16. Chapter Sixteen Theo
Chapter Sixteen: Theo
T wo hundred people sit in orderly lines on simple white chairs in the conservatory. The scene is flawless. Flowers and leafy vines spill forth from every corner of the room, cocooning the guests in a fragrant, pastel embrace.
I’m seated in the second row on the groom’s side, right next to the aisle. Elijah is already waiting on the altar, with Harry just a few steps to the side.
My watch tells me it’s 1:58 p.m. Any minute now, the ceremony will begin.
Standing in the very center of the altar is the silver-haired woman named Miss Maisie. She’s clad in layers upon layers of silk and chiffon, her bony wrists weighed down with silver bangles that tinkle pleasantly. She has a silver ring on nearly every finger, and her hands are clasped in front of her. The woman has a serene expression on her face. It’s hard not to believe the mystical things Lucy told me about her. She really does look like an ancient goddess or benevolent witch.
At that moment, a string quartet begins playing. The music is soft and lilting, almost playful in its melody. White gossamer curtains fluttering at the doors to the conservatory part just enough to allow a little girl with blonde ringlets dressed in a fluffy pink dress to step through. The girl grins at the crowd on either side of her, reaches her tiny hands into the basket looped on her chubby arm, and tosses a handful of blue and white petals into the air. Several people in the crowd chuckle as the adorable flower girl skips down the aisle.
“Maudette’s little girl,” I overhear a guest murmur to another. “Josie’s youngest niece.”
I am reminded again that families can be so much bigger than what I know. Neither of my parents have siblings, so I’ve never known what it’s like to have aunts and uncles, nor cousins. And, since I’m an only child, I’ll also never know what it’s like to have nephews and nieces. It’s not something I’ve ever bothered to think about before, but in this moment, with everyone’s emotions running high and the violinists playing the sweetest harmony I’ve ever heard, I feel a brand-new sense of longing.
I want to belong somewhere. I want to have a family.
I don’t want to be alone anymore.
As the flower girl finishes her endearing performance, the aisle adequately strewn with petals, my breath catches.
I know what comes next. Or rather, who .
The curtains part again, seemingly of their own accord, and out floats Lucy.
I’m pretty sure my knees would buckle if I wasn’t already sitting.
Lucy is radiant, her slender frame draped in a blue silk gown that just barely kisses the floor. Her shoulders are bare, save for delicate straps, showing off her dainty collarbones and graceful neck. Even from afar, her skin looks smooth as silk. I want to trace my fingertips over it, to reverently paint invisible art on her.
Clenching my hands into fists in my lap, I force my expression to remain neutral as Lucy drifts closer.
“Those Montgomery genes sure are blessed,” whispers a woman in the row behind me. Another woman murmurs an agreement.
Then, before I know it, Lucy is gliding past me. Her eyes flicker toward me for half a heartbeat and then refocus on the altar. I catch her grinning at Elijah, whose gaze is already glassy with emotion.
Lucy takes her spot on the opposite side of the altar, perfectly balanced with Harry’s position.
The music shifts, softening into something more tender and romantic. It’s not a typical bridal march, but rather a personalized melody that wafts around the airy space like a summer breeze.
Just like Lucy described earlier, the sunlight that had previously been pouring in from overhead and all around suddenly dims. Gasps and appreciative sighs echo throughout as the guests lift their faces to the domed ceiling and watch as the impressively high-tech shades—barely visible over the glass panels—darken the room. As the sun fades into a subtle glow, the thousands of string lights spark to life.
I smile to myself, proud of my handiwork. My gaze drifts toward Lucy at the altar to find that she’s already watching me. There’s a ghost of a smile on her lips, like a silent thank you for me alone.
And even as the guests rise to their feet and Lucy’s attention goes toward the back of the space, I can’t take my eyes off her. Even when I know that I should be admiring the graceful parting of the curtains and politely watching as Josie appears at the head of the aisle with her hand tucked into the crook of her father’s elbow, I cannot coax my stare away from Lucy.
I am barely aware of the bride gliding down the aisle. All I register is a graceful column of white satin and lace in my peripheral vision.
All I know is Lucy.
The music tugs on my heart, unraveling it little by little as I fight to pay attention to the ceremony. It’s no use, though. By the time Josie makes it to the altar, handing off her bouquet to Lucy and entwining her fingers with Elijah, I know that there is only one person my mind, heart, and soul want to focus on right now.
It is a beautiful ceremony. Of that, I’m certain. Even so, I’m only vaguely aware of the teary-eyed audience sighing as Josie and Elijah exchange their vows. Miss Maisie’s voice, smooth and strong, registers as a distant sound half drowned in the sea beyond the cliff.
Lucy doesn’t look my way again, but I swear it’s like she’s the only person up there on the altar. She’s shining like a beacon, brighter and bolder than the tiny fairy lights twinkling all around her.
I’m numbly aware of the people around me sniffling and dabbing at their eyes. Except my hammering heart nearly drowns them out.
My heartbeat sounds like her name. Thump-thump. Lu-cy.
“—and by the power vested in me by the State of Massachusetts…”
Lu-cy. Lu-cy.
“…I pronounce you husband and wife…”
Lu-cy .
“You may kiss the bride.”
As applause breaks out all around me, I robotically play along, clapping my hands together as Elijah kisses his bride underneath the wisteria arch. Even then, I can’t keep my gaze from slipping over to Lucy like a magnet.
Josie and Elijah face the crowd, both of them beaming with so much joy that it makes me wonder if I might tear up, too. Lucy is crying, though she’s doing her very best to hide the angelic droplets trickling down her cheeks.
The string quartet strikes up again as the bride and groom, now husband and wife, make their way back down the aisle. When Elijah passes by me, we lock eyes and I can’t help grinning at him. That grin is still on my face when I glance back up at Lucy. She’s not paying attention to me, though. Why would she?
My heart feels like it’s lodged in my throat as Lucy and Harry approach each other, smiling brightly at the best man and maid of honor, respectively, and then they link arms as they follow Josie and Elijah at a distance down the aisle. I try to catch her eye, but Lucy is too busy laughing and waving at the other guests. Her family and friends. Her loved ones. A group of special people that still doesn’t include me.
I try not to feel the pain of knowing that I don’t mean anything to her—that I’m just an annoying ghost from her past who came back to haunt her briefly. I wish I was different. I wish this whole situation was different. I wish I was the kind of man she smiled at. This morning, I thought I might have been getting close to achieving that, but maybe it was just my imagination.
The musicians continue playing even after the official wedding party has made their exit. I stand there, somewhat stunned, until I realize that my position at the end of the aisle means that I have to move out of the way now.
Dazed, my mind still drunk on the sight of Lucy, I step out into the aisle as the crowd starts milling around the conservatory. The Blakeley staff appear to be ushering people out toward a large room adjoining the conservatory for the cocktail hour. I lose myself to the stream of guests, sort of hovering near the familiar Caltech guys, but barely paying attention.
Lu-cy. Lu-cy . Lu-cy .
It won’t stop.
Cocktail hour is a blur. I think I sip at a whiskey ginger. I think I take a bite of something rich and savory served on a silver platter by white-coated staff. I think I pretend to pay attention to a nearby conversation, nodding along so that I don’t look like a social pariah.
All the while, however, I am searching for Lucy. I don’t even know why. I don’t know what I intend to say to her. I don’t even know if I have anything to say to her in the first place. I just want to see her—to be near her.
She’s off being a dutiful maid of honor, though. I think I catch glimpses of her as cocktail hour moves seamlessly into dinner. I thought she might be seated near the new Mr. and Mrs. Cromwell, who are smiling and bashful up at the head table, but Lucy is merely a slip of blue silk weaving through the crowd like a ribbon caught on the breeze. Even though that means getting close to her will be even more difficult tonight than I hoped, I can’t help smiling to myself. She’s elusive and it’s maddening, but she is also fascinating to me. I think she always has been.
“Hey, Theo,” says the woman seated next to me at the dinner table—another Caltech alum named Stacy. I wasn’t particularly close with her during college, but I appreciated that she always gave the guys a run for their money.
“Hi, Stacy. Haven’t seen you around these past few days.”
She shrugs, tucking a lock of short brown hair behind her ear. “Just flew in this morning. I was in Seoul dealing with some clientele and almost didn’t get away in time. I already missed Elijah’s first wedding, though. I really didn’t want to miss this one. Especially since they’re so clearly…”
Stacy turns to look at the bride and groom at their designated table. Elijah is grinning at something Josie is saying. He looks like the happiest man alive.
Akim, who is sitting on my other side, leans forward and finishes Stacy’s sentence for her. “Soulmates?”
Stacy snorts. “You know, I’m really not the sort of person who believes in stuff like that, but I think you’re right, Akim.”
“Of course I’m right.”
Just when I think I’m about to become the awkward silent one stuck in the middle of their banter, Akim’s attention is grabbed by Harry, who is sitting at the table next to ours. He leans back precariously in his chair to speak with the best man, leaving me to figure out how to make small talk with Stacy.
Stacy, however, is never one to mess around with useless niceties.
“Anyway,” she continues, “I was actually hoping to talk to you, Theo.”
“Oh? About what?”
“Business.”
I quirk an eyebrow at her. “What kind of business?”
She readjusts her glasses, then spears a perfectly seared piece of steak onto her fork. “You still freelancing?”
Everybody else at the table is absorbed in their own conversations, so I don’t bother sugarcoating when I reply, “Yeah, I guess so. If that’s what you want to call it.”
Stacy snorts. “Well, listen. That app you sold to Samsung a few years ago? It was genius.”
“Oh. Thanks.”
“Any chance you’ve got a price on that genius?”
“Pardon?”
“I mean, what do I have to do to get you on board with my company? I want you, Theo. Professionally, that is. Men aren’t really my cup of tea in the other sense.”
I stare at her for a long moment, food temporarily forgotten, as I try to remember what Stacy’s company does. I think it began as a tiny telecom startup based in her dorm room when we were still in school. I think I remember reading a feature on her in Wired a few months ago that mentioned how insanely successful she is now on an international scale. If she was just in Seoul on business, and name-drops Samsung as if they’re an old friend, I believe it.
“I’m not sure I’m looking for a full-time contract at the moment,” I admit.
Stacy’s already shaking her head before I’m done with my halfhearted protest, though.
“No, no. It’s more of a leadership gig. I want to open up an office here in Boston so I can finally scoop up some prodigies from MIT before they run off to Google or Meta. Or whatever. And when I was thinking of old school chums who might be a good fit to run that office, your name came up.”
Old school chums ? Stacy and I barely had three conversations during our time at Caltech. Then again, I’ve never been the chatty type. It’s probably my fault we didn’t talk much.
“That’s… flattering,” I answer.
Stacy rolls her eyes. “I’m not trying to flatter you, Theo. I’m trying to hire you. What do you say?”
I blink in surprise. Leave it to her to try to broker a business deal at a wedding dinner. I stare down at my plate, as if the answer will be hidden among the perfectly roasted and spiced vegetables. Then, to stall for time as I try to gather my thoughts, I reach for my wine glass and swallow down a large gulp.
The truth is, I’m well aware that I don’t have much going on in my life in California. I’m a loner who spends most of his time huddled in a dark office, coding for random clients. And that’s really more of a hobby than a job, considering the app I designed when I was freshly graduated earned me a nine-figure paycheck that is now very wisely invested and growing every day.
I don’t really need a job. I never did, honestly. If I wanted to lean into the spoiled Hollywood brat image, I could’ve foregone college entirely and lived off my family’s wealth for my entire life. I’m not that kind of guy, though. And I like to stay busy.
What’s really keeping me in Los Angeles? It’d be easy enough to sell my house. I don’t exactly have much of a social life that I’d need to say goodbye to. My parents are there, but they’ve got their careers and their respective posses and devoted fans. They don’t really need me around.
In fact, getting away from California might be the breath of fresh air that I’ve been in need of. Back there, I’m Theo Danvers, the son of the glamorous Daphne Shay. It’s not an image that I can ever escape, no matter how hard I try to differentiate myself from my spotlight-hungry relatives. Life in Hollywood is all about who you know. It’s about glamour and show business. Lights, camera, action.
In Boston, maybe things could be different. The film industry doesn’t dominate that city. Chances are that most people won’t know or care who I am, just like here in Mermaid Shores.
In fact, Boston isn’t far from here. And here is where Lucy is…
I take another gulp of wine and stop that thought in its tracks. I’m getting ahead of myself.
“Listen,” Stacy says when it’s clear that I have no idea what to say to her. “I’ll email you some more info, yeah? I’ll lay it all out for you and copy my assistant on it so she can also answer any questions you might have. Just think about it, Theo. I know it’d be a big move, but I’m certain it’d also be the right move.”
She punctuates her little speech with a wink.
I guess there’s no harm in considering the possibility, so I nod. “Sure, Stacy. Send me an email. I’ll think about it.”
She beams. I smile back.
And then, my heart picks up its new favorite song all over again. Lu-cy. Lu-cy.