"She was happy when I divorced Wyatt," I say.
"She might have been glad you didn't have to deal with him anymore," Grant says, "but do you really think she was happy you were getting a divorce? Do you really think it made her happy to see you hurt, frustrated, disappointed, and scared? She had to watch you struggle while knowing there was nothing she could do to help you. Imagine how hard that was for her. Now she has a chance to see you happy again. She might not have been there to watch the actual wedding, but in her heart, she feels like you have another chance, and she can relax again."
Weight presses down on my shoulders. I hadn't thought about any of that, and now that Grant has said it, I know there's no turning back. We've come this far, and we can't just erase it now. All we can do is see it through to the end – wherever it takes us.
"Can we wait until tomorrow to talk to your family? I don't think I have it in me to have another one of those conversations."
"That's fine," Grant says, rubbing my back. "Go draw a bath for yourself and relax. I'll try to start making some sense out of this disaster." I take a step forward, but don't know where to go from there. I look helplessly at Grant, and he maneuvers around me. "Here," he says. "Let me pave the way for you."
I laugh as he starts across the room, high stepping over boxes, and pushing bags out of the way to create a path for me to follow.
I wake up the next morning feeling more relaxed, and as I make my way into the kitchen, I can smell that Grant’s already brewing coffee. He hands me a mug as I enter the room, and I take a grateful sip.
"Did you ever come to bed last night?" I ask.
The bed was cold and empty when I woke up, and I refuse to admit to him that I tried to curl myself around him in the pre-dawn light.
"No," he says, gesturing toward a precarious mound of clothes, furniture cushions, and other items from my house still visible in one half of the living room. "I crashed for a couple of hours in that cocoon over there."
I laugh and take another sip of my coffee.
"Have you talked to your parents?"
"I called them a while ago," he says. "I suggested we come over this evening, but they're busy."
I'm unexpectedly miffed by this revelation.
"Hmm," I say.
Grant looks at me with a teasing smile.
"Are you pouting?" he asks. "You're the one who wanted to keep this all quiet and not bring any attention to it, and now you're upset my family isn't champing at the bit to welcome the new happy couple?"
"They could have at least made a little effort," I say sheepishly against the rim of my mug.
Grant laughs and presses a kiss to the top of my head.
"I'm going to take a shower," he says. He pauses just outside the kitchen door. "You're welcome to join me if you want, Mrs. Laurence."
I make a face at him, and he laughs again as he disappears further into the house. When he's gone, I walk into the living room and survey the scattered remnants of the life I had started to build for myself. I thought I was on the right track, but this sure is one hell of a detour.
I'm picking through one of the bags of my clothes, hoping for something to replace Grant’s shirt I have on under my robe, when my phone rings. I fish it out of my robe pocket and smile when I see Judy's number on the screen.
"Good morning," I say. "Have you forgiven me now that you've found yourself wrapped in the sweet, stoic arms of Jeremy?"
"Do you have anything fancy to wear?"
Well, that wasn't the response I was expecting.
"Why?" I ask.
"We are going out tonight, and you need to look nice. Do you have anything fancy to wear?"
She’s strangely insistent, and I nod reassuringly even though she can't see me.
"Probably," I say. "I'm also temporarily married to a billionaire, so I'm sure I can source something fancy if I need to."
"Great."
She hangs up, and a few seconds later, the phone rings again.
"Yes?"
"Just normal fancy, ok? Not billionaire fancy. Like millionaire fancy. Maybe even a little less than that. Don't show up with a jewel-encrusted gown or anything."
"I promise I'll avoid anything too princess-inspired," I tell her.
"Good."
She hangs up, and a few seconds later, the phone rings again.
"It's so nice to hear from you. It's been so long," I answer.
"I'll pick you up at seven."
I'm still giggling when Grant comes into the room.
"Are you done with your shower already?" I ask.
"No," he says. "I haven't even gotten in. My father just called. He wants us to have dinner with them tonight."
"I thought they were already doing something.”
"Apparently there was a change of plans."
"Well, there was for me, too. I'm going out with Judy. She just invited me."
I know this moment all too well. This is where the conversation explodes into an argument. I'm expecting Grant's eyes to darken and his hands to clench angrily at his sides before he demands I cancel with Judy so I can go with him. Instead, he pulls out his phone again.
"I'll call them back," he says.
Relieved, and a little bewildered, I grab a handful of clothes I've unearthed and make my way toward the bathroom to dress. When I'm dressed in leggings and a dark blue sweater that wards off the chill in the air, but does nothing for my sense of feminine mystique, I walk back into the living room.
"What did they say?" I ask.
"I'm still going to meet up with them tonight," he says. "But we'll go see them together tomorrow."
"Sounds good," I say.
"What time is Judy picking you up?"
"Seven," I say.
"What's on the schedule for the rest of the day?"
"Well, she says I have to be fancy, so that's going to take up a good chunk of the evening. Other than that, I guess I'm sifting through this mess, and getting ready for school to start up again in a couple days."
"So, back to normal life," he says.
I nod.
"Back to normal life."
* * *
That evening…
"Where are we going?" I ask Judy as we shuffle our way down the sidewalk.
The air around us is bitingly cold, and even though we parked her car at the end of Main Street and have only been walking for a few moments, I’m chilled to my bones.
"You'll see," she says.
She's holding back a smile, and I have the distinct feeling she's up to something. We finally arrive at the library, and I immediately notice all of the lights inside are burning. The Ladies Society always keeps at least a few bulbs going when they close up for the evening so the building isn't completely dark, but I've never seen it lit up like this after hours.
"What's going on at the library?" I ask. "Is there some sort of lecture series?"
"Would a lecture series require fancy dress?" Judy asks.
"I don't know. It depends on the topic, I guess."
She shakes her head.
"No, it’s not a lecture series."
We get to the top of the steps, and I hear hushed voices from inside. Judy grabs the door handle and throws open the door.
"Surprise!" she shouts as I step inside and people come at me from every corner of the room.
Startled, I stumble back a few steps.
"What's happening?" I ask Judy.
"It's your reception!" she gushes.
"My what?"
"Congratulations, Emma!" a voice says just before soft, cushiony arms swathed in velvet wrap around me for a tight hug.
"Congratulations!" another voice says, and I'm passed into another hug.
"What did you do?" I ask Judy in a harsh whisper.
"You said you didn't want anyone to know you didn't mean to get married," she says.
"So… you threw me a reception?" I ask.
"Yes," she replies matter-of-factly. "You want everything to look legit, and to n
ot blow your cover."
"That doesn't mean throwing a party."
"You and Grant left everyone on the island out of your wedding. No matter what the circumstances of the ceremony are, you know that's going to bother people. It’s suspicious for a member of the most prominent family on the island to run off and elope, then come back here and try to slide on back into everyday life like nothing happened. So… party."
I'm surprised by how logical her train of thought actually is, but I don't have much time to think it through before realizing that Grant isn't here.
"Why isn't my husband at this celebration of our new marriage?" I ask. "Don't you think he's an important detail?"
"That was part of the surprise," she says gleefully. "He's coming with his parents. I figured you'd know something was up if I asked both of you to get fancy and come somewhere. So, I called his parents, and we planned it all out."
"Emma?"
The voice is familiar, even after all these years, and I turn to see Dean standing at the doorway to the kitchen.
"Dean," I say, a warm smile spreading across my face. "It's so good to see you."
"You, too," he says. He gathers me in a friendly hug. "And congratulations. I hear you're my sister, now."
I don't expect the blush that rushes across my cheeks, and I glance away to get myself back under control.
What was that all about?
“I thought you’d at least mention it to me when I saw you guys.”
Seth walks in the room, and I try not to feel like I’m being ambushed.
“We didn’t know it was going to happen then,” I tell him. “It was a… surprise to us as well.”
Seth looks at me suspiciously, like he’s unsure of what I’ve told him. I look back at him as openly as I can, and eventually, he smiles.
“I guess I’ll give you a pass on this one,” he says playfully. “Congratulations.”
He hugs me affectionately.
“Thank you,” I say. “I’m sure you’ll get more of the story when Grant and I come to see you tomorrow.”
"Speaking of which, where's Grant?"
An older version of the Preston from my memories enters the room. He looks just as serious as I remember.
"Isn't he with you?" I ask. "Judy said your parents were bringing him. I just figured that meant all of you were coming together."
Dean shakes his head.
"No," he says. "He was supposed to meet us here."
"I'm sure he'll be here soon," I say.
Even as I say it, a flicker of worry flashes through my stomach.
For the next half hour, I roam the different rooms of the library, greeting guests and pretending to be happily married. I'm about to try and sneak away to call him when Grant walks into the library. He's bombarded with the same rush of well-wishers I was, but his eyes meet mine across the room, and I can see he needs to talk to me. We make our way toward each other, and he takes my hand, pulling me along as we weave our way through the crowd. I lean in close to Judy as we pass.
"Cover for us," I whisper.
"Everybody!" she shouts. "How about a round of the Chicken Dance? I'm sure someone can find it on their phone. Martha? Jacob?"
Grant pulls us into the quiet of a back office and closes the door.
"Where have you been?" I ask. "I thought you were going to dinner with your parents."
"I was," he says. "But apparently dinner was actually a cover for coming here. They ruined the surprise when I told them I needed to meet them tomorrow instead of going to the house tonight."
"Why?"
"Well, I decided to go have another talk with Mrs. Davidson."
Chapter Sixteen
Grant
"Why did you talk to Mrs. Davidson again?" Emma asks.
"I couldn't stop thinking about what she told me about Mr. Kleinfelder. I knew there had to be more to it than just the prom. I mean, I understand that was a big deal, and it caused a lot of turmoil in Magnolia Falls, but it couldn't have been just that. There had to be more to that story.”
"It doesn't make sense," Emma says. "Even if he was upset and disillusioned by missing prom and the fire, why would he leave and never come back? And why would no one ever talk about him?"
"Exactly," I say. "It just doesn't add up. I got the feeling yesterday that Mrs. Davidson knew more than she was telling me. So, I had a chat with her today."
"Did you find out anything?"
I smile and nod.
"I certainly did," I say. "But I don't think we should get into it here. People are going to start to wonder why we disappeared from our own surprise wedding reception. Let's get through the rest of this, and then we'll go home and I'll tell you everything."
Emma looks reluctant at first, but finally nods.
"Alright," she says.
We walk back into the main room of the library just in time to see Judy leading the guests in flying around the room. It seems the chicken dance has reached its glorious conclusion as onlookers applaud. Judy and Emma catch each other's eyes, and Judy looks distinctly relieved. She rushes over to us.
"Thank goodness we can stop," she says. "Is everything ok?"
Emma and I nod.
"Perfect," Emma says. She takes my hand. "Let's keep celebrating."
Emma sends me curious looks the rest of the evening. I can see her mind turning with questions, and I can't wait to talk to her about what I’ve found. Finally, we've eaten our way through the potluck feast the guests brought, cut the cake Judy crafted because she couldn't convince Benjamina's granddaughter to make a wedding cake in twenty-four hours, and accepted way too many hugs and congratulations from our guests. When the final partier has left the library, I close the door and turn to Judy.
"Do you think that was convincing?" she asks.
I can't help but smile at her.
"I think we've got them fooled," I say in the same conspiratorial whisper. She smiles and starts toward the kitchen to clean up. I'm surprised she was able to convince the Ladies Society to give her permission to use the library for the party. Usually they are fiercely protective of the books, and don't even like when someone comes in sucking on a breath mint. Lord help you if you're chewing gum.
"Do you want us to stay and help?" Emma calls to her.
"Oh, no," Judy replies. "Don't worry about it, I've got it under control. Besides, I had to give my solemn vow that I would be the one to clean, and properly apologize to any book that was harmed or touched inappropriately."
I'm not entirely sure how one touches a book inappropriately, but out of fear of having Judy explain it, we tell her goodnight, and leave the library. Emma pulls her coat tight around her, and steps closer to me. I love the way it feels to have her lean against me as we walk back to my car. The drive home is short, and Emma is practically buzzing with anticipation. The minute I shut the front door, locking it behind us, Emma turns to me.
"What did she tell you?" she asks.
"Do you want to change before we talk?"
Emma looks down as if she's forgotten the black cocktail dress and spike heels she wore tonight.
"Oh," she says. "I probably should. I'll meet you back here."
She's taken a few steps further into the living room before she realizes I'm following her. She glances over her shoulder at me, and I smile.
"Same bedroom," I point out.
She nods, her expression telling me she hasn't quite accepted the idea that we live together now. Emma grabs an armful of clothes from a basket and ducks into the bathroom. I hear water running, and know she is scrubbing away her makeup and washing her face. By the time she comes back into the room, Emma’s wearing leggings and a sweatshirt, her face is clean, and her golden blonde hair is twisted up in a tortoiseshell clip at the back of her head.
I've changed into a pair of cotton lounge pants, but haven't put on a shirt, and Emma's eyes subtly scan over my body. At least I know she appreciates one thing about our marriage.
I grab a plate of cookies I
brought back from the reception and meet Emma in the living room. She's made a spot for herself on the cluttered couch, but she can’t be comfortable.
"Maybe this isn't the greatest spot for us to talk," I say.
"What?" she asks. "It's perfect. Just perch on top of that ottoman over there."
"As appealing as that is, I think we might be able to stretch out more if we talk in the bedroom." She eyes me, and I do my best to maintain as neutral an expression as possible. "I'll sit on the chair," I offer.
She stands and follows me into the bedroom. I set the plate of cookies on the table beside the bed as Emma leans back against the cushioned headboard. She plucks a cookie from the top of the stack and looks at me expectantly. I take my time examining the cookies, counting chocolate chunks, evaluating the regularity of the shape. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Emma getting more and more anxious. Patience really isn’t one of her strengths.
"Just pick a cookie!" she snaps.
I try to hold back my laughter as I select a cookie, taking a bite.
"These are delicious," I say
"I'll ask my mother for the recipe," she says.
"Awww," I say. "Are you going to sit home and bake cookies for me?"
"Don't push it," she says. "Tell me about Mrs. Davidson. With all this build-up, it better be good. Like, murder mystery, sordid affair good."
"I thought it was going to take more convincing to get Mrs. Davidson to open up about what she knew than it did. As it turns out, she had no problem spilling everything. According to her, her grandfather used to tell stories about Mr. Kleinfelder. He didn't necessarily say it explicitly, but it was pretty well understood that these weren't things to be talked about outside of the home because they had to do with other people who weren't around to defend themselves."
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