t agree. He likes the single life. And lord knows I wouldn’t be an obvious choice for him—a guy with long hours and a child. Kids aren’t in his future, he’d said.
Shit.
“Mark?” My mother touches my arm. “You look distracted. Did you hear what I was saying?”
“Um, sorry. What was that?”
She puts her hands on her hips. “Can you believe a house this size has not a single casserole dish?”
“That’s . . . wow.” My poker face comes in handy. “Who knew?”
“I had to prep my casserole in a skillet,” she says with a sigh. “But it will still taste good. It’s not a party without ham casserole and potato chip topping.” She turns on her heel and marches out of the room.
“Fuck!” This outburst brought to you by ham casserole, potato chip topping, and also by some other frustrations.
How am I going to convince Asher that I’m worth the trouble? It won’t be easy. But I’m up for the challenge. I won’t back down.
At least Hannah is not at the top of my worry list. She puts a hand over her mouth and giggles. “You tried, Mark. And I do appreciate it.”
“I did try. And I failed.”
“It’s okay,” she chirps, her mood bulletproof. “Everything is going to work out.”
If only I was sure she was right.
I return to the guest house, which is still empty. I shower and shave. It’s nine-thirty, so I’ve got a half hour until pictures.
Where the hell is Asher?
Leaving the bathroom with a towel around my waist, I go looking for both Asher and my best man suit. But in the doorway to his room, I pull up short.
He’s back, standing by the bed, tapping on his phone.