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Chapter 5

FIVE

Charlie

Today

“Oh my God, Charlotte Anne Cooper! ” Angela, my sister-in-law, best friend, and maid of honor, covers her mouth and squeals, startling the beautiful baby girl on her hip. “You are the most beautiful bride ever!” she finishes in a more soothing tone, shushing her sweet daughter, Elise.

With a shaky hand, I refocus on my reflection, smoothing the bodice cinching my waist. The boning cuts into my ribs and the beaded lace scratches my palms. I force a smile as I fluff the voluminous skirt flaring off my hips. “I feel like I’m drowning in this thing.”

“Metaphorically or literally?” Angela casts a worried glance at my bridesmaids, Ivy and Mina.

I tug at long strands of tulle attached near the armpits of the bodice and tied in bows around each of my arms before the rest of the fabric cascades to join the twenty-inch train.

The designer called them a ‘whimsical play on puff sleeves and fairy wings.’

I call them ‘in the way.’

“There’s just a lot of fabric, you know? And I’m not a big person. Even in these giant ass heels, it’s like it’s devouring me.” I lift the endless layers of silk, lace, and tulle to show my badass, blood red Jimmy Choos that match the badass, blood red bridesmaids’ dresses I chose for my friends.

Another worried glance passes between them like a psychic game of telephone they don’t know I can see through the mirror.

“That has to be wedding day nerves talking,” says Mina. “You could get married in a paper bag and it’d be trending the next day. Not that I’m calling your dress a paper bag. It’s stunning. You’re stunning. Oh geeze. There goes my foot into my mouth again.”

“Mina’s right,” Ivy says with a firm nod and a gentle smile. “That dress isn’t owning you. You’re owning it.”

Angela’s wide grin doesn’t match her worried posture. “Davis is going to pass out when he sees you walking down the aisle.”

Davis Chaplin.

My fiancé.

The man who will be my husband in just a few short hours.

Ivy puts a hand on my arm, her knowing eyes searching mine through the mirror. “This sounds bigger than wedding day nerves. Do you need to talk? Is something bothering you?”

Is something bothering me? Like about how I’m getting married in an hour and the only thing on my mind all day—all week really—has been Nick Hutton?

That day at the pier, when we finally gave a name to what we’d been feeling all those years, me watching him walk into the airport, thinking he was the man I’d eventually marry. I honestly thought all I had to do was wait six months for him to get home and we’d walk merrily into the sunset together.

Instead, he had that accident—that terrible, terrible accident…

More than anything, I can’t get my mind off the day I saw him at the hospital. Me, sleep deprived from worry, desperate to finally have him back. To touch his skin, hold his hand and truly know that he was alive. That this was real and he’d really come home.

And Nick, withdrawn, sullen, a stranger taking the place of someone I thought loved me.

After that first day, he never let me visit again. Assuming that was the trauma talking, I showed up day after day but nothing changed. He wouldn’t see me. Wouldn’t talk to me. Wouldn’t answer my calls or texts. The letter I had Angela deliver went unanswered.

I had no choice but to come to an uncomfortable conclusion… I didn’t mean as much to him as he did to me.

When things got real, I wasn’t worth keeping around.

Which shouldn’t matter because I’m about to marry someone who loves me the way Nick couldn’t. I’m desperate to get him out of my head.

Maybe talking to Ivy about it would help.

“I—”

The doors burst open and my stepmom glides through in a swish of flowing skirts, beachy blonde waves, and the gentle jangle of bracelets. “There’s my beautiful girl! Oh, Charlie! You’re stunning.”

“It’s Charlotte now, Momma.” The response is automatic. No one can remember I’m going by my full name now. I swear, I correct someone at least once an hour.

“I know, I know.” She grabs my face and squishes my cheeks before pressing a kiss to my forehead. “Be patient with me. I can’t get used to the change.”

“You and me both,” I say with a grimace, “I thought becoming Charlie Chaplin was hilarious, but you know how Davis gets.”

The first name isn’t the problem, whispers a familiar voice in the back of my head while everyone in the room concedes my point with sage nods. It’s the wrong last name. That’s the problem.

I push the voice aside.

Refreshing my smile, I glance up to find my four most favorite women in the whole world watching me with concern.

Angela Cooper, my brother’s wife and my absolute best friend, bouncing her beautiful baby girl, her red hair swooping and curling into an intricate updo.

Ivy Hutton, sweet and gentle, but sharp as a tack, assesses me with her hands clasped in front of her body—non-judgmental as ever. Her blonde hair curls lightly around her shoulders.

Mina West with her fair skin and raven hair, her lips moving ever so slightly in what’s probably a whispered prayer for help in avoiding shoving her foot in her mouth.

And Amelia Cooper, the woman who swooped in when my brothers and I were young and troubled, and Dad didn’t know what to do with us. She had the patience, love, and acceptance we so desperately needed. Today, her eyes are uneasy and her smile is forced. It’s not a look she wears well.

This is my wedding day. She’s supposed to be happy. I’m supposed to be happy. I’m marrying my high school crush. The man voted most likely to succeed… a man who definitely did succeed. I’m safe with Davis. Secure. My future is set and I know he’ll never hurt me the way Nick did. He’ll never walk away from me. He’ll never leave me waiting, wondering, aching…

But still, I feel restless. My heart is racing for all the wrong reasons. Is this normal? Does every bride feel like they’re teetering on the edge of a cliff, unsure if they’ll fly or fall?

I purse my lips and release a long breath, letting my eyes slide closed for a blessed moment of peace before I open them again.

“I’m sorry,” I say as brightly as possible. “You’re all being wonderful and I think I’m just a bundle of nerves and have been cooped up in this room too long. You know how I get.”

My crew nods knowingly. My ‘terrier energy’ is well known. If I’m not run at least once a day, things can get ugly.

“And, I don’t know, is there just way too much pastel in here? It’s not helping.” I wave my hand around the room with its blush pink walls, mint accents, and way-too-soft lavender detailing. The furniture only adds to the sugary sweetness—a baby blue loveseat against one wall, a pale yellow armchair by the vanity, and a pink rug that matches the walls a little too perfectly. Sheer curtains drape the arched windows, letting in soft, natural light that doesn’t make it any better. The vintage vanity is decked out with pastel-colored hydrangeas and floral-patterned makeup bags. Even the decorative pillows look like they were designed to suffocate me with their cheeriness. The church administrator was so very proud of the bridal suite the day she gave us a tour. Davis ooo’d and ahh’d, as impressed as the muumuu wearing woman beside us.

“I tried to tell Davis pastel makes me antsy, but…” I wave off the end of that sentence and finish with, “Marriage is compromise, you know? The sooner I get used to that, the better!”

Four sets of eyebrows draw together and that’s it. I’ve hit my limit on silent concern. I don’t know what they’re holding back, but the fact that not one of the strong, say-what-you-mean women in front of me will clue me in is driving me rose-petal-pink crazy.

“I think I need to go for a walk.”

“A walk?” Mom steps forward. “The wedding starts in an hour, Charlie…otte.”

“I won’t be gone long. Promise.”

I swoop up my skirts and swish through the doors, my heels a sharp staccato against the tile floor. I did not want to get married in a church. I wanted to get married at The Hutton Hotel, barefoot on the beach at sunset. Davis was firmly against the idea. He said he didn’t want the humidity and wind to wreak havoc on everyone’s hair, but I think it had more to do with Nick being a Hutton. Never mind that my brother and best friend are about to officially take over the hotels. Or that stuffy and formal just isn’t my thing.

But out of respect for Davis’s feelings and the fact that stuffy and formal is very much his thing, we compromised. The wedding is being held here where we can meet his standard of elegance and structure, and the reception will be at The Hut, where I can dance barefoot with my family and friends.

Speaking of barefoot…

I bend to slip off my shoes, bracing my hand against a wall for balance. Footsteps sound around a corner.

“Does Charlotte know?”

My ears perk up at the sound of my name. That’s Aaron McClain, Davis’s best man.

“Of course Charlotte doesn’t know,” hisses Davis. “I’m not an idiot.”

I freeze, one heel off, one heel on, still braced against the wall. What don’t I know and why don’t I know it?

Aaron huffs in disgust. “You’re making some pretty fucked up choices lately. How am I supposed to know where the stupidity stops and where it starts?”

“It stops at ruining the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” Davis replies.

A smile tugs at my lips and I place my free hand to my heart. He shouldn’t be keeping secrets, and we’ll get to the bottom of that in t-minus ten seconds, but hearing my fiancé call me the best thing that’s ever happened to him is exactly what I need to soothe my nerves.

“Are you talking about Charlotte?” The disbelief in Aaron’s voice is a tad annoying. “She’s the best thing that ever happened to you.”

“Yes, you moron. Charlotte.”

That’s right, baby! Stick up for me! There’s the safety and security I need!

“She’s hot,” Davis continues. “She’s smart. She’s funny. She catches everyone’s attention when she walks into a room.”

I lean my head against the wall like it’s his shoulder.

“But here’s the best part,” Davis says. “I barely had to push to get her to give up her stupid excuse for a job teaching yoga and promise to pump out babies starting as soon as physically possible.”

“How is that the best part?” Aaron asks and I nod in vigorous agreement.

“That’s the kind of wife you want, when you work at a conservative firm like ours. Get the cocks twitching when she walks into a room and the hens clucking their approval of our strong family values. Makes me very promotable.”

I lean against the wall, breath shallow. Each word Davis said hits me like a slap, the sting sharp and unrelenting. Hot. Smart. Funny. He’d reduced me to bullet points on his professional résumé. Not a partner. Not a person. Just an accessory to make him look good

The warm fuzzies bleed away and I’m just empty. No shock. No outrage. There’s just… nothing.

And that doesn’t seem right.

There should be… something.

Why isn’t there something?

“What happens when your brand new wife finds out you can’t keep your dick in your pants?”

“Lower your fucking voice, dammit!” Davis hisses. “She’s not gonna find out. I’ve been fucking Brandi for longer than I’ve been dating Charlotte, and Brandi, man? We’ve never gotten close to finding a boundary in the sack. And don’t get me wrong, I know things with Serena won’t last, but she’s a fun distraction from all the emotional crap with the others. Charlotte’s been oblivious up to this point. She’ll be oblivious moving forward. I’ve got this in the bag.”

And… there’s the shock, outrage, and a whole lot of something .

I drop my shoe.

It hits the floor like a gunshot.

“Shit,” whispers Davis. “What was that?” He pokes his head around the corner and the look on his face when he sees me says it all.

It’s not regret.

Or anguish.

Or desperation.

The man laughs like he’s ready to explain it all away.

I hold up a finger and open my mouth, ready for the insult to end all insults to fly into his face. I always have something to say. Always.

Except not today. Not now. I grit my teeth and shake the finger in frustration before stabbing it into his chest. He stares in confusion before I spin and take several exaggerated limps in the opposite direction before yanking off my other shoe, gathering my skirts, and running down the hallway…

…right into the brick wall of a chest that belongs to Nicholas Hutton.