The Ex (The Boss 4)

Emma shook her head. “No.” Then, frowning, she said, “I’m going to need an allergy pill, with all of these flowers.”

“Oh, I know. It’s like a rainforest in here.” I’d popped half a Benadryl as soon as my eyes had started getting itchy.

“Wait, who sent those?” Mom asked, gesturing toward the huge arrangement of lilac blossoms and white roses on the side table.

“Um…I don’t know.” I hadn’t taken the time to look around the room at all the flowers people had sent. Was that a dick move on my part?

Holli jumped up and headed over to paw carefully through the blooms. “There’s a card.” She pulled it free and gasped. Holli’s big eyes canted to Emma then back to mine. “It’s probably not important.”

“No, tell me who they’re from.” I forced a laugh, but my stomach was in knots.

Shuffling across the carpet in her slippers, Holli held the card at arm’s length, like it was a bomb about to go off. “Okay, but don’t get upset.”

“Why would I get—” The first thing I saw at the bottom of the single sheet card was Valerie’s handwritten name.

My chest squeezed. Just a teensy, teensy part of me had hoped that, like in the movies, my dad would have sent them.

“So?” Mom prompted. “Who are they from?”

My gaze sought Emma’s. I couldn’t help it. I grimaced apologetically. “They’re from Valerie. Emma’s mom.”

“Then, they’ve probably got anthrax on them,” Holli snarked. I could see the hurt in Emma’s expression, but only because I knew her. No one else would’ve seen it.

“I think it’s really sweet of her,” I promised Emma, scanning the generic congratulations greeting she’d scrawled there. She’d gone to the trouble of actually visiting the florist herself, and writing out the card? That was far more than I would have expected, considering the conversation we’d had weeks ago.

“Mom can be a decent person some of the time,” Emma said quietly. I hadn’t given a thought to how it might make her feel to be here, with the family and friends of the woman who was about to marry her father. Did it feel like a betrayal of her mother? Did Emma view all of this as enemy territory?

“She’s a decent person all of the time,” I corrected her.

Shelby, the wedding planner, breezed into the room. “Ladies, we’re running a little behind schedule here.”

I reached for the printed schedule on the table in front of me, holding Olivia tighter so I wouldn’t drop her. Shelby was right. I only had an hour to wrangle into my dress, have the curlers out of my hair, and get my makeup touched up. I handed the baby off to my mom, since Emma had taken us up on eating something. After my curlers came out and April had nearly drowned me in hairspray, we headed up the stairs to the master bedroom.

My gown was on a dress form, and Pia was diligently steaming out wrinkles that must have been imaginary, because it looked just as perfect as when I’d first viewed it. Emma halted in the doorway, pausing mid-chew to mumble around a mouthful of cantaloupe, “Oh my god. That is gorgeous.”

“It’s still black,” Mom said with a disappointed sigh.

I went into the bathroom and struggled into my foundation garments. I didn’t have anything that needed to be tucked in, per se, but I did like to have everything smoothed out. Holli came in bearing two silicone “chicken cutlets” as she called them, and helped me jam them into the bra cups of my spandex slip. With much leaning over and manhandling of my boobs, I managed to get some cleavage. Then, it was time to put on the dress.

The point of no return, as far as I was concerned.

With the train attached, the dress was heavy enough that I seriously worried that it would just slip right down, but Pia used enough double-sided tape that I started to be concerned about getting the dress off. She gave a final fluff to my skirt. “All you need is your jewelry.”

“Oh!” Emma handed Olivia off to my mom. “Stay right there.”

She disappeared for a moment, and when she returned, she held a large, flat box.

“This is from Dad,” she said as she brought it to me. On top was an envelope. As much as I wanted to know what was in the box, I wanted to know what Neil had to say to me on our wedding day more.

Inside the envelope was a stiff card. I slipped it out, frowning.

“Is that your wedding invitation?” Mom shifted Olivia to her shoulder.

“It is.” I flipped it over. Neil’s handwriting scrawled over the back:

My Darling Sophie,

Since Deja has seen the dress and I have not, I trusted her to help me pick this out. I do hope you like it. Perhaps it is a bit presumptuous of me, when you have no doubt spent hours agonizing over the jewelry you’ve already purchased in anticipation of this day…but who can a man presume