25. Emma
25
EMMA
" I mean, just look at this." Lily emerged from behind a changing screen in her wedding dress, practically glowing. "It's like it was made for me."
I blinked back tears as I took in my baby sister. Sure, I’d already seen the dress when she picked it out, but the alterations were almost done now and it already looked so amazing. And she looked so, so happy.
The dress was everything she'd dreamed of—delicate lace overlay, subtle sparkle in the bodice, and a flowing skirt that made her look like an actual princess.
"You're beautiful," I managed.
Martha Wellington dabbed at her eyes with a monogrammed handkerchief. "Marcus won’t be able to resist you, Lily. I’m sure he’ll practically claw that dress off you as soon as you’re back to your room on the big night.”
Creepy, but okay. I had to give Martha a pass, because even pervy comments were an improvement over her usual personality.
The seamstress fussed with the hem while I circled Lily, checking every detail. The dress had needed minimal alterations, which was good since we were cutting it close. Everything had to be perfect.
Perfect. The word tasted bitter now.
"What's wrong?" Lily asked, catching my expression in the mirror.
"Nothing." I forced a smile. "Just thinking about last-minute details."
"Liar. You've got that look."
"What look?"
"The one you get when you're overthinking something." She turned to face me, careful of the pins sticking out of her dress at various places. "Is this about James?"
Martha's head snapped up with interest. I shot Lily a warning look, but she ignored me.
"Because if it is," she continued, "you should know he was asking about you this morning after our dance lessons. When I couldn’t tell him where you were, he looked like someone kicked his puppy."
"Lily..."
"What? I'm just saying, maybe you should talk to him. And maybe stop hiding in wedding preparations."
"I'm not hiding. I'm doing my job." Even I didn't believe that one.
"Uh huh." She raised an eyebrow. "Is that why you've scheduled back-to-back meetings for two days straight? I snooped in your planner when you were in the bathroom a few minutes ago,” she added at my confused expression.
"I have a lot to coordinate!" I stammered.
"Emma." Lily's voice softened. "The wedding is practically planned. You're just using it as an excuse."
“A wedding plan is a living, breathing thing. It’s like a sick patient, and it needs constant care and supervision. The moment I look away, it’ll turn over and croak on me. Is that what you want?”
“I want my big sister to be happy and enjoy this like I am. It doesn’t have to be perfect, Em. I’m marrying the man of my dreams. It could rain on us. Birds could poop on my dress.” She smiled and shrugged. “It’ll just make for a funny story we can tell our friends until they get tired of hearing it. Our crazy, unique wedding. Or it’ll be perfect. Who knows, and who cares? I’m getting married, Em!” She did a little hopping dance that made the seamstress scowl. “I’m too happy to care about the details.”
I smiled, but I couldn’t quite let her words sink in and register. “Well, that’s great. But I should really go check on the florist. Some of the flowers they sent still weren’t good enough, and the replacements should be getting delivered?—”
"Tomorrow afternoon," Lily finished. "Which you know because you've triple-checked everything. Stop running."
I made another excuse about checking with Chef Antoine and fled anyway, because apparently that's what I did best these days.
The resort's halls were quiet, with most guests out on the ski slopes or taking part in various amenities around the building. Some were probably still sleeping in, too. I found myself wandering toward the kitchen, where Chef Antoine was supervising final menu testing.
"Ah! My favorite wedding planner!" He gestured me over with a flour-covered hand. "Try this."
He held out a spoon of something that smelled divine. I took a bite and nearly moaned.
"Good?"
"Incredible. What is it?"
"The sauce for the duck breast. Though..." He frowned at the pot. "Perhaps it needs more thyme."
"It's amazing," I assured him. "But I can stick around if you want to test more ideas. You know, just to be sure."
He laughed. "You cannot hide in my kitchen forever, chérie."
"I'm not hiding!"
"No? You try to tell me I do not know the look of troubled love? I, a man who understands the recipe of love in a way only a chef can? I, who?—”
“Okay, okay,” I said, laughing slightly as I slumped into a chair. “Why is everybody trying to give me relationship advice today?”
"Because you are a wonderful woman who people cannot help but respect. And today, your face has trouble written all over it.” He rolled some fresh thyme leaves and expertly cut them into small pieces, then stirred them into the sauce. "That man of yours, he looks at you like you are the most exquisite dish he has ever seen. And you look at him the same way. So why do you run? Why are you not with him right at this moment?"
"It's complicated."
"Bah. Love is always complicated. That is what makes it interesting." He tasted the sauce, added a pinch of something. "Did I ever tell you how I met my wife?"
I shook my head.
"I was working in Paris, very serious about my career. She was American, visiting for a cooking class. She spoke terrible French, burned everything she touched, and somehow set fire to a bowl of cereal."
I laughed despite myself. "How do you set fire to cereal?"
"She just learned how to flambé, and imagined she was going to be the genius who discovered its uses in the world of breakfast cereal. She wanted to ‘caramelize the oats,’ she said. Can you even imagine? She was terrible in the kitchen. The worst student I ever had." His eyes went hazy with memory. "And I fell madly in love with her. My family said I was crazy. Her family thought I was just after a green card. But sometimes..." He shrugged. "Sometimes the heart knows what it wants, even when the head says no."
"And you lived happily ever after?"
"Of course not! She still cannot cook to save her life. She could not put her shoes in the shoe bins. She sings terribly, and often. But she makes me laugh every day, and that is worth more than perfect soufflés, no?"
Before I could respond, one of his sous chefs called him away. I sat there thinking about his words until my phone buzzed.
Maggie: Did you talk to him yet?
Me: I'm working on it.
Maggie: That's a no. Stop being a chicken.
Me: I'm not being a chicken. I'm being cautious.
Maggie: Bock bock bock!
Her last text was followed by a few chicken head emojis. Jerk.
I pocketed my phone with a groan and headed for my next meeting. The resort's event coordinator wanted to review the reception layout one more time.
I was so lost in thought I nearly crashed into Marcus coming around a corner.
"Woah!" He caught my arm to steady me. "You okay?"
"Fine! Sorry, I was..." I gestured vaguely. "Thinking."
"About James?"
"Really? Is every single person I talk to today going to give me unwanted relationship advice?” I half shouted the question. I raised a hand to my mouth, winced, and then muttered an apology. “Long day already. Sorry.”
"I didn’t mean to pry. You two just seem so happy when you’re together, and then every time you’re apart there are storm clouds all over your faces. I know it’s not my place, but it’s like you can’t see how happy you make each other. Or… like you’re finding problems where there aren’t any, when you should really just be focusing on how you feel when you’re around him. I mean, take Lily. When I’m with her, I feel…” he smiled, showing a pair of dimples I hadn’t really noticed before. “Amazing. Like eating the best meal or landing the biggest deal. But better. It’s just… great. So when I’m not with her, I’m usually trying to figure out how the hell to get around her faster. Like right now she’s trying on her dress, so I’m stuck wandering around wishing she was here."
I studied Marcus. For once, I really looked at him. He had that same soft expression he always got when he talked about Lily—like she was the sun his whole world revolved around.
"Can I ask you something?"
He nodded.
"How did you know? With Lily, I mean. How did you know it was real?"
He considered for a moment. "I think... I think it was the little things. Like how she leaves her stuff everywhere and it drives me crazy, but I know I’d be heartbroken if her mess was suddenly gone. Or how she tells terrible jokes when she's nervous. Or how she just... gets me. The good parts and the bad." He smiled. "Why do you ask?"
"No reason." I started to move past him, then stopped. "Marcus?"
"Yeah?"
"You make her really happy. I just... thought you should know that."
His whole face lit up. "She makes me happy too."
I left him there, his words echoing in my head. The good parts and the bad.
Maybe that was the problem. I'd been so focused on the bad parts with James—the wedding wrecking, the trust issues, the complications—that I'd forgotten about all the good.
How he made me laugh. How he caught me when I fell— literally . How he looked at me like I was something precious even when I was being ridiculous.
How being with him felt like coming home, even when I was trying to run away. And I felt all these powerful emotions about a guy I hadn’t even spent an entire week around. It should’ve been ridiculous. Maybe it was ridiculous. But what did that matter?
It wasn’t as if I was considering saying my vows to him or promising my life to him. I was just thinking about taking the first real step—about finally admitting he was worth the risk to me.
"Oh god," I muttered. "I'm an idiot."
I practically ran to his room, my heart pounding as I knocked. No answer.
Fine. I'd wait.
I used my key card—we were still technically sharing a room, even though I'd been avoiding it—and pushed open the door.
The first thing I saw was papers. They covered every surface—the bed, the desk, even some of the floor. Financial records, emails, photographs...
And right in the center of the bed was a photo of Lily and Marcus, with notes scribbled in James' handwriting.
My heart stopped.
"Emma."
I spun to find James in the doorway, his expression wary.
"What is all this?"
He ran a hand through his hair. "Well… this is everything I’ve found about the Wellingtons. Are you ready to hear it?”