The Wedding Day

I dug the thin gold band out of its velvet box. It looked tiny in my fingers; it was Emily’s wedding band, and my mother’s before that. The gold was smooth to the touch. Buffed so that it shone in the bright morning light streaming through the windows of Buckingham Palace.

Aly would adore the ring. It was a classic, just like her. Pretty in an understated way.

My chest tightened. I tugged at the collar of my uniform—I was wearing the Navy’s Ceremonial Day Dress—and reached for my coffee. I felt like shit. No surprise, considering I hadn’t slept or eaten in—what was it, two months now? I was always nauseous. Always thinking about the look on Aly’s face when she’d begged me to leave.

I wanted to shrivel up and die out of embarrassment—out of shame—whenever I thought about what I’d done that morning. The misunderstandings. The missteps.

I’d thought I’d finally been getting things right. But I’d been more wrong than ever. And it’d cost me the only girl who’d ever really seen me. Who’d ever pushed me to see myself as my own man.

I watched Kit adjust his epaulet in a nearby mirror. We were in one of the bedrooms in the Queen’s private apartments in the north wing of the palace. The roar of the crowds outside rattled the windows and set everyone on edge. The lot of us were running on fumes.

I wondered if Aly could hear the crowds. She was with Emily and her family at Claridge’s Hotel. Did she have on her dress yet?

My fingers tightened around the ring. I had no clue what I was going to do or how the hell I’d handle myself when I saw her today. We’d managed to attend dozens of events together over the past week without saying a word to each other. We’d laughed, we’d toasted, and we’d smiled. Well—she’d smiled. I’d managed this sort of half-smirk, half-grimace rubbish that was so terrible I’d made one of the flower girls cry.

Probably a good thing Aly hadn’t been pregnant. My parenting skills were clearly lacking.

Other than that, I’d done as she’d asked. I hadn’t called. Hadn’t emailed or texted, even though I thought about doing it every damn day. I kept waiting for the hurt to fade. Kept waiting not to miss her. If what she’d said was true—if we really were too different to be together—then why did the memory of her still fucking haunt me like this?

Maybe, on some subconscious level, I was doing what Aly asked of me to get her back. Maybe I wanted to prove I could be thoughtful, and deliberate, and mature. To prove I could still change. I’d done it before. I could do it again.

Maybe then she’d take me back.

Kit caught my eye in the mirror. I tried on a grin.

“You ready for the ball and chain, old chap?” I asked.

He tugged at a gold button on his cuff, his expression grim. “Not funny.”

It wasn’t. Humor had been difficult to find after I’d stepped all over Aly’s dreams, right there on the floor of her hallway. Nothing seemed funny after that.

“Mum’s ring looks good,” I said, holding it up. The lump in my throat—where had that come from? “I wish she was here. She’d love every minute of this.”

Kit looked at me. “She’s here in spirit, Rob. Probably wishing you’d stop mainlining coffee so your head doesn’t explode when we’re up at the altar.”

“Hey. At least it would make for some great TV.” I tucked the ring back in its box beside Kit’s. “Can you imagine Diane Sawyer’s reaction to an exploded head on live TV?”

“It’d be epic,” Jack said in between bites of a gigantic breakfast burrito.

Kit groaned, rolling his eyes. “You sure you’ll be all right up there today? I don’t mean to scare you, but literally half the world will be watching.”

I knew he was talking about Aly. I’d told him everything. He knew how much I missed her. He also knew she and I would be standing side by side for much of the ceremony.

“I’ll be fine,” I said.

Everything was going to be fine. I just needed a little more time to get over her, that was all. The infatuation would pass.

It had to.

“Emily feeling any better today?” I asked. She was almost out of her first trimester. It’d been tough going; her morning sickness had been relentless.

Kit nodded. “I spoke to her earlier. Says she’s feeling quite good, thank Heaven.”

“That’s wonderful news,” I said, and I meant it. Emily feeling good was a relief on many levels. Kit had confided to me that, while he was out of his mind with excitement about the pregnancy, it’d also made him feel helpless. There was pretty much nothing he could do to ease Emily’s discomfort other than hold back her hair. And every woman deserved to feel beautiful and well on her wedding day.

It was also a relief because the Queen had decided we wouldn’t share the happy news with the world until after the wedding. If Emily had had to stop on her way down the aisle to vomit quietly into the flowers, the cat would’ve been out of the bag.

Despite the less than perfect timing, I knew mum would’ve been out of her mind with excitement about the baby, too.

But what would she think of the mess I’d made? Would she have any advice for me? I was controlling my impulse to reach out to Aly. I was still trying to do the right thing. But was I stupid to hope she’d take me back? Was I better off moving on?

I just couldn’t. Part of me wanted to. But I couldn’t.

* * *

Westminster Abbey

The organ music blared in my ears as I stepped up onto the altar beside Kit. My bloody elbow kept catching in the braided loop of my aiguillette. Hopefully Diane Sawyer missed that bit. I’d never felt so out of sorts in uniform before.

There was a lull in the music. A thunderous roar sounded outside the abbey. I glanced at Kit. Could only mean Emily had arrived.

Emily and Aly.

The Archbishop of Canterbury had kindly but firmly told us we were not, under any circumstances, allowed to look anywhere but at the altar when Emily was walking down the aisle. Kit seeing Emily for the first time when she joined him up here was part of the carefully coordinated drama of the day. That moment belonged to the Commonwealth.

But I looked anyway. Which was a mistake. Because I somehow managed to meet eyes with Aly, whose head peeked over Em’s shoulder. She was performing her maid of honor duties with aplomb, carefully holding Emily’s train while smiling like mad. A genuine smile that touched her eyes. Despite everything—despite the disappointments she’d suffered because of me—she was happy for her friend.

I don’t know if it was that, or how beautiful she looked in her body-skimming ivory dress, but I felt like I’d been socked in the gut. Her smile faltered, just for a second, after our gazes collided.

Bloody hell.

I looked away. I’d be damned if I upset her today. I focused instead on Emily. I could just make out her expression underneath her veil. It was luminous, eyes flashing as she made her way down the aisle. My brother was going to lose his fucking mind.

“You’d better prepare yourself,” I murmured, turning back to him. “Kit, she is so beautiful.”

Kit blinked. His eyes had suddenly taken on a watery gleam. He looked up, focusing his gaze on the soaring stained glass windows at the front of the Abbey.

“I never thanked you,” he said, rocking onto his heels. “For everything you’ve done for us. Me and Emily. You were the first to welcome her into the family. You love her like a sister. I won’t ever forget that.”

Shit, now I was going to cry, too. I cleared my throat. Winced when the organ hit a particularly jarring note.

“You’re welcome. I wish you both all the happiness in the world. Even if it means I’m knocked down a few pegs in the succession.”

Kit cut me a glance. “You really want the crown?”

“Not in the slightest. Meaning no offense.”

“None taken,” he said, fighting a grin.

Emily was at the altar now. Show time.

Her father lifted her veil and pressed a kiss into her cheek. Then she turned to Kit, and Kit turned to her. There was this tiny pause—breathless—when they just looked at each other. Neither cried, but their eyes were wet, color high as they grinned shyly at one another.

The whole thing was emotional and a little awkward and lovely. Not necessarily something out of a story book. But it was somehow better than that. The realness of it—the raw emotion these two showed for each other, even in the midst of an exhausting and highly choreographed day—was beautiful. They were so in love. So eager to start their life together.

Aly was standing just off to the side. On cue, she stepped forward and took Em’s bouquet. I trained my gaze on my feet. I sensed her closeness, a warmth that spread through my body. My blood jumped at the scent of her perfume.

I took a breath and squared my shoulders. I wouldn’t let my fuck-ups overshadow my happiness for my brother and his bride. Today was about them. Celebrating their love story.

If I didn’t get a story like theirs, it was my own damn fault.

* * *

Aly’s hand felt light and warm on my elbow. The ceremony had gone by in a flash, but the procession out of the Abbey seemed to go on forever. The organ blared, the voices of the choir echoing off the soaring ceiling. Aly and I aimed our careful smiles at opposite sides of the aisle, our bodies close but our faces turned away from one another’s.

My heart was pounding. Sweat broke out inside my collar and along my scalp. I reckoned I was red as a bloody beet. Perfect.

When it was time to finally let her go at the Abbey doors, I hesitated. We were both to do a lap around London to wave to the crowds, but we’d be in different carriages. Part of me was relieved. I was desperately in need of some oxygen; I couldn’t really breathe around her. But another part was sorely disappointed. I couldn’t escape her pull. Couldn’t seem to rid myself of the desire to be near her. Talk to her. Look at her.

Just like I was looking at her now. She met my eyes. Up close, I still saw that happiness and excitement. But now I saw the exhaustion, too. The slight lines between her brows. The tiny blue thumbprints under her eyes.

My hand curled into a fist at my side. Probably working herself to the bone, like usual. Aly didn’t need anyone to take care of her.

I still wanted to.

Still wished I could be the bloke who whisked her off on a much-needed vacation the moment this wedding ended.

“You did beautifully back there,” I said.

She looked away, ducking her chin in a nod. “Thanks. You did, too.”

A photographer took one step too close to Aly. I shot him a glare. He backed away.

“Are you coping okay?” I glanced at the crowds that waited just outside the doors. “With the attention?”

She nodded again. Met my eyes. “I’ll be okay.”

That was the least convincing statement I’d ever heard. But before I could respond, an usher was pulling her away from me, and I was put into my carriage and Aly was put into hers. She was gone.

I swear to God, an invisible bare-knuckled boxer was following me around today, landing blows with swift, solid accuracy. This one hit me in the ribs. I sucked in a breath.

And got on with the day.