The Trouble with Love
Page 46

Her friend made a motherly clucking noise and put an arm around Emma’s waist. “I strapped a flask to my thigh for exactly this sort of situation.”
“It’s an open bar,” Emma pointed out.
Riley squeezed her shoulders. “Honey, you’re at your best friend’s rehearsal dinner with your ex-fiancé. And the best I can tell, your rehearsal dinner was when everything went south?”
Emma lifted her eyebrows. “Went south? That’s a gentle way of putting it.”
“You know what I mean. Imploded. Exploded? Hit the fan in a shitty burst of rage?”
“Closer,” Emma agreed, taking another sip of wine.
Riley glanced at her. “You’re different tonight. Angry.”
Emma sucked in her cheeks and considered. Was she angry?
She was…something.
It had been a week since she and Cassidy nearly kissed in her apartment, and, true to his word, he’d given her the distance she’d asked for. They still worked together. Still saw each other at the mailboxes in their apartment building. But whereas before there’d been intentional disregard between them, now it was like she no longer existed.
She was invisible to him.
It was exactly what she’d wanted.
Emma had every intention of ignoring him tonight just like she did every other day. And everyone knew that rehearsals were more or less a formality. If you’d been in one wedding, you’d been in a million.
As a bridesmaid, your biggest worry was how high your heels were, and assessing the walking surface you had to deal with. If you were a groomsman, your biggest concern was checking out the bridesmaids.
Everything was always the same. Don’t walk too fast. Turn off your cellphone. Stand up straight. Don’t lose the rings.
But tonight, Emma had been thrown a curveball.
Unlike other weddings she’d been in where the groomsmen escorted the bridesmaids down the aisle ahead of the bride, Julie and Mitchell had opted to have the bridesmaids walk in alone, while the groomsmen would stand beside Mitchell at the end of the aisle.
In other words, Emma had to walk toward Cassidy.
Just like she would have done seven years ago, had she not lost her temper the night before their wedding. Had he not been so wrapped up in his pride that he hadn’t been able to forgive her when she’d apologized hours later.
She hadn’t looked at him as she trudged her way up the makeshift aisle at the Plaza. Didn’t have to look at him to know that he wasn’t looking at her, either. She hadn’t glanced at him as Mitchell’s pastor droned on and on about the structure of tomorrow’s ceremony.
It had been surprisingly easy to stay in the moment. To remember that she was there for her best friend. That this day was about Julie, not Emma. And then the rehearsal had been over, and she’d survived. They’d survived.
But now they were at the rehearsal dinner.
And Emma was mad. Because for the first time in a long time she was reliving moments she’d long thought dead inside her.
Riley was watching her, looking half-worried, half-amused. “You sure you don’t want this flask? Just in case? Because this just might be one of those nights where a nice glass of wine doesn’t quite cut it, you know?”
“We’re at one of the most expensive restaurants in Manhattan,” Emma replied. “I’m not going to start drinking from a flask.”
“If it makes you feel better, the flask is from Tiffany. Twenty-first birthday present from Liam. First and only time Big Brother has stepped inside that store, so it’s practically a sacred object. Also, pretty damn classy for a whiskey vessel.”
“I’m good,” Emma said, forcing a smile. “But thanks.”
Riley forced a smile back, her eyes sad, and that made Emma feel so much worse. This was supposed to be a night of celebration and happiness, not a dreary trip down memory lane with her friend trying to force whiskey on her.
She mentally shook herself. “You know what? Let’s go mingle,” Emma said. “You’re looking way too good to be huddled in the corner by yourself. That dress is—”
Riley gave a cocky grin and a wink. “Sam liked it, too. Twice.”
“No more detail,” Emma muttered, holding up a hand. “Please.”
She let Riley pull her into a conversation with some of Julie’s high school friends from California, and did her best to ignore the fact that Cassidy was about four feet to her left, now talking to a leggy brunette with crunchy-looking hair and a dress that was even shorter than Riley’s.
Julie bounced up to them, looking adorable in a white halter top cocktail dress and a perky ponytail. She looked fresh-faced and radiant.
And happy. Almost unbearably happy.
Emma remembered what that sort of happiness had felt like.
And that’s why she was mad. Not because she was remembering the bad parts. Because she was remembering the good parts.
Julie made polite excuses to everyone else before pulling Emma, Riley, and Grace aside. “Okay, no pressure, girls, and by that, of course, I mean feel entirely obligated by what I’m about to say. Mitchell’s parents are insisting we do toasts.”
“So?” Riley asked.
“So, they’re paying for this whole fancy thing, so they get to do what they want, but so help me God, if Mitchell’s mom gets up there and starts talking, this party will turn into group nap time and this blowout will have been for naught—”
“Naught?” Emma interrupted.