The Week Before the Wedding

by Beth Kendrick

  At the mention of food, Summer perked up. “What does he cook?”

  “Everything: Italian, Indian, Thai, French. And we set the table every night with china and candles.”

  “You have dinner by candlelight?”

  Emily nodded. “When we’re both home. What?”

  Summer flicked Emily’s forehead with her fingers. “Honey, that’s not romantic; that’s a cry for help.”

  “What are you talking about? What’s wrong with having a lovely table setting and candles?”

  “Do you eat in the dining room when Grant isn’t home?” Summer demanded.

  “Well. No.”

  “Exactly. I’ll bet when he’s not there, you lie on the couch watching E! and eating cereal and then drinking the milk out of the bowl.”

  “Um, maybe.”

  Summer nodded. “And let’s be honest: He’s not there most of the time, right?”

  Emily stopped slouching and sat up straight. “What are you trying to say?”

  “I’m saying that, candlelight and romance aside, Grant’s pretty unavailable. Physically. Emotionally. Whatever.” She waited a beat for Emily to respond, then continued. “And I have to ask…”

  Emily started brushing the damp sand off her bare legs. “What?”

  “Isn’t it possible that you kind of like it that way?”

  “No.”

  Summer wasn’t deterred by this vehement denial. “Look, I know it’s scary to be in a real relationship after all you’ve been through. Your childhood…my childhood…who can blame us if we have a few intimacy issues?” She shuddered and shook her head. “Ugh. This is why I’m a flight attendant and not a therapist.”

  “I appreciate your concern, but I promise you, I know what I’m doing.” Emily used the same calm, confident tone she used when talking to her clients about short-term corrections in the stock market. “Grant’s totally available. We’re totally intimate. Everything’s great.”

  “Then I’ll shut my mouth.” Summer tapped her sneaker against Emily’s. “I just want you to be happy.”

  “I am.” Emily stared into the thinning fog. She could just make out the red raft floating at the edge of the lake’s swimming area. “I know what you mean, though.”

  Summer pulled her knees up to her chest. “About what?”

  “The candles. All of it. Sometimes, I just feel…” Out of place in my own life, she wanted to say. But she couldn’t give voice to the words.

  Before Summer could ask her to elaborate, an exuberant pair of early-morning runners emerged from the mist. Ryan loped along the beach while Ripley splashed in the waves. Although the dog was off her leash, she never strayed from Ryan’s side.

  Ryan stopped short when he noticed Summer and Emily sprawled on the wet sand.

  “Well, looky here,” Summer drawled. “If it isn’t Ryan Lassiter. I heard you were skulking around the resort.”

  Ryan rallied from his shock and put on his most charming grin. “You know me. I live to skulk.”

  Summer tilted her head toward the dog. “Who’s your sidekick?”

  “This is Lieutenant Ellen Ripley.” Ryan rested his palm on the dog’s broad furry head. The dog sat down and panted, awaiting further instruction.

  “Cute.” Summer paused before asking, “So what’s up with you these days?”

  Dumbfounded, Emily glanced at Summer, then back at Ryan. “That’s it?”

  Summer’s brow creased. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, you two haven’t seen each other in, like, ten years, and all you’re saying is ‘What’s up’?” Emily narrowed her eyes as suspicions bubbled to the surface of her brain. “No hugs? No ‘You look fantastic’? No questions about who, what, when, where, and how?”

  “Hold your horses. We’re getting there.” Summer brushed back her hair and told Ryan, “You look fantastic.”

  “So do you.” He opened his arms. “Give me a hug.”

  “Too late.” Emily nibbled her lower lip as she tried to work out what was going on. “I’m onto you.”

  “No, you’re not,” Ryan assured her.

  Summer sprang up from the sand. “I should really go. Late for a…thing.”

  Emily stopped her with a raised palm. “What’s going on?”

  “Nothing!” Summer insisted. “Not everybody has to kiss and hug and cry just because they haven’t seen each other in years.”

  “Many years,” Ryan added.

  “Ten years.” Summer inched away from Emily.

  “Uh-uh. Not so fast.” Emily tried to grab Summer’s sleeve, but Summer made a break for it, sprinting back to the safety of the Lodge. “Bye, guys! See you at breakfast!”

  “Now you want to run?” Emily yelled after her. Summer waved over her shoulder as she picked up speed.

  “Wow.” Ryan took his hand off Ripley’s head, and the dog waded into the surf, barking with delight. “Look at her go. Homegirl’s fast.”

  The more innocent he looked, the more Emily suspected shenanigans. “What was that all about?” she demanded.

  “No idea.” His thick brown hair was windblown and his faded blue T-shirt made his shoulders look broader than she remembered. Dark stubble shadowed his jaw.

  Plus, he smelled good.

  And just like that, she was remembering the night they’d met, when he’d told her to put her hands up, then given her the shirt off his back.

  She closed her eyes, gave her head a quick shake, and forced her train of thought into a U-turn. When she opened her eyes, he was looking at her with a wicked gleam in his eyes.

  “Aren’t you supposed to be packing up and moving on this morning?” she asked, her voice tight.

  From the look on his face, he seemed to be relishing her discomfiture. “Ripley needed her morning walk.”

  “You don’t get up this early.”

  “Neither do you.” He started walking, and Emily found herself falling into step beside him. “And I’ve decided to stay a few more days. Your fiancé said I was welcome to join in the wedding festivities.”

  When Emily quickened her pace, so did he. “That’s because he just met you. He doesn’t know what you’re really like.”

  Ryan didn’t take the bait. “He seems like a nice guy.”

  “He is.” She prepared to list Grant’s many virtues, but Ryan interrupted with, “Why do they call this place Valentine Lake?”

  Emily knew the answer from listening to Bev’s exhaustive oral history of Cardin family lore. “Supposedly, the lake is shaped like a heart.”

  “How romantic.”

  “It’s really not, though. I’ve seen it on a map, and it’s kidney-shaped, at best.” She edged away from his side. “But Kidney Lake probably doesn’t bring in the tourists the way Valentine Lake does.”

  He sidled right back up to her. “You’re a coldhearted cynic now?”

  “Believe it.”

  He looked at her, his gaze lingering on her bare legs, then shook his head. “Nah.”

  Emily stooped down to pet Ripley, who had fished a stick out of the water and was offering it to Emily for a game of fetch. “She’s so well behaved.”

  “Best dog ever.” Ryan hadn’t sounded nearly as proud of his restored vintage car. “I take her to the set with me when I’m working. She’s worked with some of the best animal handlers in the business.”

  “Ah.” Emily threw the stick over by the lifeguard’s chair, and Ripley raced off in pursuit. “Well, that explains it.”

  Ryan laughed. “Because I couldn’t possibly have trained her myself, right?”

  “I didn’t say—”

  “You didn’t have to. I know how your twisted little mind works. You want to keep me locked up in the ‘bad boyfriend’ box in your head.”

  “You’re insane. I don’t have any ‘bad boyfriend’ boxes.”

  “Yeah, you do. I’ve been stuck in solitary for the last ten years, with no chance for parole. But guess what? It’s time for a prison break.”

  Ripley ca
me barreling back with the stick, but perhaps sensing the emotional tension, changed course at the last moment and plunged back into the lake.

  Emily crossed her arms. “Enough. Seriously, Ryan, I’m not doing this. In four days, I am getting married to Grant. All our friends and family are here, and I refuse to waste this week bickering with the man I never should have married.”

  “Ouch.”

  “Do you disagree?” she challenged. “Do you think we did the right thing, getting married?”

  “Maybe we weren’t ready at twenty-two,” he admitted. “But you never gave us a chance. You just walked away when the going got tough.”

  “We were both miserable at the end, and you know it.” She was determined to disengage, but couldn’t resist adding, “And, just for the record, you do not know how my mind works.”

  His hazel eyes sparked. “Try me.”

  “Stop it.”

  They stared each other down, relenting only when Ripley galloped in between them and shook herself off.

  Ryan’s expression softened as he reached out and wiped a droplet of water off Emily’s forehead. “I don’t want to bicker, either. That’s not why I came.”

  “I know. You came to find a filming location.”

  “And I wanted to see you again.”

  Emily glanced up at the clouds, down at the sand—everywhere but at the man standing in front of her. She forced her face into an expression of detached disapproval.

  But she also felt a tiny, forgotten corner of her heart tug free and unfurl like a ribbon loosening from a knot.

  She was so horrified by this internal betrayal that she redoubled her efforts to appear icy and unaffected. “There’s nothing to see, Ryan.”

  That slow, smoldering smile returned. “Oh, I disagree.”

  “No. No, no, no. Don’t get all flirty. It doesn’t work on me anymore. This is my wedding.” When he glanced pointedly at her ring finger, she corrected herself. “This is my real wedding, all right? With gowns and flowers and a reception.”

  “And a fancy diamond ring.”

  “That, too. It was Grant’s grandmother’s.”

  “Big change from the girl who said diamonds were played out and she’d rather spend the money on a Harley.”

  “Yes.” She nodded. “That’s what I’m telling you—I have changed. I’m not the girl you married anymore.”

  “You’re not a temptress in a T-shirt?”

  She could feel her cheeks burning. “No. I’m coldhearted and cynical. I go running at the crack of dawn and wear boring business suits to my boring job.”

  He rubbed his chin. “Good to know.”

  She splayed open her fingers, wordlessly asking him what more he wanted from her.

  “You married me first.” He said this as if it made some kind of difference. “I promised to love you forever. I meant it.”

  “Yes,” she conceded. “And then we got divorced.”

  “That doesn’t mean I stopped loving you.” He caught her hand. “Besides, I want to know if you still wear black lace under your business suits.”

  She was stunned to feel the hot prickle of tears in her eyes. “This is just a game to you. You think it’s some kind of challenge to show up unannounced and say these things and ruin the most important day of my life.”

  He let go of her hand. “The most important day of your life? Sounds like someone needs to put down the bridal magazine and go get deprogrammed.”

  “I don’t mean it like that.” She could still feel the warmth of his fingers against her palm. “I couldn’t care less about the dress and the cake and all that stuff. It’s more…” She trailed off, not wanting to tell him the truth: that on some level, she believed that marrying a man like Grant would make her a better woman. So she waited until she could suppress the quaver in her voice. “Like I said, I’ve changed.”

  “So have I,” Ryan said. “Now you’re a Stepford wife and I’m Wes Craven. So what? People change. They still love each other.”

  She stared at him, trying to decide if he was serious. The morning had suddenly gone still—the breeze had stopped blowing, the dog had stopped splashing. She looked at him and all she could hear was the shallow pull of her breath and the rush of her pulse in her ears. And then she did the only thing she could to turn this negotiation around. She got off defense and went on offense.

  “Love?” She crossed her arms and let the heels of her sneakers sink into the sand. “So you’ve spent the last ten years pining away for me?”

  A flash of emotion flickered in his eyes. He opened his mouth to speak, then clearly thought better of it and set his jaw.

  She pressed on. “You’ve been lonely and celibate for ten years, and yet you never once called or e-mailed me?”

  He shrugged, his cocky grin back in place. “I didn’t say I was celibate. Los Angeles is like a magnet for the hottest women in the world. It would be wrong to let them sleep alone.”

  “Ugh.” She turned her back on him and trudged toward the hiking trail. “We’re done here.”

  Ryan moved so quickly, she didn’t even realize what he was doing until he’d hooked his finger under the waistband of her running shorts and gotten a glimpse of her underwear. “Stepford wives don’t wear neon pink thongs when they work out.”

  He strode away, basking in triumph.

  “I hate you!” She reached down, snatched up a pinecone, and hurled it at the back of his head, missing him by a good ten feet.

  Ripley raced over and scooped up the pinecone, ready for another game of fetch. Ryan threw it for her, and as he and the dog loped away, he lifted one hand in a salute to a worthy opponent. “Four days and counting. See you around, Stepford.”

  When Emily returned to her hotel room, she showered and put on the least alluring white granny panties she owned.

  The she slipped into a modest khaki skirt and a blouse buttoned all the way up to the collar and went in search of Grant. She found in him in the lobby with his cell phone pressed to his ear and one of his nieces enjoying a piggyback ride.

  “Hang on a second,” Grant said into the phone when he glimpsed Emily. He covered the mouthpiece with his hand and said, “Sorry I had to miss our run this morning. I got a page from the hospital at four thirty, and I didn’t want to wake you up.” He staggered as Ava dug her heels into his rib cage. “Oof. Easy, there, you’re cutting off my airway.”

  “Giddyup,” Ava commanded.

  Grant complied, galloping over to the concierge desk and back, all the while hanging on to the little girl and rattling off a rapid-fire spiel of medical jargon that Emily couldn’t begin to understand.

  When he clicked off the phone, he gave Emily a kiss and apologized again.

  “Everything okay?” she asked.

  “Yeah.” His gaze slid ever so slightly to the right. “Just following up on a patient.”

  She touched his arm. “Do you have to go back home?”

  “No.” He grimaced as Ava threw both arms around his neck, securing him in a choke hold. “It’s our wedding. My whole family is here.”

  Emily tried to loosen the tiny blonde’s death grip. “Do you want to go back?”

  “No.” He paused. “Okay, yes. The guy’s been my patient for years, and it looks like he might finally have a shot at a new set of lungs.”

  “The man needs lungs,” Emily said. “Go.”

  “It’s our wedding,” he repeated.

  “Not until Saturday. And I don’t want you to stay here with me out of guilt.”

  “I’m staying here with you out of love, not guilt.”

  “That’s very sweet of you. But lungs trump bridal shower.”

  “Who said anything about a bridal shower?” He recoiled at the very suggestion. “I’m not going to that. Love only goes so far.”

  She laughed.

  “Anyway, we’re still waiting for final confirmation from the donor team. These things can and do fall through. So until I know more…”

  “Hey!” A shr
ill little lisp rang down the corridor. “I want a piggyback, too!”

  Emily glanced behind her to see Alexis sauntering toward them. She had filched a huge jug of maple syrup from the hotel restaurant and was guzzling down the thick amber liquid like a sippy cup of juice.

  “Alexis!” Grant clapped his hands over his eyes. “Don’t drink that.”

  When Emily reached out to confiscate the syrup, the little girl darted around her and starting tugging Grant’s pant leg. “My turn! My turn!”

  Ava refused to budge, so Alexis grabbed her sister’s ankle and sank her teeth in.

  Ava screeched like something out of one of Ryan’s horror films and kicked her legs wildly. The jug sailed through the air, right toward Emily.

  Emily threw up her hands and managed to protect her face. But when the jug hit her forearms, the impact sent a tidal wave of syrup onto her head. She could feel the warm, thick liquid seeping down her scalp and cheeks.

  Ava and Alexis stopped wrestling and started giggling. They pointed and laughed until Ava slithered down off Grant’s back and collapsed on the floor next to her little accomplice.

  Grant shot the girls a stern look and opened his mouth to reprimand them, but before he could launch into a lecture, his phone chirped again. He glanced at the screen, then at Emily.

  “I’m so sorry, angel. I have to take this.”

  “It’s fine.” Emily stuck out her tongue and licked a trickle of syrup off her upper lip. “I’ll go back to our room and get cleaned up.” She stared down the flower girls from hell. “As for you two…”

  “You smell like pancakes,” Alexis said. “Yum!”

  “Can I taste you?” Ava asked.

  “Girls!” Melanie finally arrived, her face spattered with oatmeal and something that looked like strawberry jam. “There you are! How many times do I have to tell you? Polite little ladies don’t leave the table until they are excused. And they use silverware. And they don’t drink syrup straight out of the bottle. Now come back and finish your breakfast.” She gave Emily a distracted apology and herded her daughters back to the restaurant.