The Bride (The Boss 3)

“May I share a secret with you? That must be held in strictest confidence?” His eyes glittered, green like light through a dark forest. “She absolutely adores you.”

That made me feel weirdly bashful. I knew I was blushing with happiness. “I wouldn’t say adores—”

“She does. She’s told me on a few occasions how much she likes you, and how she was sorry that she didn’t give you a chance when you first met. And last night, when she had her…pre-wedding jitters, we’ll call them, she told me that she was happy I’d found you again. She said we were ‘good for each other,’ whatever she meant by that.”

“That must have been after I left,” I said automatically. My eyes went wide under his humorously accusing scrutiny. “I wasn’t eavesdropping! I came to look for you, and I overheard what she was saying. About the…family thing.”

“I’m not sure how she would feel about you knowing—” he began.

I cut him off, hoping no one around us would overhear and understand what we were talking about. In a hush, I told him, “I already knew. I knew when we were still living in London. I just didn’t want to betray her confidence.”

That took him aback. I could tell from the lack of witty retort.

“I overheard enough to know that you were convincing her to marry Michael, and I left.” I shrugged and accidentally stepped on his toes. The poor man would be on crutches tomorrow as a consequence of dancing with me. “It sounds like she convinced you to marry me, too.”

“She did,” he admitted. “She told me that I was a fool if I didn’t marry you. You are, after all, the perfect woman for me, and everyone can see that. Or so sayeth Emma.”

“Emma said all this?” I hoped he would pardon my thoroughly incredulous expression.

“Do you think she’s wrong?”

“I think she’s listening to a different ‘everyone’ than I am.” The fact remained that no matter how in my corner Emma was, she wasn’t Holli. “It’s not the same thing, anyway. Emma is your daughter, and I love her for that, and I love the relationship we have, but she’s not my best friend. That’s not how we’re wired. Right now, my best friend is you, and that—”

“Doesn’t count, I know.” It was rare that Neil didn’t know the perfect thing to say. At that moment, it was an odd comfort.

As we swayed to the music, further conversation wasn’t necessary. My thoughts turned toward what he’d said about Rudy and Valerie, and even Ian, a friend from long ago, but still a friend. He valued these people, the way I had valued Holli. Still valued her, I supposed. If Neil felt that way toward Valerie, there was no way I could ever make good on my threat to ask him to cut her out of his life. Because I knew, with absolute certainty, that he would choose me over her, and that it would make him as miserable to lose her friendship as I was to lose Holli’s.

“You’re awfully quiet,” he said, as the song slid into its final chorus.

“I think the night is winding down,” I said with a wistful sigh. I’d been having such a good time, I didn’t want the reception to be over. My feet, ensconced in torturous Manolos, begged to differ.

Neil turned our hands so he could check his watch. He stared at the face a moment, like a prisoner waiting for a death row reprieve as the second hand swept toward midnight. “Yes, well. It’s nearly one. I believe that was when…”

Just as the song ended, the DJ, a professional who eschewed the show man voice common to wedding DJs, said, “Mr. Michael Van der Graf and Ms. Emma Elwood thank you all for sharing their very special day with them, and they ask you to please join them in the Roosevelt Rotunda to see them off on their honeymoon.”

Neil stared off, utterly shell shocked, until I gently tugged his sleeve and said, “It’s time, baby.”

“Yes. Well.” He cleared his throat. “We should go, then.”

The guests who remained gathered in the rotunda, illuminated with soft purple and gold lights. At the feet of the iconic barosaur skeleton, Emma threw her bouquet over her shoulder to the delight of her single female guests. One of the bridesmaids caught it, and Emma hugged her tight. In preparation for their flight to destinations unknown, Emma had changed into her third outfit of the wedding—we had more in common than I’d realized—chic, high-waisted gray trousers, a white shell with a smattering of gold sequins at the slight cowl neckline, and a structured white jacket. Long gold earrings took over for the pearls that had been removed from her hair. Now she looked more like a movie star than a bride.

Neil and I, Valerie, and Michael’s parents were positioned close to the door, and we all got quick hugs as the bride and groom escaped the gauntlet of streamers unleashed by their guests. When Emma leaned up on tip-toe to kiss her father’s cheek, his hand fell to her elbow, and it lingered there even as she hurried away. She looked back at everyone, and the smile on her face left no doubt as to how gleeful, exhausted, excited, and thoroughly in love she was in the moment.

Neil’s throat moved in a painfully constricted swallow. I took his hand, startling him from his misery, and said, “Come on. Let’s go home.”

* * * *

Though it was after two in the morning when we got back to the apartment, Neil told me to go ahead of him to bed.

“I’m still wound up from all the tension. Relieved it’s over, of course, but a bit jittery. You go on.” He gave me a squeeze, and I pulled his tailcoat around my shoulders as I walked to the bedroom.

In the bathroom, I peeled off my dress and stick-on bra cups and wrapped myself up in my fluffy pink robe. I washed off my makeup and tried to comb out my hair, but I’d used a lot of root boost and the resulting stiffness made my scalp sore, so I decided to leave that project for the morning. I turned down the bed and was about to climb in when I thought I should check on Neil.

Astounding leaps of deduction were not required for me to find him; I spotted him outside of Emma’s bedroom, a drink in his hand, suspenders slipped from his shoulders, leaning against the doorframe. He didn’t look sad, just contemplative. Since he hadn’t seen me, I left him.

Not long after I’d turned out the lights, he came to bed, undressed in the dark, and climbed in beside me. Rolling to spoon against me, he asked quietly, “Are you awake?”

“I am.” I wriggled closer and held on to the arm he draped over me. “Are you okay?”