Chapter 26
THREE MONTHS LATER
As Jules kneels with Harry while everyone except me sings something about bread and trespasses, I let myself take in the splendor of the glass-walled chapel.
The day’s been so full of makeup and photos and steaming dresses, I’ve scarcely had time to breathe, let alone admire the venue.
So far, my only focus has been calming down Jules and avoiding Matthew: either of which on their own would be enough to distract me from our opulent surroundings.
Now, I can see that the reasonably-sized invite list Harry and Jules insisted on hasn’t kept the guests from dressing like they’re on camera.
With the number of coattails in the audience, you’d think I was at the wedding of Prince Harry.
From the second row, Marianne gives me an enthusiastic thumbs up.
It’s only me and Matthew up here next to the happy couple, and even though he keeps trying (and failing) to make eye-contact, it’s not as though he’s liable to start mouthing off with a bishop between us.
The tall white hat certainly gives him the air of someone who’s done some serious smiting.
After a few more blessings and Latin verses, the bishop pronounces Jules and Harry husband and wife.
I can’t see my sister’s expression from here, but Harry’s smile is so wide his face looks like it’s splitting in half.
Given his penchant for overplanning, I was worried he’d be too stressed today to enjoy himself, but their overzealous wedding planner Jacinda seems to have alleviated the majority of his OCD.
She rushes over to us as soon as Jules and Harry start moving down the aisle.
“Immediate family to the rose garden!” she hiss-whispers, and I wonder if it’s six shots of espresso talking or something stronger. Jacinda was definitely the kind of girl who had color coded pens and stickie notes for all her binders in school.
“I’ll be there in just a second,” I tell her. “I just need to find Jules’s bouquet.”
It’s partially true—locating the bouquet is a daunting task amongst an Olympic swimming pool’s worth of flower arrangements.
But the second, secret reason is that I want to put as much space between myself and Matthew as possible.
We haven’t spoken since we left the Vela Bianca three months ago, and I’m doing my best to keep it that way.
Today is about celebration. And seeing my sister looking like the queen she is, I’m more eager than ever to put the past, and Fiji, behind us.
Eventually, I find the lavish bouquet stashed behind the pulpit and carry it into the hall with a spring in my step.
Or as much spring as one can have in these ridiculously high heels.
But if I’m being honest, the wedding isn’t my only reason to celebrate.
Within days of returning to Chicago, I put in my notice with Carver and my landlord.
I’m finally painting again. And as of last week, I’m officially back in Seattle: the city I’ve been dreaming about since I left it ten years ago.
Even more surprisingly, by some miracle, the only splotches I have from my hastily applied fake tanner are totally hidden by my sapphire blue flute dress.
I am moisturized. In my lane. Thriving. Not even an elevator could bring me down.
“Stella!”
Except that. I look up and see that I’m not the only one who took the back exit.
Matthew is standing in the corridor like a hall monitor ready to chase me down and tackle me if necessary.
As long as I only see him in front of the family, he can’t bring up anything spicier than crudité and seating charts.
But now he has me cornered. I dart a glance back to see if I can run back into the chapel, but three choir singers are blocking the entrance.
I’m going to need to woman-up and face him.
I’m going to have to have the conversation I’ve been dreading for weeks.
I’m going to have to hide behind this giant potted fern.
I guess I’m not a totally new person, yet.
“Stella,” Matthew calls angrily, “I can see you!”
I grab one of the oversized fronds and pull it over my face. This is exactly how David Attenborough must have felt on the set of Planet Earth. Only this time, the wildlife is very, very well dressed.
Matthew marches up until my eyeline is level with his knee and taps his calfskin drivers against the marble. I hesitate before looking up. What would Sir David say about making direct eye contact with a provoked predator?
“Nice hiding spot.”
I raise myself up—quite a task in my four-inch heels and thigh-tight dress.
“Matthew,” I greet him half-assedly. “I was just looking for my… earring.”
“Let me save you some time,” he says, flicking the diamond chandelier earring my sister forced on me before the ceremony that is still very much attached to my earlobe.
“Hey!”
“Hey, yourself!” he hisses, visibly annoyed. “You’ve been avoiding me all day!”
Can he blame me? This is supposed to be a happy weekend. The last thing I want to do is rehash old wounds with the man whose reputation was more important to him than Caleb’s livelihood.
“Look, can we do this another time?” I ask him. “Like, not on our siblings’ wedding day?”
“I’ve been trying to call you for weeks—you won’t answer my calls! If we don’t talk about this now, we’ll be avoiding each other until my mother’s funeral.”
“Dark,” I say. “But copy.”
“Just give me five minutes,” Matthew pleads. “If you want to go on hating me after that, you can join the club. I’m sure there’s a columnist at Glam Magazine who’s just dying to know that I get Botox in my armpits.”
“You… what?”
“I’m a naturally excessive sweater, ok? But that’s not the point. The point is…”
Matthew sucks in a big breath like he’s getting ready to blow up a pool floatie.
“I told them.”
Oh, shit. That’s definitely not where I thought he was going.
“Mom, Dad, Harry—"
“About you and Steven?” I ask.
Matthew sucks his lips over his teeth the way he usually does when he’s about to say something deeply offensive. So, like, constantly.
“About everything.”
I swallow. If Matthew told them Steven wasn’t the reason Caleb missed watch, then that means…
I can feel the cold sweat rising to my forehead.
Do the Warrens know about me and Caleb? Is Patricia waiting outside this very building with an angry mob?
Does Jules know? I’ve spent the last three months trying everything humanly possible to forget about Caleb—to shove down the sense of loss that bubbles up everytime I give myself time to think—that I forgot to plan for what might happen if anyone found out.
“Before you go diving back into your fern,” Matthew says mockingly, “you should know that I left out the part about you and Captain Dreamboat. But Mom may have put that bit together herself.”
It’s ok, Stella, I remind my inner panicker.
Jules is married now. And it’s a safe bet that the one thing old-money Catholic Patricia disapproves of more than guests fraternizing with her crew is divorce.
But the thought does little to calm my rioting nerves.
Thanks to Matthew, now all I’ll be thinking about during the reception is Patricia combing through camera footage for Caleb and I sucking face in the elevator. Maybe she already has.
“Does she hate me?” I ask, my throat feeling suddenly dry. Was Patricia’s razor-sharp smile from the pews a thin disguise for the hit she’s planning on me after the first dance? Will I draw my last breath in blue crepe chiffon?
“Funny thing about that. I think mom’s beginning to realize that if she excommunicates everyone who disobeys her rules, she won’t have anyone left to torment. But I don’t think either of us should hold our breath for yacht invites anytime soon.”
I don’t bother telling Matthew that returning to the Vela Bianca is the last thing on my mind right now. Instead, I make a conscious effort to put my worry aside for a minute. I’m focusing on the wrong thing here. Matthew faced his biggest fear. He actually told his parents about his relationship.
“How did Harry take it?”
“He was awkward, at first. Just sort of blinked at me and kept saying, ‘Steven, Steven?’ I think it’s going to take a while for him to get used to seeing us together like… lovers.” He cringes as he says it. “And Jules… she helped, too.”
“Jules?”
I make a mental note to remind her about our no secrets pact. After her honeymoon, of course.
“I told her first,” he said. “Seemed a little less daunting. And honestly, I assumed you already had. She was there when I told my parents. And afterwards, when I thought I was going to have a heart attack.”
I think about the weight of carrying a secret like Matthew’s. I only kept my suspension hidden from Jules for a few weeks and I felt like I was being eaten alive. What must it have been like for Matthew to hide a part of himself from his family for years?
“Does this mean you’re going to stop chasing supermodels for the tabloids?”
Matthew’s bushy eyebrows knit together.
“One step at a time. But anyway, I just wanted to say thanks. For letting me do it on my own time.”
Hugging Matthew is not the most natural instinct in the world.
I hesitate as I put my arms around him, and the pressed edges of his suit are nothing compared to the stiffness of his shoulders.
But something makes me squeeze him even harder, hard enough to make him hug me back. Something kind of like pride.
“Ok,” he says, pushing me away. “Let’s not make this too weird. I have a reputation to uphold.”
“I’m really happy for you, Matthew,” I tell him. “I mean it. I’m sure it wasn’t easy.”
“It wasn’t,” Matthew agrees. “But somebody told me once that the easy thing and the right thing aren’t necessarily the same.”
I grin, remembering the last thing I said to him on the ship.
“I’m pretty sure it was Taylor Swift,” he follows up. I emit an extremely ladylike snort of laughter before punching him in the arm.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t tell them sooner,” he says. “For what it’s worth, I couldn’t stop thinking about it for weeks after we left. But I needed to tell them on my terms.”
“If it makes you feel better,” I shrug, “I don’t think it would have made any difference.”
If there’s anything I’ve had in spades since I left the Vela Bianca, it’s time.
Time to overthink while wrapping up my favorite mugs in newspaper.
Time to analyze while googling Uhaul prices and listing furniture on Facebook marketplace.
What happened with Caleb nearly broke my heart, and there’s not an hour that goes by I don’t think about how I could have changed it.
But I don’t care what he said—being together wasn’t a mistake.
It was the first time in over five years that I’ve actually felt free.
But it certainly hasn’t been the last.
“Have you spoken to him?” Matthew asks.
I shake my head.
“He made it pretty clear he wanted nothing to do with me after everything that happened. Honestly, I can’t say I blame him.”
“Stella, I—“
“Kiddos,” Steven interrupts him, appearing at the edge of the lawn. “You’re wanted in the garden. Time to take some awkward family photos where everyone is looking slightly to the left!”
I smile at him.
“Don’t look so satisfied, Steven. As your future sister-in-law-in-law, it’s my right to rope you into these too.”
“Woah, woah, woah,” Matthew puts out a hand. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. I have a—“
“Reputation to uphold,” Steven and I both drone at the same time. I can’t help but smile. The Matthew I knew on the boat was guarded to the point of incivility. But this Matthew seems lighter. Softer, somehow.
He offers me his arm before we walk out to the garden, and even though we still have a long way to go, I take it.
It may be too late to make any difference for Caleb, but Matthew deserves to be able to be himself around his family.
He deserves to know that, whatever path he chooses, he still belongs.