“Flowers will cover the entire arbor,” Miranda explains, gesturing with her hands where the flowers will go. “And each seat by the aisle will have a swag of flowers next to it as well. Ah, and the colors. Such rich, fall hues!”
Sometimes I think Miranda talks like she’s reading a caption online.
“It’s going to be absolutely stunning,” she continues, caught up in her own vision. “And the flowers at the reception as well—oh that’s my favorite part.”
“What is?”
“The flowers. So many of them. Your mother threw out the budget and said cost didn’t matter. So I went for it.” Miranda clutches her hands together. “I hope you’ll be pleased.”
“I’m sure I will.”
Family members begin to show up, but no Perry yet. Caroline arrives with Tinsley, and my maid of honor wraps me up in a big hug.
“You look gorgeous,” she says.
“So do you,” I tell her as I withdraw from her embrace. “I love your dress.”
It’s emerald-green silk and dips low in the front. Elegant yet sexy.
“Mother said it was a good choice. The color of money.” She laughs and shakes her head. “It’s all she thinks about.”
All my father thinks about, too.
My parents appear right after a herd of Constantines, and soon the garden is overflowing with people standing in small clusters, talking amongst themselves. Tinsley introduces me to her husband, Magnus, who appears a bit older than her.
Hmm. Reminds me of my past.
But he’s madly in love with her, I can tell, and witnessing the way he watches her while she speaks to me makes my heart twist with an unfamiliar emotion.
I’m fairly certain it’s envy.
“Text him again, please,” Miranda requests when we’re thirty minutes past start time and Perry still hasn’t shown. “If we don’t get started soon, we’ll have to use one of your brothers as a stand-in.”
Please, no. They’ll gloat and give me endless grief, calling my fiancé a no-show and he most likely ditched me.
That particular fear is like a knot in my stomach, tightening with every minute that passes and Perry still isn’t here.
Winston arrives with his wife by his side and I go to them, forgetting all about my earlier resentment toward this man.
“Have you spoken to Perry?” Oh, I hate how small my voice is, and how scared I sound.
Winston frowns. “He’s not here?”
I shake my head, my throat too dry to speak.
“He left the office a few minutes before I did.” His brows draw together as he studies me. “Where is he?”
“I don’t know.” I feel helpless. At a loss.
Where could he be?
Winston whips his phone out of his pocket. “I’ll call him.”
I can hear the phone ring. I swear the nearby conversations immediately grow quieter, as if they can hear the ringing too. Do they sense the tension radiating from me? My heart threatens to pop right out of my chest at having an audience to this.
The automated voice starts talking and Winston ends the call, his expression grim. “He didn’t answer.”
My heart sinks at the familiar, horrible feeling. Why does this always happen to me? What do I keep doing wrong?