The Bride (The Boss 3)

The restaurant Emma and Michael had chosen was not the place I would have expected a billionaire’s daughter to have her wedding rehearsal dinner, but it was the place where they’d had their first date. The walls of exposed brick and the hanging light fixtures of opaque amber glass marked it out as a trendy, but relatively inexpensive, place, the kind I would have gathered at with coworkers.

When the drinks were served and the toasts underway, Michael stood up and thanked everyone for coming. “Maybe I should say that when Emma and I sat at that table, right over there,” he pointed to a corner booth, “I had no idea that this intelligent, beautiful woman would one day be my wife. But I knew. I knew that she was the one.”

There was a round of “awww!”s from the table. Even Neil looked moved by the sentiment. He might also have just been tired. We’d been out to JFK early that morning to greet his family, his brothers and their wives, his sister, and his mother, Rose, when their private jet had arrived, and we’d spent most of the day with them. It had been lovely to spend time with them and get to know them better, but it had also been exhausting, especially since we’d been maintaining this whole we’re-not-mad-at-each-other facade.

Michael stopped, choked up with emotion. He laughed and rubbed at an eyebrow with his thumbnail. “Okay, I’m going to stop being sentimental, before she kills me. But I just want to say… Thank you, Ms. Stern and Mr. Elwood, for raising the coolest woman on the planet. When she walks down that aisle tomorrow, I think I’ll have to pinch myself to make sure I’m not dreaming.”

“When she walks down the aisle?” Rose leaned over to ask Neil in what she considered a whisper. “Aren’t you walking her down the aisle?”

“No, Mother,” Neil whispered back, hushing her.

For all the excitement of the evening and the romantic toast, Emma’s eyes were hollows, her smile frozen.

Michael was still beaming from ear to ear. “I won’t go on longer, but I just want to say, Emma, you have made me so happy. And I know we’re going to continue to be happy as we build our new life together. Cheers.”

“Cheers.” Neil raised his glass along with everyone, and I saw the tightness in his jaw. This was so hard for him, and I was powerless, because things were so strained between us that I didn’t know what comfort I could offer him without overstepping some line.

As the wait staff served the salads, Rose spoke up. “What’s this? What’s this nonsense? Neil, you’re not really going to let her do that, are you? A father has to give his daughter away.”

A hint of a smile crossed Neil’s lips. “I don’t see how it’s my choice, Mother. It’s Emma’s wedding, not mine.”

“Elizabeth, your father walked you down the aisle, didn’t he? Did you tell Emma?” Rose called to me, pointing a stern finger across Neil’s body.

“Nana, that’s Sophie. Rememb

er? The divorce?” Emma leaned across the table to remind Rose in a low, gentle tone.

“Oh, yes, yes.” Rose waved her hand and laughed. “Do forgive me, Sophie.”

“Forgiven.” There was no way I could hold a slip of the tongue against a woman who’d had a very serious stroke only a year and a half ago.

It hadn’t worn down her tenacity any. “Now, now, I’m serious, little bird. Doesn’t it upset you that you won’t be giving Emma away?”

Neil wiped his mouth on his napkin, chuckling. “Mother, how can I give her away? She’s never really belonged to me. She has been her own person since the day she was born.”

I looked at Emma. Normally, this kind of praise from her father would have pleased her immensely. But she just gave a tight smile to everyone and looked down at her plate.

“I think it’s wonderful.” It was Pamela, Valerie’s best friend since college and one of Emma’s godmothers, who’d made the remark in gentle support. Pamela was exactly what I’d imagine a friend of Valerie’s to be: beautiful, slender, smartly dressed, with a voice like it had been soaked in whiskey and dried with cigarettes. Her ginger hair was pulled up in a perfect twist frozen with industrial strength hairspray. The elegant way she carried herself made her black, ribbed turtleneck seem more fancy than casual. She had a wonderfully posh accent, not unlike Neil’s.

She went on, “You know, I’ve always thought the idea of ‘giving away the bride’ was a bit absurd. Who owns her, then? Michael? Good luck to you.”

We laughed at that, even Emma.

“Sophie, are you going to have someone give you away?” Valerie asked, fixing me with an expectant look.

Neil’s family went silent.

Oh fuck, he hadn’t told them.

“What’s this?” Rose piped up. “Neil, are you getting married again?”

Yeah, Neil. Are you? My face got hot.

“Tonight isn’t about us,” Neil covered smoothly. “It’s about Emma and Michael.”

But Rose was tenacious. “Of course it’s about Emma and Michael, but right now I’m asking you. Are you and Sophie getting married?”

“Sophie and I are engaged.” Still not an answer to my question, but I would rather choke on something sharp than admit we were having troubles in front of Valerie.