by Kara Isaac
“Peter, we—” Whatever Emelia was about to say, she cut herself off. “It’s been a big day. For both of us. I should go.”
Thirty-Seven
“MORNING.” EMELIA OPENED HER EYES to find Allie perched on the end of her bed, a steaming mug in her hand. She was still in her pajamas, her hair mussed from sleeping.
“Hi.” What time was it? What day was it? Emelia’s eyes felt puffy, her throat scratchy. After she’d revealed her twisted past on a street corner, Peter had held her, told her she wasn’t crazy, walked her home, and handed her over to Allie. Who had taken one look at her face and given Peter a fierce glare that would have frozen lava. Poor guy. Emelia had tried to explain her state wasn’t his fault. Well, not in the way Allie clearly thought it was. Then she’d taken herself to bed and given in to exhaustion. She’d probably have stayed in it all day if not for her roommate perched at her feet like a bird.
“Want to come to church?” It was the first time Allie had straight-out asked her.
Emelia pulled herself up to sitting and rubbed her eyes. “I don’t do church.”
“Can I ask why not?” Allie sounded more curious than judgy.
Emelia sighed. Since she was apparently on an honesty streak, she might as well keep going. “The last time I voluntarily went to church, I was sixteen. A friend took me. I thought I’d give it a shot. Why not? It wasn’t like I had anything to lose. Then the preacher got up and thundered about how people who commit suicide go straight to hell. I’ve avoided them as much as possible ever since.”
Allie peered at her across the top of her cup. Her eyes were troubled, full of questions.
“My mom killed herself when I was six.” It had been years since Emelia had said it out loud. Now she’d said it twice in twelve hours.
Allie closed her eyes for a second and drew in a deep breath. “I’m sorry.”
“Me too.”
Allie didn’t say anything. Emelia grew disconcerted. Shouldn’t she have been jumping in with some kind of theological discourse? But then, that wasn’t Allie’s style.
Up until six months ago, Emelia had thought she needed religion about as much as she needed to ride a three-legged camel through the Sahara. It had been easy to jam Christians into the fundamentalist, judgmental box and close the lid.
Then she’d met Allie, Jackson, and Peter. And they’d refused to fit into her nice box of stereotypes. Now a tiny part of her wondered if she might be missing out on something real. If maybe there was a God who could transcend everything the worst of His believers made you think of Him. And then she wondered if maybe she was just grasping at straws because of how she felt about Peter.
“Where do you think my mom is?”
Allie lifted one shoulder. “I don’t know.”
Emelia blinked. She hadn’t been expecting that. Wasn’t the point of being religious that you had all the answers? And then you painted them on placards and marched around DC waving them?
“That man had no idea what he was talking about. The only one who knows what happens when someone dies is God. He knows every single one of us. Everything we’ve done, everything we haven’t. Every good and bad decision we’ve made. What happened in our last moments. He makes the call. Not some guy in a flashy suit.”
“You really believe that? That He cares about you? Me?”
“I know it.”
“How?”
Allie took a sip of her drink, traced a pattern with her finger on Emelia’s comforter, actually looked like she was thinking about the question. It made Emelia feel she could trust whatever she was about to say more than if she’d just launched into a prepared spiel. “Do you remember the day you asked me about my spare room?”
“Sure.”
“Did you notice that I looked a little startled when I walked into the office and you had that card in your hand?”
“Sort of.” Emelia remembered thinking something at the time, but it obviously hadn’t made a huge impression.
Allie pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. “I never put that card up on the notice board.”
“I don’t understand.” Emelia blinked at her, trying to process what she was saying. “But it’s in your handwriting.”
“I made the card. A couple of them. I had meant to put one up there. But I never got ’round to it. To be honest, I was a bit uncertain if I wanted a flatmate, so I’d procrastinated. Left them in my bag.”
Emelia’s eyes felt like they were about to pop out of her head. “But if you didn’t put it up, how did it get there?”
Allie shrugged. “No idea. Maybe it fell out of my bag and someone saw it and put it up? All I know is that to me you can’t explain it away as coincidence. It has to be more. It has to be bigger.”
Emelia sucked in a breath. Well, she could see that. But then, if there was a God, of course He’d be interested in Allie. She was sweet, and kind, and funny. A much better person than she was.
“It wasn’t about me.”
Emelia didn’t know if she’d spoken her thoughts out loud or if Allie had read her mind.
“It wasn’t about me.” Allie leaned forward as she repeated herself. “It was about you.”
Emelia shook her head. Her fingers twisted around themselves as she tried to process what Allie was saying. Claiming. It sounded too much like a fairy tale, from a land where the story started with “Once upon a time” . . . That had never been her story.
“That first time we met? Over the photocopier? Didn’t that ever strike you as strange? That someone you’d never met would invite you to a house party?”
It had. A little. But she’d been so desperate to get out of the horrid B and B, she hadn’t wanted to question it too much. “I just thought you were one of those super-friendly people who invites everyone you meet to things like that.”
Allie laughed and fished a half-dissolved marshmallow out of her mug, popping it in her mouth. “I wasn’t even meant to be in that morning but my first lecture got canceled because of the weather. And I was only photocopying because my first set had landed in a puddle. And I really don’t randomly invite strangers ’round. But for some reason I invited you.
“You know, the truth is that sometimes when people ask how you know that God exists, it’s hard to come up with one compelling reason. It’s often such a conglomeration of so many things that, put together, create the proof that you need. But watching all the things He’s put in play the last few months around you, that’s all the proof I need.”
Emelia shook her head, trying to absorb it all. It was all too big. Too crazy. Too overwhelming. To even consider for a second there might be an omniscient being who had made so many things happen for her. Because of her.
And if it was true, why now? Why didn’t He step in and save her mom? Or Anita? Had she finally had enough bad stuff happen to her to get His attention?
“Know what else?” Allie grinned at her.
“What?” Emelia wasn’t sure she could take any more.
“You need to ask Peter about the teacup.”
Emelia just looked at Allie. “The one he got his mom for her birthday?”
“You say it like it’s so ordinary. Have you ever sat down and really thought about what the odds are of you and the teacup that Peter has been looking for for years being in the same wardrobe? The same night he just happens to be at that exact antiques shop and find both of you?”
No. She hadn’t. If she started thinking too deeply about that, then everything might change.
Thirty-Eight
WHERE ON EARTH HAD ALLIE disappeared to? One minute she’d been the life of the engagement party, the next she seemed to have disappeared. And it wasn’t on some lovers’ escapade, since Emelia had just seen Jackson talking to a group of people.
“Emelia.” She turned around, trying to spot who had called her name while she restacked the mountain of presents into something that didn’t look like it might topple at any second. Judging by the large pile, she’d
been the only one who hadn’t ignored the “absolutely no presents” instructions on the invitation.
Kat, Allie’s best friend, who had flown in the night before, was crossing the small lobby. Her entire appearance screamed exactly what she was: a hair-and-makeup guru in hot demand for movies all over the world. Just being within a few meters of Kat made Emelia feel frumpy. And this was the best she’d looked in months. “Hey. Have you seen Allie?”
“Yup. I’m just doing some touch-ups upstairs before the formalities start. Can you give us a hand with something?”
“Sure.” She turned and followed Kat up the grand staircase of what once had been a country manor house for one of the aristocracy before it had been converted into a small boutique hotel.
Kat didn’t waste any time and was soon tapping on a door.
“Come in,” Allie called from inside.
Kat opened the door and gestured Emelia in ahead of her. Emelia’s heels sank into the carpet as she walked into an opulent bedroom. The door clicked behind them.
Allie stood in front of her, like something out of a Botticelli painting. Gone was the jade cocktail dress she’d been wearing half an hour ago. In its place was a long, figure-fitting but classy cream-colored dress, V-neck, flared out at her knees. Her auburn hair was caught in an elegant knot that sat at the nape of her neck. Tall sparkly shoes completed the ensemble. “Surprise!” Allie grinned at her. Radiant.
No. They hadn’t. They weren’t. Oh, they were. Emelia opened her mouth, but no words came out. “Wow.” A couple of seconds later it kind of croaked out. “Holy moly.” Then she started laughing as she shook her head, undone by the crazy, giddy girl standing in front of her.
Allie laughed so hard the neckline had a hard time containing her cleavage. “I take it that’s a good thing?”
“You look . . .” Emelia’s voice trailed off. “Beautiful” didn’t cut it. Nor did almost any other adjective she could conjure up. “Wow. Just wow.”
“Good. That’s what Kat was apparently going for. She brought it. Saved me from scary dress shopping.” Allie did a slow spin. The gown hugged her in all the right places. Closely. Jackson would probably swallow his tongue.
“Jackson knows, right?” How had she lived with Allie for over six months and had no idea she was planning a surprise wedding?
Allie laughed. “That he’s getting married today? Yes, he definitely knows. We decided to do it that night we had the fight about the prenup.”
“Hold it right there.” Allie paused midturn at Kat’s command, facing the floor-length mirror set against the opposite wall. On the table beside Allie was an extensive assortment of hair and makeup tools that Kat had turned her attention to.
“Hold still.” Kat stood back and peered at Allie, then picked up the world’s smallest makeup brush from her kit and started doing precise strokes along Allie’s jawline like an artist painting a canvas.
“How do you feel?” Emelia sagged down into an upholstered chair by the door. Jackson and Allie were getting married. Today. She’d somehow found herself in the middle of a surprise wedding. Of all the crazy things.
“Happy.” Allie paused. She scrunched her nose at herself in the mirror, then looked at Emelia in the reflection. “A little weird.”
“About?”
“Getting married again. I kind of expected to be scared or something after it went so badly wrong last time.”
“And you’re not?”
Allie grinned radiantly as Kat stepped back again and put the brush down. “Not even a little. I want to kick myself for planning an evening wedding. What was I thinking? I could have been married by now!”
“Easy, tiger, you’ll be Mrs. Gregory soon enough.” Kat shook her head as she dabbed something across Allie’s forehead. She stepped back and studied her charge. “And we’re done. Now it’s your turn.” Kat turned her gaze on Emelia.
“Me?” What was she talking about? Her makeup was done. Her hair wasn’t perfect, but it was passable.
“Look, no offense, because you’re really quite good for a makeup Muggle, but I just can’t let you go to the wedding like that. It’s against my moral code.”
“But, I’m not anyone.”
“Quite the opposite. Plus it’s really your public duty.”
“Huh?”
“We still have twenty minutes, and look at her.” Kat gestured at Allie, who was spinning around in her dress. Bubbly as a bottle of champagne and as giddy as if she’d drunk one when, as far as Emelia knew, all she’d had to drink was some sparkling water. “If you don’t give us a reason to stay here, then she’ll be the first bride in history to be standing at the altar before the groom or the guests.”
“Are you going to do her up?” Allie had just clicked into the conversation. “Oh, you have to. Peter will be taken out at the knees when he sees you.” Allie grimaced at her words. “Sorry, I know it’s complicated. Not helping, am I?”
Well, she wasn’t exactly going to turn down being made up by the magician in front of her. And if Peter got taken out at the knees . . . Emelia clamped down on a smile, but not before Kat saw it and let out a low whistle. “I’m always happy to give a fledgling romance a shove. Just ask Allie.”
“We’re just friends.”
Kat grinned. “Well, that’s a bonus. Jackson and Allie couldn’t stand each other when they met.” She pulled out a cloth and poured something from a large bottle onto it. “Sit down.” She gestured to the end of the bed. “Let me work my magic.”
Fifteen minutes later, Emelia stared at herself in the mirror Kat held up to her face with a flourish.
“Wow.” She could barely get the word out; she was too entranced with the girl staring back at her with big eyes, pouty lips, and a flawless complexion. It was like an airbrushed version of herself.
Her hair had been pinned loosely up and tendrils floated around her face. Her natural waves, which never took instruction or direction, had somehow been tamed into something elegant yet sexy. Her eyes and lips combined to look classy but alluring.
At least she would get to enjoy today at her best. Peter had promised her a dance and she intended to savor every last moment in his arms. She was going to remember every look, every word, every moment of magic. No regrets. She’d probably kiss him again if she got the opportunity. Call her crazy. Or stupid. Or naïve. Or foolish. But soon enough she’d have to tell Peter the truth about who she was, and it would all be over.
She was on death row. It was just that no one else knew.
“Emelia?” From the way Allie said it, it wasn’t the first time she’d said her name. “I’ve just realized we’ve left the bouquets downstairs. In the kitchen. Can you grab them and bring them up? You can take the back stairs at the end of the hall down to the kitchen.”
“Okay.” Following Allie’s instructions, Emelia made short work of navigating down what must have been the old servants’ stairs to the main kitchen. Dodging caterers bustling around with trays, she made her way to a sideboard where two bouquets of peonies sat. She nestled the two bunches in the crook of her arm and inhaled in their light floral scent.
Making it back to the second floor, she breathed a sigh of relief as she started down the hallway toward Allie’s room.
“Please tell me I’m wrong about what I fear I’m seeing.” The haughty voice came from a small alcove to the right.
Emelia flinched, then turned. Allie’s mother. How could she have missed seeing the sparkles? She’d only met her at the beginning of the party and it had taken all of thirty seconds to work out what Allie meant when she said her family situation was complicated. The woman had all the warmth of an iceberg. “Mrs. Shire? Are you looking for something?”
“I prefer some privacy when I go to the bathroom, so I came up to our suite.” Veronica took a step toward Emelia, her eyes narrow. Her silver dress glittered as she moved. All that Emelia could think was that somewhere a nightclub needed its disco ball back. “Don’t try to change the subject.”
&nb
sp; “I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I think you do.” Veronica stepped forward and rested a perfectly manicured nail on the blooms. “Let’s start with the fact that peonies are Allison’s favorite flowers. Add in that they are predominantly a spring and early summer flower and we are into autumn. Factor in that those look extraordinarily like the kind of bouquets a person might carry at, say . . . a wedding?” Veronica tapped her elongated nail against her perfectly painted lip. “But I’m being very foolish, aren’t I? Because there is absolutely no way my daughter is getting married today. Not before her latest fiancé has signed the prenup. I assume you’ve heard of Allison’s propensity to fall in love with gold diggers.”
Jackson? A gold digger? Emelia would have laughed aloud at the ridiculousness of it all if it wasn’t for the fact that the woman’s face told her that Jackson and Allie’s almost perfectly executed plan was about to go up in smoke.
Peter rounded the top of the stairs, his mind still reeling from the news Jackson had just landed on him. A surprise wedding. He had to hand it to them. It was going to be a surprise all right. At least it was a much better one than seeing his brother here, the plus-one to a brunette who looked at him with adoring eyes. The girl had to be a friend of Allie’s, but Peter didn’t know her from Eve.
Emelia and Allie’s mother stood in the hallway. Emelia held two large bunches of flowers and her face suggested she was trying not to panic. Emelia was in on this too? He couldn’t see Veronica’s face but from the ramrod set of her back and the pointed finger she was waving around, he guessed they weren’t talking about the nice autumn weather.
“Is everything okay, ladies?”
Emelia gave him a look of relief that almost melted him. “Mrs. Shire is, um . . .”
“Going to put a stop to this nonsense.”
Peter tried not to squint. The woman’s blinged-out dress could have made a blind man see. “I’m sorry?”
“Don’t play dumb with me, young man. I know you’re in cahoots on this travesty too.”