TWO
The polished middle-aged woman behind the desk glared at Paul like he was a degenerate.
It occurred to him that she might be right.
He didn’t have any difficulty reading her mind as she slanted him disapproving looks while she called back to the judge to verify Paul’s request and then searched through a stack of paperwork in her outbox.
He was an experienced twenty-three-year-old man who was taking ruthless advantage of the innocence and vulnerability of a seventeen-year-old girl without a family. The woman was likely aware of Paul’s unsavory reputation and had come to her own conclusions about his insistence on an expedited marriage license so he could marry a girl who hadn’t yet reached legal age.
While Paul was used to people questioning his moral credibility, the judgment in the woman’s eyes made him slightly uncomfortable.
He wasn’t sure he should be marrying Emily either.
Because of an overflow of pity he hadn’t been able to control, he’d agreed to her unconventional proposal. He couldn’t go back on his word now. It would crush her completely.
So he kept his expression impassive and pretended he didn’t notice the woman’s obvious censure.
He watched as she put the document she'd retrieved into a large envelope and tucked the flap under the edge instead of sealing it. “Here you are, Mr. Marino. You should have everything you need.”
He thanked her coolly and left the office, checking inside the envelope in the elevator to make sure everything was in order.
Going from proposal to marriage ceremony in three days created a lot of logistical hoops for one to jump through.
He got a phone call as he was leaving the building, and he stopped on the sidewalk to take it.
Emily was waiting in the back of the waiting car as he climbed in.
“Did you get it?” she asked, looking up from the smart phone she’d been tapping on.
He showed her the envelope. “We are now legally allowed to wed.”
“Don’t you feel special, pulling strings so you can hook up with a minor?” She grinned at him in that way she had—somehow both sunny and ironic at once.
She’d seemed depressed after her aunt died, compounded by the stress of the approaching trial. But, ever since she’d accepted she was going to die, the depression had faded. He didn’t think she was genuinely happy, but she acted almost normal—as if she was determined to live out her last days with as much good spirit as she could muster.
Paul couldn’t help but smile, the discomfort he’d been feeling earlier easing at the affirmation that this marriage was exactly what Emily wanted. After all, in a few months, she wouldn’t be alive to want anything at all.
“What was the call?” she asked, peering at his face as if she could read something in his expression.
“What do you mean?” He knew exactly what she meant.
“It seemed important, since you stood on the sidewalk for the whole phone call. And now you look like you have a happy secret.”
He gave a faint huff of amusement at her choice of words. “Actually, it was good news. They gave me a job at Simone’s, thanks to you.”
“Thanks to me?”
“Yeah. You gave me the idea. I threatened the board with going to the press, and they caved and gave me a position.”
“Really?” She looked almost happy for him. “What’s the position?”
“Assistant Vice President of Management.”
“What does the Assistant Vice President of Management do?”
“From what I was just told, he will evidently be the dumping ground for all tedious or impossible projects on other people’s desks.”
She seemed to hide a smile. “Oh. Well, at least it’s something.”
“Yeah. It’s definitely better than nothing.”
As his driver took them the few blocks to the law office that was handling their pre-nup, Paul checked his messages and Emily kept tapping on her phone.
She wore a skirt suit he’d seen her wear before—very likely the most professional outfit she owned—and her hair was pulled up in some sort of twist. She was very pretty, with sandy blond hair, unusually vivid blue eyes, a small, curvy figure, and an extraordinary smile.
He did think her top revealed more cleavage than was entirely necessary. Not that he was in the habit of complaining about women flashing some skin, but he’d rather not notice such things in his seventeen-year-old bride-to-be.
At least Emily looked older than her age, so most people seeing them together would probably not immediately peg him for a sleazebag.
When Emily smiled down at her phone and let out a breathy laugh, his curiosity was piqued. “Who are you texting?”
“Chris,” she told him, glancing up before she started to reply with another message.
“How’s he doing?”
“He’s fine.” Her expression was fond as she worked on her smart phone.
Paul was silent for several minutes, since she didn’t seem to want to chat. He reflected with a good dose of irony that tomorrow he would marry a woman who would obviously rather talk to someone other than him.
How many men could say the same?
* * *
The meeting with the lawyers about the pre-nup took less than an hour. He’d asked them to draw up a simple contract in which the terms of their marriage were specified.
Paul would agree to pay for all of Emily’s living and medical expenses for the duration of her life or until the end of their marriage, as well as pay for her funeral and burial in the cemetery plot next to her father and aunt. Emily would agree to testify against Vincent Marino and would agree that her living relatives would receive no rights whatsoever to Paul’s estate after her death. There were some more standard clauses about infidelity and divorce scenarios which the lawyers insisted on including, although obviously they wouldn’t be relevant for this particular marriage.
Emily listened carefully as the entire agreement was explained to her. She asked a few intelligent questions, and she didn’t seem at all fazed by the blunt discussion of her impending death.
Since Paul already knew the details of the pre-nup, he didn’t have to pay much attention. Instead, he watched Emily, wondering what she was really thinking and how he would feel if he’d been told he had only three months to live.
Emily’s attention had been directed at the young, brunette lawyer who was explaining each item in the contract, but at one point she shifted her eyes over to Paul without warning, catching him staring at her. She cocked her head with a quizzical look as if she couldn’t figure him out.
“Remember,” she said, after a moment, “If you cheat on me you’ll have to pay up.”
The comment clearly startled the brunette lawyer, but Paul had to suppress a laugh.
He hoped her joke meant that she knew he wasn’t going to be unfaithful in their short-lived marriage. It would just feel cheap for him to cheat on a dying wife, whether or not the marriage was a sham.
Eventually, the pre-nup was signed by both parties, and Emily and Paul got up to leave, just a little behind their schedule. Paul still had to finish up several things here in the city before they boarded an international flight this evening, but things were moving as smoothly as could be expected.
Emily had to stop in the restroom before they left the offices, and Paul made a couple of calls as he waited for her near the elevators.
When he finished his second call and Emily still hadn’t emerged, he started to get a little worried. Over the last few weeks, he’d discovered that Emily didn’t take forever in the bathroom, primping and doing whatever other mysterious behavior took some women so long. So, after waiting a little while longer, he walked over to the receptionist’s desk.
The attractive woman behind the desk smiled at him warmly as he began, “My fiancée has been in the restroom for a long time. Would you mind going to—”
“There she is,” the receptionist interrupted, looking over Paul’s shoulder with an expression that made it clear she’d concluded he was both cute and besotted. “Nothing to worry about.”
Paul was too relieved by Emily’s appearance to pay much attention to the receptionist’s reaction. He walked over to Emily, who had gone to stand near the elevators and was giving him a strange, narrow-eyed look.
“So I can’t even go to the bathroom without my devoted fiancé flirting with the secretaries?”
Paul’s mouth dropped open. “I wasn’t flirting. I was worried about you. Are you all right?”
“Of course. What are you talking about?”
For no reason that made any sense, Paul felt rattled and frustrated all of a sudden, and he was tempted to make a snide comment that he knew would rile her up. He bit it back, however, telling himself that no good would come from picking a fight with Emily when they were getting married the following day and she only had three months to live.
That thought made his earlier concern return, and he scanned her carefully as she reached to punch the elevator's down button.
She’d been a little pale all day, but he thought she looked even paler now. He noticed the delicate skin under her eyes was darker than it should be, and her face was dewy, as if she’d been perspiring. Since the temperature in this suite was set very low, he couldn’t believe she would have gotten too hot.
“What are you staring at?” she asked, giving him a decidedly grouchy look.
He ignored the question and reached his hand over to feel her forehead.
She jerked away from his touch before he could get a sense of how hot she was. “What the hell are you doing?”
Torn between worry and deep annoyance at her irrational behavior, Paul gritted out, “What do you think I'm doing? I’m checking on you. Do you have a fever?”
“No.” She stood a few feet away from him, breathing heavily and obviously trying to compose her expression. “I’m fine.”
“You don’t look fine. You look like you might be sick.”
“Thanks a lot,” she muttered sarcastically. “And I tried so hard to be beautiful for you today."
Then she took a deep breath, likely forcing herself to be reasonable. “I’m not sick, Paul. I don’t have a fever. And I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t treat me like an invalid. I wanted to marry you partly because I thought you would treat me like a regular person and not like I was sick all the time. I want to enjoy these last months—not be coddled and trapped in a hospital.”
Paul forced down a swell of frustration at her stubbornness and of resentment that she evidently thought he was so heartless that he wouldn't care whether she was sick or not. “I have no intention of keeping you in a hospital, and I’ll do everything I can to make sure you enjoy these three months. But part of my responsibility is to take care of you.”
When she opened her mouth to object, he pressed on, shaping his words to address the objection he was sure she would have given, “I do need to take care of you, Emily, if only to ensure that you’re able to testify against my father.”
His last comment seemed to silence her arguments, and she stared up at the digital numbers which showed both elevators were still on the lower floors of the building. He didn’t think she was really seeing the numbers, however—she just didn’t want to look at him.
“Emily?” he prompted, wishing his voice wasn’t quite so thick.
She cut her eyes back to him. She twisted her hands together, and he realized suddenly they were trembling.
He felt a sharp stab of concern. Emily looked small and pale and upset. He took an instinctive step closer to her.
“I don’t have a fever,” she insisted. “I would know if I did.”
“Then you won’t mind if I check for myself.”
Her jaw was set stubbornly, but she gritted out, “Fine.”
He stepped in front of her and reached out again to place his palm on her forehead. He was vaguely surprised and very relieved when she didn’t feel unusually hot. He slid his hand down to her cheek and then back up to her head, studying her face closely.
“See,” she said, “I told you. I’m fine.”
“I'm no expert, but you don’t feel like you have a fever. That’s good.” He was just lowering his hand when the receptionist he’d spoken to earlier walked by. He caught a glimpse of the woman’s face, and she was smiling in an amused, maternal way—as if she’d just caught two young lovers in a tender moment.
Paul stiffened, feeling more awkward than he should have over such a little thing.
He was used to being good with women. He instinctively knew how to make women laugh, make them melt, make them open to his advances—but none of his normal routines could ever be used on Emily. He’d felt off-kilter ever since she’d come to him with this crazy scheme, and it seemed to get worse by the day.
He’d known her casually from around the neighborhood most of her life, and he’d always felt comfortable with her. She was an intelligent, clever girl who didn’t unduly tax his emotional resources. Even when he’d felt deep sympathy for her when she was diagnosed with this virus, she hadn’t made him feel rattled this way.
It was probably a sign that this marriage was a mistake, but he’d gone too far to renege on their agreement now.
The elevator finally arrived on their floor, and they both got in. As they waited for the doors to close, Emily said, “I’m sorry I was snippy. I know you were just trying to help.”
Paul relaxed a little, verifying from her expression that she was sincere. “I’ll try not to coddle you too much,” he told her, half-smiling at his use of her word. “As long as you’ll let me take reasonable steps to make sure you’re taken care of, as part of my role in this marriage.”
Emily nodded, looking away from him as if something he’d said had made her feel self-conscious.
“And speaking of that,” he added, deciding he might as well get this next thing over with too. He reached into his pocket.
She gazed up at him with eyes that looked bigger and bluer because her face was so pale. He was distracted at the thought that she might be sick even though she didn’t have a fever.
“What is it, Paul?” she asked, a faint impatience reflected in her expression.
He fiddled with a little velvet pouch until the ring came out. “I thought you might want an engagement ring, since we’re now legally allowed to be engaged.”
Emily wordlessly stared down at the ring he extended.
He’d found the ring for her yesterday, since he assumed she would want the entire wedding experience, of which an important feature for women was the ring.
He’d gone to the jeweler he normally used for women’s gifts, thinking he’d just get her a basic diamond solitaire. But the manager had been thrilled at his unexpected engagement and had asked question after question about what Emily was like and what she might want, so he’d eventually had to come to a real conclusion about the kind of ring that would suit her.
He’d finally landed on the ring he was now presenting to her. The band was a delicate twining of gold and platinum, intricately filigreed and nestling an emerald with small diamonds on either side.
He thought the ring was stunning and had more character than the generic diamond solitaires on platinum bands everyone seemed to favor now. It had felt like Emily to him.
But he started to feel rather self-conscious when she just stood frozen in the elevator and stared at it.
He cleared his throat.
“I didn’t know,” she breathed, her eyes never leaving the ring, “I mean, I didn’t think you’d get me a ring.”
“Well, why not?” Ridiculously, he felt almost offended.
“I don’t know. I just have three months to wear it.”
“Then you better start now.” When she still didn’t take it, he added, “I thought maybe you’d like something different, but I can get you a more traditional diamond if—”
“No!” she burst out, “This is beautiful. But it’s too much.”
“It’s not too much.” Since he felt like an idiot holding out the ring she refused to accept, he moved it back to the same hand as the velvet pouch.
The elevator stopped on a floor, but the doors opened and closed without anyone coming on.
“It must have been really expensive,” she said, when it was clear no one else was getting on the elevator with them. Her eyes strayed back down to the ring. “Although I guess you can sell it back, after I…”
Paul almost choked on his indignation. “I’m not going to sell it back. It’s yours. I bought it for you. Do you want the damned ring or not?”
Her eyes lifted to meet his at last. “Yes. Thank you.”
Since she still made no move to take the ring and they would reach the ground floor soon, he picked up her left hand. Her hand seemed very small in his, and it was cooler than he had expected. Resolved to do his duty no matter how foolish he felt, he slipped the engagement ring on her finger.
“There,” he said, dropping his hand and stuffing the velvet pouch back in his pocket.
“It fits,” Emily murmured. She was still extending her hand and staring down at the ring.
“I checked your ring size before I bought it.”
“Thank you,” Emily said, raising her eyes to his again. Her cheeks had flushed pink. “Thank you so much.”
She’d always been an impossible mingling of contradictions—somehow coming across as tough and vulnerable at once—and more so now than ever.
“It’s fine,” he mumbled, staring at the elevator doors which were just about to open at last. He'd never been on an elevator ride that had lasted so long. “It’s no big deal.”
But Emily seemed to think it was a big deal. As they left the building and walked to the waiting car, Emily kept gazing down at her ring. Her left hand was fisted, and she held it in her right palm, as if she were cradling her ring.
Paul experienced a painful pang in his chest—one that wouldn’t go away, even after they’d gotten to their next stop—as he processed that Emily had been told she had three months to live, but she was still able to be so sincerely grateful because someone had given her a ring.
Sometimes, the universe could be bitterly unjust.
And not just to him.
They made it through the rest of the afternoon and evening without incident, finishing all of the final details on their task list before they headed to the airport for their flight.
In a moment of quiet, just before their plane took off, Paul couldn’t help but think that, not long ago, his biggest concern had been taking the comprehensive exams for his MBA while nursing the world’s worst hangover.
Then his mother had died and everything had changed.
His father was sitting in prison right now, waiting for a criminal trial to finally bring him to justice. Paul had just given an engagement ring to a girl who was dying from a brutal virus that had no cure. They were about to take off on a red-eye flight to Europe. Tomorrow, he had to plan an entire wedding, hopefully one that would somewhat satisfy a girl's lifelong daydreams, so she could cross at least one thing off her bucket list. And tomorrow evening, at sunset, Paul would get married.
At some point in the last few months, his life had taken a decidedly odd turn.
***
Paul had just gotten out of the shower when his phone rang, so for a frustrating twenty-minute phone conversation he’d been wearing nothing but a towel slung around his hips.
“Listen,” he finally interrupted, “I don’t have time for all this now. And I just can’t believe a jury is going to doubt Emily’s testimony, just because she married me. All you have to do is ask her to explain herself on the stand. I guarantee that, once they hear about her aunt, her health condition, and the reasons she married me, they’re going to be on her side and believe what she says.”
“You’re probably right,” Bill Hathaway replied. He was the assistant U.S. attorney responsible for his father’s case. “I just thought I’d better bring it to your attention.”
Paul rubbed a hand through his damp hair and tried to think through options and consequences. “We’re getting married in just over an hour. You need to tell me right now if you think my marrying her will genuinely jeopardize the case.”
He felt a little sick as considered the possibility of canceling the wedding—imagining how Emily would feel—but he had to stay reasonable. Priorities had to remain priorities, and the greater good was always more important than sentiment.
His father being sent to prison was the greater good. For everyone.
There was a pause on the other end of the line, before the other man said, “No. It won’t. And you’re right about the jury sympathizing with her even more. We should be fine.”
“Good. Then the rest of this conversation can wait. I have to get married now. We’ll be back in town on Friday to take care of the rest of it.”
When Hathaway had hung up, Paul put his phone down and tried to shake all thoughts of the trial and his father out of his mind. They were like a weight about to descend on him, one he was holding back with the force of his will. He was more distracted than he’d been earlier, though, as he started to get dressed in the black suit he was wearing for the ceremony.
He wasn’t wearing a tuxedo, since the wedding was in a garden and Emily wasn’t wearing a very formal dress.
They’d arrived in Paris early that morning, and he’d used an old friend of his mother’s to arrange for them to get into the Louvre before regular hours, so Emily could see the Mona Lisa—one of the lower items on her list—while they were in France. Then they’d flown into Aix and been driven to the historic, luxury inn he’d picked out as the venue for the wedding ceremony.
For the last several hours, ever since they’d arrived, he’d been wrapped up in plans for the wedding. The inn had provided a wedding planner, but there were still a zillion details to handle in a very short amount of time, and Emily had to go pick out a dress and then visit the day spa to get her hair done, a manicure, and whatever else women needed to feel pretty on their wedding day.
Although he was eager to get back to Philadelphia so he could get started on his new job, he’d told Emily they could wait until the following day to get married, so they wouldn’t be quite so rushed today.
But she hadn’t wanted to wait.
Paul had managed to get mostly dressed when his phone rang again. Smothering an impatient sound, he greeted the wedding planner.
“I’m sorry, sir,” she said apologetically, “But there’s been a question about the music choices, and I think you need to weigh in.”
“We covered this. They can play anything they want, as long as it’s pleasant, classical, and not associated with those standard wedding pieces.”
“I understand that, sir. But I was just listening to one of the pieces they were practicing, and I think you’d better…”
“Fine. I’ll be right down.”
Since he was going to see the wedding planner anyway, he grabbed the slim, velvet necklace box that had been sitting on the table in his room and took it with him out to the walled garden, where the ceremony was going to take place.
Emily had originally suggested that they just get married by a judge at the courthouse. That certainly would have been easier for all involved, and Paul would have preferred it, but he wasn’t convinced that was what she really wanted. If this wedding was supposed to fulfill one of her life’s dreams, then a quick, no-nonsense union at the courthouse would be a letdown.
So he’d suggested a church wedding in the neighborhood, but she said she’d feel awkward with all her friends and acquaintances present when it wasn’t a real marriage and they all knew she would die shortly. Then he suggested a couple of picturesque chapels and gardens in Philadelphia. It was only then that he discovered what she was really concerned about.
Part of her dreams of a wedding was being surrounded by people she loved, and she wouldn’t have anyone—not one person—that she loved at this wedding. She didn’t want to walk down the aisle of a chapel when no one was sitting in the pews.
That was when he’d suggested a destination wedding, where the scenery and the exotic locale might offset the lack of family and friends. Plus, the trip would make her feel more like she was getting a honeymoon. She’d initially objected, since she felt bad about his spending so much time and money on something unnecessary, but he didn’t consider those to be valid objections.
He’d asked her where she wanted to go, and she’d said he could choose. He’d chosen Provence because his mother used to take him here on vacation.
Emily had appeared enthusiastic about all of his suggestions, so he assumed he’d made a decent choice. It was a lot of pressure to plan the fantasy wedding of a woman who would die in three months, but, if Paul was going to do it, then he was going to do it right.
He stopped short when he entered the garden, startled by how beautiful it was. The garden itself was lovely—surrounded by a two-hundred-year-old stone wall and filled with big shade trees, two ornate fountains, and trellises covered with grapevines and climbing roses. Near the largest fountain, they’d set up an arbor, spilling over with greenery, orchids, and pink and white roses.
They’d scattered the path Emily would walk with rose petals.
He went a roundabout way to reach the wedding planner, so he wouldn’t walk all over the rose petals. She smiled, looking a little hassled, when he approached.
“This looks great,” he said.
“I think so too,” she replied in heavily accented English. “It’s like a fairy tale. If I didn’t have a hundred guests at my wedding, I might have married here too.” She gestured toward a far corner, where Paul saw a string quartet had set up with their stands and instruments. “Can you listen?”
At the woman's direction, the quartet began to play, and Paul listened in silence. It was a polished arrangement that was obviously intended for weddings. While most of it was comprised of a piece from Handel, the arranger had added a few clever interludes that teased with a bar or two of music that sounded like Wagner’s "Bridal Chorus."
After a few minutes, the wedding planner said, “It’s lovely, no?”
“Yes, it is, but I don't think we can use it."
He could see from the woman’s face that she was dying to know why they had to avoid music that sounded in any way like the most traditional wedding music. She was too professional to ask, though, and Paul didn’t volunteer the information.
Emily wasn’t going to walk down the aisle with her father, and she wasn’t going to recess on the arm of a man she loved. So Paul’s challenge was to create a wedding that would satisfy her daydreams without bringing aching attention to everything she didn’t have.
This was the best he could do.
“I need to finish getting ready,” he said, glancing at his wrist instinctively although he hadn’t put on his watch. “Can you take care of this? I’m sure they have more in their repertoire. Bach or Vivaldi or something else. “
“Of course, Mr. Marino.”
“Oh, and when you go up to check on Emily, can you give her this?” Paul handed the woman the velvet box he’d brought out with him.
“Yes, yes,” she said, smiling down at the necklace box rather fatuously. “I’ll make sure she gets it.”
Paul left before he could get annoyed by the woman’s expression. He wasn’t some love-struck groom who couldn’t resist giving his bride another present, and it made him slightly uncomfortable that the wedding planner obviously thought he was.
The necklace in the box was an antique diamond and emerald pendant that matched the engagement ring, hung on a platinum chain, and the seller had been offering them as a set. Paul had just wanted the ring, but—according to the jewelry store manager—the seller refused. So he’d ended up buying both of them by necessity. Since he’d had to buy it, there was no reason Emily shouldn’t have it.
He walked through the grounds until he’d reached the private cottage where he and Emily were staying. It was really more of a two-bedroom luxury suite than a cottage, but a cottage was what the inn called it.
When he walked into his bedroom, he noticed a small black box on his table, tied with a silver bow. It hadn't been there before. Frowning, he picked it up and opened it.
Inside was a folded piece of paper, on which was handwritten, “It’s fine if you don’t like them—you really don’t have to wear them. But they reminded me of you. I wanted to give you something, since it’s tradition and you’re doing so much for me. Emily.”
Intrigued by this unexpected gesture, Paul put down the note and looked inside the box to find a set of Damascene cufflinks. They looked vintage and were probably Spanish. Certainly not very expensive—maybe a few hundred dollars. The black background and gold metalwork portrayed a tiny image of a horse and rider.
He looked at the cufflinks. Then back at the note. Then he picked up the cufflinks and peered at them more closely. Both the horse and rider looked strong, graceful, almost noble. He couldn’t imagine why they would have reminded Emily of him.
But he liked them, and he liked that Emily had thought to give them to him. So he took off the cufflinks he was wearing and replaced them with the Damascene ones. Then he put on his tie and jacket, and he was ready to go outside to get married.
* * *
As he waited in the garden near the arbor with the minister and manager of the inn, Paul decided he’d made a pretty good choice with the setting. The sun was lowering in the sky, and the sunlight in Provence at this time of day was always warm and glowing—like no other place he’d ever been.
The fragrance of lavender and herbs from the hills around them, with a back note of sea air, mingled with the stronger fragrance of the roses and lilacs in the garden. The string quartet was playing Vivaldi’s “Winter,” the tune wafting with the breeze over to where he stood.
It wasn’t a traditional wedding. There were no guests. No attendants. But the setting had a romantic, daydream quality that he hoped Emily would appreciate.
For less than five hours of real wedding planning, he thought he’d done a pretty decent job.
He was ready to go, and he guessed Emily was too, but both the wedding planner and the inn’s manager insisted that they wait until exactly seven-thirty in the evening to get started, which was still ten minutes away.
So he waited in silence for his bride to walk down the aisle.
He wondered how he would feel if this wedding was real—if this lush setting, warm sunset, and haunting music was initiating a life with a woman he loved. A woman who really loved him.
Women had always wanted him for money, for prestige, for sex, for a certain lifestyle, but they didn’t actually fall in love with him.
At least, no one ever had yet.
On this thought, the world seemed to shift.
Without warning, the string music transitioned into something lofty and stirring, and the wedding planner came into the garden, circling around the back and out of the way. The sunlight itself had transformed without Paul's realizing it. The sun must have finally lowered into the position they were waiting for because just then the entire garden became gilded in warm light.
The setting sunlight streamed in at an angle over the wall and bathed the trees, the fountains, the cobblestone paths, the flowers—all of it in rich gold. Paul stared around him in astonishment.
The garden no longer looked like the real world—with hard edges and deep shadows. It glowed like a dream.
Out of this surreal haze emerged Emily, walking down the path toward him, surrounded not by empty pews or vacant chairs but by trees and flowers and foliage.
As she approached him now, her fair skin, the white dress, the pink tulips in her bouquet, the orchid in her hair, the emerald pendant he’d given her at her neck, they were all gilded, all golden.
Paul blinked in surprise at how beautiful she was. Then he shook his head to clear it. If he had been in love with her, he would have been completely blown away by this vision. As it was, he felt just a little breathless.
When she reached him and stepped over to stand beside him in front of the arbor, Paul was abruptly dragged out of his golden daze when he realized she was crying.
She wasn’t sobbing, but tears streamed down her cheeks. For just a moment, her face twisted as she tried to control her emotion.
He sucked in a breath and leaned forward, asking her a silent question with his eyes. It was possible that Emily had changed her mind. That she’d decided this wasn’t what she wanted. If that was the case, he needed to know.
She shook her head at his unspoken question. Then a wide smile completely transformed her face. She mouthed, “Thank you.”
Paul relaxed as he turned toward the minister. It was perfectly natural that Emily would be emotional, but her tears were clearly not a sign that she was disappointed by the wedding or rethinking the marriage.
The ceremony itself was very brief—just a few readings and the traditional vows. The rings they exchanged were simple matching platinum bands.
When the minister pronounced, “You may kiss the bride,” Paul leaned over and kissed Emily gently on the mouth. She smelled like lavender, and she leaned into the kiss for just a moment before they both pulled away.
And then they were married.
At least Emily had stopped crying.
* * *
Paul returned to their cottage about fifteen minutes after Emily did, since he’d had to wrap a few things up with the wedding planner and the inn’s staff.
He was tired, and he was still shaking off the remnants of that weird golden daze, but things had gone well. He hoped Emily would be happy with the ceremony, and he thought he’d done everything he could to give this to her before she died.
So he was surprised when, on seeing the French doors off the main room open, he looked out onto their private terrace and found Emily surrounded by champagne, gourmet food, flowers, and the last light of the sun.
She was crying again.
Her face wasn’t just streaming with tears as it had been when she’d walked down the aisle. Now she was sobbing for real.
His felt vaguely ill as he processed her presence.
He was tempted to back up and retreat to his own room, rather than deal with a weeping woman after a very long few days. But he couldn’t seem to do it. Cursing the over-developed sense of responsibility that had only emerged these last few months, he stepped out onto the terrace.
As soon as she saw him, she started to pull herself together, suppressing her sobs and trying to wipe away her tears.
Paul didn’t know what to say, so he didn’t say anything. He felt awkward and disappointed and just a tiny bit resentful—since he’d invested so much time and money in creating this wedding experience for her and it hadn’t been enough.
“I’m sorry,” Emily choked, using a napkin to dry her face. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry,” he said, pleased that his tone was mild, almost gentle. “I’m sorry the wedding didn’t live up to your dreams.”
“It did,” she said, her eyes widening in surprise, “Paul, the wedding was absolutely incredible. The most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. It was perfect.”
Something unclenched in Paul at her words. “Then…”
Emily looked away. “I miss my dad.”
Her father had died two years ago, but that wasn’t really so long.
There was nothing Paul could say.
In an aching, twisted way, he missed his father too.
After a few minutes, when Emily had stopped crying completely, Paul got up and opened the champagne. He poured two glasses and handed one to Emily.
They weren’t likely to be arrested for under-age drinking in France.
They filled their plates with the refreshments laid out for them. Emily finished hers and then went back for more. Together, they ate most of their tiny wedding cake and finished the bottle of champagne.
Paul was a lot more comfortable by the time they were through, sitting now with an Emily who was laughing and making wry comments—the Emily he’d known before, the one who didn’t make his chest ache.
She still wore her wedding dress, but her relaxed position had made the neckline droop farther than it was supposed to.
Catching himself eyeing her lush cleavage with the same kind of absent appreciation he would have given any woman who looked so good, he forced his eyes away immediately.
Emily’s dress was sleeveless with a square neckline, and it fell to just above her ankles. He’d already seen the bill for it, and he could almost guarantee that Emily had no idea how expensive the dress really was.
He heard her sigh deeply beside him and looked over to see that her lips were turned up as she gazed out at the garden, almost pink with the last of the sunset. When she noticed him watching her, she smiled. “I’d always thought the most beautiful places in the world were the beach and mountains.” She took another deep breath of lavender- and herb-scented evening air. “I’d never imagined a place like this.”
“I’m glad you liked it.”
“Oh, and thank you for this,” she said, putting a hand over the emerald pendant resting at her collarbone. “You really didn’t have to get it for me, but it’s gorgeous.”
He gave a half-shrug. “Fair trade, then, since you gave me the cufflinks.” He’d already taken off his suit jacket and flung it on an extra chair, so he held up his arm to show her his cuffs.
With a downward glance, she murmured, “I saw you were wearing them. I really had no idea what to—”
“I like them,” he interrupted. “Thank you.”
She nodded. Then she took the final sip of champagne in her glass and reached over to the table to pick up a folded piece of paper.
Paul recognized it.
She unfolded her list and slanted him a significant look.
“Go ahead,” he prompted.
She picked up the pen from the table and firmly crossed off the first item on her list.
Then she grinned at him.
Despite the very strange day, the very strange week, the very strange few months, Paul couldn’t help but smile back.
“Don’t forget to cross off the Mona Lisa too,” he reminded her, noticing that none of the other items on the list were crossed off yet.
“Oh yes,” she said, drawing a neat line through some words near the bottom of the page. “That makes two. Only twelve more to go.”
Despite her shift into the relaxed mood, Paul felt a pang of deep sympathy at her final words. He couldn’t imagine what it would be like to have only twelve more things left to accomplish before you died. So his voice was gentler than normal when he said, “We’ll make sure you cross off all of them.”
Emily’s lip curled up as she made an annoyed face in his direction.
“What?” he demanded, genuinely baffled.
“You were feeling sorry for me.”
It was true, but he didn’t know how he could help it.
“Anyway,” she said, “Thanks for doing all this, Paul. I know you don’t want me to keep thanking you, but I really have to a few more times. I can’t imagine anyone doing a better job with it.” She lowered her eyes. “I never dreamed you would do so much for me.”
The truth was Paul wouldn’t have thought he would have done so much for Emily either. While he found it easy to spend money on other people, he’d put more time and effort into these wedding plans than he could have imagined doing for Emily even two months ago.
But he hadn’t known she was going to die then.
There were things he wished he’d done and said to his mother before she died, and he hadn’t done or said any of them.
There were things his mother had wanted him to change about his life, and he hadn’t changed them until it was too late for her to know.
He wasn’t going to make the same mistake again.
Emily continued, very softly, almost as if she were talking to herself, “I never dreamed anyone would do so much for me.”
Paul sucked in a sharp breath. There was something poignant in her words, and it struck a chord with him. If he were honest with himself, he couldn’t imagine anyone doing so much for him either—whether he was about to die or not.
Because he felt uncomfortable, he tried to downplay her thanks. “It’s just money.”
She turned to look at him, her deep blue eyes holding his soberly. “It’s not just money to me.”
He nodded to acknowledge her comment, and then he decided this day had lasted long enough. Tomorrow, things would probably feel more normal. He and Emily could return to their casual relationship, and Paul wouldn’t be dragged so often out of his comfort zone.
“It’s been a long day,” he said, in a tone that universally signaled conclusion, “I’m sure you’re exhausted. You should get some sleep.”
On Emily’s face was the strangest expression, although her tone was light as she said, “So I guess that means no wedding night.”
Paul froze in astonishment.
She gave a huff of laughter and lifted her shoulders in a little shrug. “Well, we’d never talked about it. So I was just wondering…but I guess not.”
“You want to…”
Although her voice and smile were teasing, he thought he glimpsed a self-conscious expression in her eyes. “I told you before, I haven’t been nursing passionate fantasies about you, so no need to worry about that. We both know that’s not what this marriage is about. But I wouldn’t say no to sex. You’re a good-looking guy, and I’m sure you know what you’re doing in bed.”
For one of the very few times in his life, Paul was completely speechless.
She laughed, the rippling sound just slightly strained. “But it wasn’t part of the deal, and I had no expectations that it would happen. Just thought I’d throw it out there.”
Trying to collect his wildly scattered thoughts, studied her closely. She was doing a really good job of coming across as worldly and blasé about this conversation, but he didn’t think her ironic distance was quite real. Beneath her habitual invulnerable demeanor, he guessed she might be a little embarrassed.
With this recognition in mind, he forced himself to temper his natural reaction—which would have been to ask her if she was completely insane and demand what the hell she was thinking with such an inappropriate suggestion.
Instead, he tightened his lips and said in a mostly even tone, “I hadn’t realized that was even on the table.”
“Yeah,” she said with another huff of very dry laughter, “I see that. It’s really not a big deal. I mean, that would be going way beyond the call of duty for you. I know I’m not your type. Although I didn’t know men turned down sex when it was offered.”
Paul felt flustered, and he didn’t like feeling that way. He had honestly never thought about Emily in a sexual way, except for the occasional looks of absent appreciation in the last few months that were second-nature for most men. But now that she’d brought it up—now that he knew sex was a possibility tonight—his body gave a little clench of interest.
Sex was sex. And, although she certainly wasn’t his type, Emily was an attractive, vibrant girl.
A seventeen-year-old girl who was dying.
Feeling like a degenerate—a flustered degenerate who had let things spiral way too far out of his control in the last few days—Paul shook his head and said with impressive mildness, “It’s not that. It’s not that I could never be interested. But, Emily, you’re…”
Seventeen. And dying.
Emily sighed deeply, but she managed to smile at him. “I get it, and it’s totally fine. You’ve done more than enough to help me out. It really was just a passing thought.”
He peered at her, trying to figure out whether that was true. While he was glad she was backing away from the idea, he didn’t want to act like an ass when she'd already had a really hard time.
“I’ll be eighteen in a few weeks,” she added. She’d been studying him too, and she seemed to have discovered something in his expression, although he’d thought his face was suitably impassive. “If I’m still doing all right, health-wise, maybe we can put the possibility back on the table then. Not for sure—but just to consider.”
He nodded. “Sounds good.”
There would still be virtually no chance he’d be comfortable with the idea of sex with her, even after she’d turned eighteen, but he was committing to nothing.
At least it was a way out of this conversation.
“I’m going to bed. But you know, Paul,” Emily murmured, standing up and brushing out the wrinkles in her dress. She was smiling now—tired but smiling—and she seemed to have gotten over whatever awkwardness she’d felt. “For a bad boy, you really are kind of old-fashioned.”
Her tone was very soft, not critical or derisive at all, but he stiffened at the words anyway.
“It wasn’t an insult,” she said, laughing at his expression. “Seriously. I’ve discovered that I like you a lot more than I thought. Goodnight.”
“Goodnight,” he told her, watching as she walked back into the cottage.
He didn’t get up immediately as he tried to mentally feel his way back to calm water.
"Oh, by the way," she said, coming back out onto the terrace without warning. "I forgot to ask."
Paul looked over at her questioningly.
"I try to never act obnoxiously girly, but do you think…do you think I looked pretty today?"
She'd cried her makeup off, the waves in her hair had gotten a little frizzy, and her dress was wrinkled. But Paul wasn't crazy enough to tell her anything except, "You looked absolutely beautiful today."
It happened to be the truth, and it prompted a glowing smile on Emily's face. "Okay. Goodnight."
"Goodnight," he said as she left the terrace again.
He’d felt like a fool ten times over today, and that was something he’d always gone to great lengths to avoid.
He’d made a mess of most of his life—constantly letting down the few people who had ever really loved him. Trying to turn it around, to do something worthwhile with his life, made him feel like a frustrated Prometheus, pushing a massive stone eternally uphill, only to have it roll back down when he got it to the top.
But he wasn’t—he wouldn’t be—the total loser his mother had feared he might be.
He would work hard at his new job and ensure his mother’s legacy.
He would testify against his father, no matter how much it felt like a betrayal.
And he would take care of Emily, since she had no one else to help her.
He didn’t have a lot of experience with such things, but he was determined to see it through to the end.