The Week Before the Wedding Read online

  Ryan’s words reverberated in her head: As soon as you get what you want, stop talking and get the hell out.

  She leapt to her feet and grabbed her briefcase. “Thank you, sir. You won’t be sorry. I’m going to impress you so much, I’ll defy you not to accept me into the program.”

  Two and a half years later, Emily graduated from the MBA program with an A in her negotiation seminar and a glowing letter of recommendation from Dean Jacobi.

  Ten years ago, she’d been so sure of herself. So confident that she could do anything—talk her way into graduate school without sufficient qualifications, claw her way up to corporate vice president before she’d turned thirty, break up with a guy and know that there’d be a better one along any minute. She’d been fearless.

  And now she was afraid all the time: afraid of making another mistake; afraid of letting her emotions overrule her rational mind. She’d literally lost sleep trying to decide if she should carry lilies of the valley or hyacinths in her bridal bouquet.

  It was easy to be fearless when you were young and poor and low profile. The stakes got so much higher once you started to succeed.

  She stole a peek back into the barroom, where the two great loves of her life were talking and laughing together, getting along famously without her. Grant was falling for Ryan’s easy charm, just as Emily herself had when they first met.

  “Shots!” Ryan gave the vodka Emily had ordered to Grant and ordered another one for himself. “We’re doing shots. Who’s with us?”

  Emily did the only thing she could do, under the circumstances. She found her cell phone and dialed her maid of honor.

  “Summer? Where are you? Yes, I know the bridesmaids’ tea isn’t for four more hours, but I need you right now…. Screw the speed limit. And no bathroom breaks, either…I’ll tell you what’s up: We’ve got a code-red, man-down, what’s-the-number-for-nine-one-one ex-husband emergency happening in Valentine, Vermont.”

  “Let me guess: You’re Emily McKellips, and you’ll be our cautionary tale today?” Summer Benson swept into the bridesmaids’ tea with her usual flair and gusto. Tall and willowy, with platinum blond hair cut so short it would look masculine on anyone without her delicate bone structure, Summer lived for drama, scandal, and general good times. The daughter of a poet, she’d inherited her father’s sense of whimsy and aesthetics without any of his mood swings or misanthropy.

  The girl was guaranteed trouble, and Emily had loved her like a sister since the day Georgia had announced her engagement to Summer’s father. Though their parents had parted ways, the daughters never had, and Summer knew everything—everything—there was to know about Emily. She also had a tendency to run her mouth when she consumed so much as a drop of alcohol, which was why Emily had ensured that the beverage menu at the bridesmaids’ tea was limited to tea and lemonade.

  Emily hugged Summer and laughed, but glanced around the room to ensure that Grant’s mother and sister hadn’t overheard the “cautionary tale” comment.

  “Thank God you’re here,” she whispered into Summer’s ear. “Help me. I’m dying.”

  “You’re not dying. Where’s Ryan?” Summer craned her neck, scanning the crowd.

  “He’s bonding with my fiancé. They’re on a sailboat as we speak. Sailing. I’m dying.”

  Summer unsuctioned Emily’s tentacles of despair and turned around, lifting her arms to encompass the Lodge and its surroundings. “The drive up here was marvelous. The pine trees, the mountains, the lakes…I felt like Lewis and Clark might go paddling by at any minute.”

  Emily watched the doorway, waiting for Summer’s traveling companion to appear. “Where’s Pierre? Did he go up to your room already?”

  “Oh, him? He didn’t come.” Summer flicked at her bangs as though irritated by a blackfly. “We broke up, so I’m all by myself. That’s part of what made the drive so marvelous.”

  Emily’s eyebrows shot up. “Wait, wait, wait. You and Pierre broke up?”

  “Mais oui. And not a minute too soon.”

  “What happened?”

  “What always happens?” Summer put one hand on her hip, taking in the pink and green crepe paper streamers and silver balloons Bev and Melanie had attached to every available surface. “I came to the conclusion that we were incompatible.” In response to Emily’s exasperated look, she laughed and elaborated: “By which I mean he was more interested in the allure of free flights than he was in my sparkling personality. And also, he took more time to do his hair in the morning than I did.”

  Emily clicked her tongue. “Another mile moocher?”

  Summer’s decadelong career as a flight attendant had provided her with the opportunity to date all kinds of men from all walks of life with only one thing in common: They were good-looking. Really good-looking. Like, stop-in-the-middle-of-the-street-and-snap-a-photo-with-your-cell-phone-and-send-it-to-all-your-friends-with-a-caption-about-somewhere-GQ-is-missing-a-cover-model good-looking. And invariably, these good-looking men treated Summer badly. Over the years, Emily had suggested that perhaps her stepsister should set her sights on a guy who was a bit more down-to-earth (with the added bonus that he wouldn’t steal Summer’s hair products from Paris upon dumping her), but Summer insisted that her spotty romantic track record was the result of bad luck. Bad judgment, she claimed, had nothing to do with it.

  “Now don’t you worry your pretty little head about me.” Summer tugged up the shoulder strap of her Kelly green sundress. “This week is all about you.” She held out her hand and flexed her fingers. “Um, why is my hand still empty? I need a drink, stat.”

  “Let’s get you an iced tea.” Emily steered her toward the bar.

  “I assume you mean a Long Island iced tea?”

  “No booze,” Emily admitted. “But how about some refreshing, ice-cold lemonade? Freshly squeezed!”

  Summer’s baby blue eyes darkened. “What kind of shameful excuse for a wedding is this?”

  “It’s not a wedding—it’s a bridesmaids’ tea on a Monday afternoon. With scones and cucumber sandwiches.”

  “Which is exactly why I need a Long Island iced tea.”

  “Here.” Emily handed her a dainty little pastry on a paper doily. “Have a cream puff and settle down. Don’t worry; the rehearsal dinner and the wedding will both have open bars. Top-shelf liquor. Only the best for my boozy little friends.”

  “What about the bachelorette party?” Summer demanded.

  Emily tried to buy herself some time before answering. “Um, pardon?”

  Summer gave her the look she reserved for unruly passengers who refused to turn off electronic devices before takeoff. “I said. What. About. The bachelorette party.”

  “Ah. Well…” Emily almost shoved a cream puff into her own mouth due to stress, but managed to restrain herself at the last second. “We’re not having a bachelorette party.”

  Summer grabbed a fistful of the front of Emily’s floral chiffon sundress. “Oh, yes, we are having a bachelorette party.”

  “Sorry.” Emily shrugged. “It’s not that kind of crowd.”

  “I’m here now, so it is that kind of crowd.”

  Emily pried Summer’s fingers off the dress one at a time. “We talked about this when I first asked you to be my maid of honor, remember? This wedding is a family-friendly vacation. No swearing, no fighting, no carrying on like hooligans.” When Summer opened her mouth to object, Emily reminded her, “You promised.”

  “When did your wedding turn into the town in Footloose?” Summer grabbed the nearest cupcake. “I get time and a half for wearing pastels, right?”

  “Your check’s in the mail.”

  Emily braced herself as Georgia swooped down on them with an earsplitting shriek. Across the room, Bev and Melanie put their heads together, whispering and shooting judgmental looks at the Titian-haired party girl, who had decked herself out in a figure-hugging, sequined black dress that was more appropriate for a lounge singer than a mother of the bride.

 
“Summer! Darling! How are you? Let me look at you.” Georgia held Summer at arm’s length for a moment before engulfing her in a hug. “More gorgeous than ever. And so chic and cosmopolitan! You get that from me.”

  “You two aren’t actually related,” Emily pointed out.

  “Beauty like ours can’t be contained by biology.” Summer laughed and hugged Georgia right back. “Still breaking hearts?”

  “But of course.” Georgia beckoned her in and confided, “I’m on the prowl for my next victim right now.”

  “Me, too.” Summer’s eyes lit up. “I saw a really hot lifeguard down by the lake.”

  “Ooh! Is he single?”

  “Not for long.” They both giggled and whispered until Emily stepped in between them.

  “Will you girls behave yourselves? Please? Just for a few days?”

  “She’s such a buzz kill,” Summer griped to Georgia.

  “Tell me about it. She definitely didn’t get that from me.”

  “Shouldn’t you be talking smack behind my back instead of right to my face?” Emily said.

  Georgia patted Emily on the arm, but kept her attention focused on Summer. “Well? Shall we go and rustle up a proper drink?”

  “I thought you’d never ask.”

  Emily protested in vain as they rushed out the door. “Summer, you just got here! You can’t abandon me! We have to talk.”

  “We’ll be back,” Summer promised. “Just as soon as I get a look at Brad the concierge.”

  “Mom.” Emily appealed to Georgia. “Don’t you want to stay for a super fun game of Bridesmaids’ Bingo?”

  Georgia made a face. “I’d rather get a root canal.”

  “Hmmph!” Bev, who had labored for weeks on the lacy, hand-lettered bingo cards, turned up her nose and stalked off to the powder room.

  “Apologize,” Emily ordered, but Georgia raced for the door as fast as her five-inch heels would allow.

  Traitors. Emily scanned the room again, taking in the fruit punch, pastels, and pastries. “Well, bring me back something low calorie. Maybe a vodka tonic?”

  “We’ll make it a double.” Georgia blew her a kiss as she exited in a swirl of silk scarves and French perfume.

  After Georgia and Summer made their escape, Caroline Mitner walked in, bumping her head on the doorjamb as she stared at the screen of her cell phone.

  “Ow.” She winced and pressed her palm to her forehead.

  “Are you okay?” Emily rushed to help her. “Let me get you some ice.”

  “Don’t worry, I’m fine.” Caroline dropped her hand to the side of her perfectly tailored peach boucle suit. “Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve given myself a concussion waiting for a text from Andrew. Marrying a surgeon ought to come with a yearly CAT scan to check for brain damage.”

  “Oh, please,” Emily said. “You with brain damage still puts me to shame on my best day.”

  Caroline was the wife of Grant’s best friend, Andrew. She was also Emily’s personal role model. Caroline had rowed on the crew team at a New England prep school before attending Dartmouth and capping it all off with a master’s degree in biology. She could handily defeat her tennis opponent, rebalance her financial portfolio based on the latest reports from the Asian market, and whip up a three-course dinner party for eight without breaking a sweat or uttering a single obscenity.

  The first time Emily had met Caroline at a hospital charity event, she’d felt a perverse and childish urge to hate her. The woman had everything—perfect body, perfect brain, perfect husband, and perfect house. She sat on the board of a dozen local charities and wielded considerable social influence. But from the moment Grant had introduced Emily as his girlfriend, Caroline had been modest, genuine, and welcoming.

  “Grant must be crazy about you,” she’d murmured as she’d shaken Emily’s hand. “He’s never ‘gone public’ with a girlfriend before.”

  Emily had laughed, a bit flustered. “Well, we’re having fun. But it’s still early days; I’m not sure how serious anything is.”

  Caroline had stepped back and given her a long, assessing look. “If he makes time to leave the OR and throw on a tux, it’s serious. Trust me.”

  At the end of the evening, Caroline had asked for Emily’s contact information and stepped into the role of mentor. She started meeting Emily for lunch, showing her the best places to eat and the best selections off the menu. She helped Emily navigate the quagmire of hospital politics—who should be schmoozed and deferred to, who should be avoided at all costs. Though Emily often felt like Caroline’s younger, socially awkward sister, she was grateful for the guidance.

  But lately Caroline had seemed a bit distant. Emily wanted to attribute this to her own stress levels and sensitivity, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that Caroline had pulled back from the friendship after Emily first flashed her engagement ring. There had been a tiny but significant pause before she said, “Best wishes! I’m thrilled for you both!”

  Nevertheless, Emily had recruited her friend as bridesmaid. Caroline had stepped into the role with her customary capability—she arrived at every dress fitting five minutes early, and never uttered a word of protest over dress style or color. “Whatever you prefer is fine with me,” she’d assured Emily. “You have great taste.”

  Emily shifted her weight from foot to foot for a moment before leaning in to give her a hug. Caroline hugged back with one arm while holding up her phone in her free hand.

  “Goodness, I’m late. Sorry. I got the car all loaded up with the luggage before I realized I had a flat tire. I couldn’t even leave the garage.”

  “I hate when that happens,” Emily said. “But at least you weren’t stranded on the highway. Did you call Andrew?”

  Caroline looked startled for a moment, then laughed. “Call Andrew? What in heaven’s name for?”

  “To help you change the tire. I mean, you guys live, what, five minutes from the hospital?”

  “Andrew’s not going to scrub out in the middle of a procedure to race across town and screw on some lug nuts. When I have car trouble, I don’t call my husband; I call Triple-A.”

  “Oh.” Emily wasn’t sure how to respond to this. But Caroline didn’t seem at all upset, just matter-of-fact, so Emily followed up with, “When will he be joining you this week?”

  Caroline shrugged. “He says Wednesday afternoon. Using my foolproof ‘Surgeon Decoder Ring,’ that means Friday night. Possibly Saturday morning.”

  “But he’s the best man.”

  “Yes. And with any luck, he’ll get here just in time to stand at the altar with Grant.”

  “Grant’s going to be bummed. He’ll be surrounded by histrionic women in crinoline and tulle all week.”

  This got Caroline’s full attention. “Grant’s here? Right now?”

  “Of course. He took vacation time for the week before the wedding.”

  Caroline tilted her head, as if she couldn’t possibly have heard correctly. “The whole week?”

  “Mm-hmm. And then we’re leaving for Bora-Bora for our honeymoon.”

  At this, Caroline stopped asking questions and looked at her as though she couldn’t tell if Emily were delusional or simply a pathological liar.

  “What?” Emily asked, lacing her fingers together.

  “Nothing.” Caroline smiled a very bland, vacant smile. “Nothing.”

  Emily cleared her throat and tried to rekindle the conversation. “Where did you and Andrew go on your honeymoon?”

  “Oh, we didn’t have a honeymoon. Andrew had just started his residency, so we were lucky he could take an afternoon off to get married.”

  “Well, your tenth anniversary’s coming up soon, right?”

  Caroline nodded. “Next May.”

  “Maybe you can take a belated honeymoon then.”

  There was another little pause; then Caroline’s smile fell away entirely. “Let’s have a bite to eat.”

  “Why are you changing the subject?”

  “I’m f
amished. Watching someone else change a tire really works up an appetite.”

  “No, no, don’t do that thing where you’re all tactful and polite.” Emily blocked the way to the pastry display. “You have something on your mind and I want to know what it is.”

  “No, you don’t.”

  “Yes, I do. Out with it.”

  Her friend hesitated. “I don’t want to cast a shadow over your big day. My life isn’t your life. I know that.”

  Emily waved her hand in a spiral, indicating that Caroline should wrap up the legal disclaimer. “But…?”

  “But I know Grant. I know Grant; I know Andrew; I know how surgeons are.” Caroline bit her bottom lip. “And if I were you, Em, I wouldn’t get my hopes up for Bora-Bora.”

  Seeing Emily’s stunned expression, Caroline placed a hand on her shoulder and led her into a quiet corner. “You and Grant haven’t been together that long; you’re still in the courtship stage. But you’ll see. Living with a transplant surgeon is…well, it’s relentless. The demands on their time, the constant complications in the OR.”

  “Grant doesn’t make promises he can’t keep,” Emily insisted.

  “Maybe he’ll prove me wrong. I hope he does. All I’m saying is, it’s easy for these guys to make commitments outside of the hospital, but not so easy to keep them. The patients always come first.”

  “They have to. I mean, Grant saves lives.”

  “So does Andrew.” Caroline’s gray eyes darkened. “Over and over, week in and week out. And it’s hard to save lives when you’re lying on the beach in Bora-Bora.” She popped a petit four into her mouth and indicated that, since her mouth was full, she could say no more on the subject.

  Before Emily could press for more details, Grant’s aunts, Darlene and Rose, arrived with their arms full of shopping bags.

  “Good afternoon, girls! Hope we’re not too late. Oh, just look at you, Emily: You’re glowing with happiness. Look, Rose—isn’t she a vision?”

  To hear Grant tell it, Bev and her sisters had always been inseparable. Rose and Darlene were both a bit taller and leaner than Bev, but Emily could see a strong family resemblance in their dimples and cute button noses. Back in their youth, the three of them had sometimes been mistaken for triplets. In fact, Grant had shared a story of arriving for a party at his grandmother’s house when he was a toddler. When Rose opened the door, Grant had looked back and forth between Bev and his aunt and announced, with bewilderment, “Mom? You’re already here.”