The Ex (30 page)

I knew I wasn’t the only person in the room tearing up. Emma’s eyes glistened, too. When I looked at Rudy, I could tell he was trying to keep it together. My vision watered as I turned to Neil, and he squeezed my hand.

A change in Michael’s tone gave me a chance to get under control. “Now, the first time I knew Dad loved you was the first Christmas we all spent together. Before you came down for Boxing Day brunch, I asked Dad if he would be watching Man U play. And he said, ‘No, I think I’d like to have a quiet day with Sophie.’”

“Did you check him for a fever?” Rudy interrupted, and Emma laughed. The Brits in the room understood; Runólf’s loud bark rang out above everyone else’s.

“You’re the first woman who’d ever tempted him away from football,” Michael said, raising his voice to get the room under control again. “So, to my father and Sophie, I say, you were made for each other. You have nothing in common, god knows how you stand each other because you’re both terribly annoying, but I couldn’t think of a better match for either of you.” He lifted his glass. “To the bride and groom.”

Emma, eyes shining, lifted her glass and repeated along with the rest of the party.

Rudy, being the best man, didn’t give a speech; he would save his humiliation for the wedding. I thought we were safe from another struggle not to cry, until my mom stood up.

Oh shit. She was the only one from my family who would logically make a toast on their behalf. I didn’t think my mom would embarrass me—not intentionally, anyway—but I was so uncomfortable at the thought she might joke about her disapproval of our marriage.

“The day that Sophie was born, I already knew she would be a handful,” Mom began, looking down at me fondly. “They wheeled one of those clear plastic bassinets in, so she could stay in my hospital room with me. And, in the middle of the night, I woke up, and there was this red-faced, wrinkly little creature, staring at me. I’m not going to lie; she seemed kind of judgmental.”

Neil laughed, and I realized that he hadn’t heard as many stories of my childhood as I’d heard of his. I wondered if that was due to Mom’s discomfort with our age gap. It would be strange, I supposed, to talk to your daughter’s future husband about when your kid was born, knowing it was around the exact same time that his kid had been born.

“She’s always been a rebel. She’s always kept us on our toes. But, when she brought Neil home…” Mom exaggerated a wide-eyed grimace, and everyone chuckled. “I was expecting a twenty-five year old. I could have killed her. Or him. Both of them.

“It took me a while to come around. But I’ve been staying with them recently—” She paused and rolled her eyes as if in thought to correct herself. “No, they’ve been tolerating me staying with them. It’s made me realize that my daughter…” She pressed a hand to her chest, lips clamped together to hold back tears. Then, she completely dropped the act and said, “Is a real pain the ass.”

My family roared with laughter. Neil’s just looked a bit uncomfortable and bewildered. I’d seen Neil and his brothers joke with each other like this before. All the Elwoods had a sense of humor, so far as I could tell, so I assumed they felt the occasion required a bit more gravitas than was being displayed.

“Sophie, you found someone who can tolerate your bullshit. Someone who is willing to grow old with you—or, ahead of you. Someone who knows exactly how surly you can be in the morning, but how sweet you can be to the people you love.” The sudden turn from teasing to loving made my eyes water. I knew my mom loved me; I just liked hearing it.

“Neil, you’re the luckiest man alive to have my Sophie,” Mom said, somehow turning it into a warning.

Neil smiled a slow smile. “I know, Ms. Scaife.”

“Good.” She uncurled her index finger from around her champagne glass to point at him. “But Sophie is pretty lucky, too, to have someone who loves her as much as you obviously do. You make my daughter happy. Your family has welcomed her with kindness. So, on behalf of the Scaifes, I welcome the Elwoods into our hearts and our lives.” This time, her tears were real. She raised her glass. “To Neil and Sophie.”

It wasn’t the most eloquent toast, and she’d managed to work a few cuss words in, but when she sat down, Neil told her, “Thank you, Rebecca. That was beautiful.” And he really meant it.

We chatted over dessert and talked and laughed, and as the night went on, everyone seemed to relax and get a lot more comfortable with each other. I saw Geir introducing himself to my uncle Mike. Rudy had a real, non-snarky conversation with my mom.

“Oh, Emma, I should have talked to you about this ages ago,” Neil broke into our discussion apologetically. “I put you and Michael at your mother’s table, instead of with Fiona and Runólf. I hope you’re not bothered.”

“Not bothered, no.” Emma frowned. “But I thought Mum wasn’t coming to the wedding.”

“She’s not?” Neil seemed a bit hurt. Which is a great emotion to see on your fiancé’s face when he finds out his ex won’t be at the ceremony the night before your wedding.

“I spoke with her the other day. She said she had other plans, and she was sorry she couldn’t make it after all.” I hoped that waving it off would be enough to end the conversation. Emma and I made eye contact across the table. She knew. She totally knew why her mom wasn’t coming. I looked away guiltily, but I don’t know why. I wasn’t stealing Neil from Valerie, and I hadn’t uninvited her or anything.

Suddenly, my dinner wasn’t agreeing with me anymore. My jaw clenched, like I was going to be sick. Why were we talking about Valerie, on the night before our wedding? Just when I’d started to feel like everything was going right?

I dropped my napkin on my plate. “Excuse me, I need to get some air.”

“Are you okay?” my mom asked, reaching out to pat my arm.

I shrugged her off. “Yeah, just…too much wine.”

I walked as quickly as I could from the dining room then out onto the street.

“Sophie!”

I stopped at Neil’s call.

He hurried to me, concern deepening the lines on his face. “Are you all right?”

“No!” I couldn’t figure out if I was mad or just sad. “Why does it matter to you if Valerie isn’t at the wedding?”

I’m sure it took a herculean effort to not roll his eyes. We’d both been down the Valerie fight road enough times that we were tired of the commute. “It doesn’t matter to me. I was just confused, because she was on the final guest list.”

“I didn’t tell her not to come, okay?” I shouted. Yeah, defensiveness would convince him.
Good job, self
.

“I never suggested that you did. I wouldn’t think that would occur to you.” He pushed back his jacket and slipped his hands into his trouser pockets. “Besides, if you didn’t want her to come, I assumed you would have told me when we were assembling the guest list.”

“Yeah, well…” I couldn’t think of anything else to say about it. But I blurted, “She’s still in love with you!” anyway, like it was an accusation of misconduct on his part.

He let out a long, frustrated sigh. “There isn’t anything I can do about that.”

“Is there anything you want to do about it?” What the fuck? Why was I flying off the handle like this? Especially on the street, in front of a restaurant where our families and friends were gathered and could pop out and check on us at any time? When I’d been feeling confident and sure of myself only moments before?

“Of course there is. I want to avoid the whole subject and get married to the woman whom
I
love.” His expression of angry confusion struck me to my heart. “What is this all about?”

“I don’t know!” I shouted and looked guiltily away from the couple who gave us strange looks as they passed. I lowered my voice. “I don’t know. I’m just… I’m scared.”

“You’re scared?” He pressed his hand against his forehead. “Thank god. I was worried you were picking a stupid fight with me to get out of the wedding.”

“Maybe I am.” What the fuck was I saying?

“What? Why wouldn’t you want to get married?”

My irrational thought process was only fueled further by the patient sympathy in his tone. I threw up my hands. “Because…if you get married, then you get divorced.”

“Sophie, we are not going to get divorced,” he said. His adorable half-smile told me I was being ridiculous, and deep down, I knew that if I just let myself be rational, for just a moment, I would realize that this was just a bad case of nerves.

Being rational wasn’t something my wildly out-of-control emotions would permit.

“You and Elizabeth got divorced, Emir is getting divorced, Ian and Gena are getting divorced.” I ticked them off on my fingers. “If one in three marriages end in divorce, that’s three. We’re doomed.”

“I don’t think that’s how statistics work, darling,” he said gently. “And, if they did, I’ve already been divorced, so surely I’m an outlier.”

I slumped against the brick of the building and closed my eyes. “I just feel like marriage is bound to fail, you know?”

He leaned against the wall next to me. “I want you to listen to me. Not as your fiancé, not as your friend. Just listen to me as the voice of someone older, wiser, and far less afraid than you are. Are there any problems between us right at this moment that have made you consider leaving me?”

“Of course not!”

“And are you actually considering walking away from me, right now, simply because you’re afraid that we might break up in the future?” When he put it that way, it did sound kind of silly.

I quirked my mouth to the side then looked down and scuffed the bottom of my shoe on the sidewalk. “When I think about the future, I can’t imagine you not being there.”

“I feel exactly the same.” He hooked a finger under my chin to lift my face.

My eyes watered, and I couldn’t help it. There was no holding back the jumble of emotions that needed to flee my body via my tear ducts.

He cupped my cheek and wiped a cascading drop from my jaw. “My darling. My Sophie. If you want to call this wedding off tonight, we can.”

I blinked up at him through my tears. “Would it be that easy for you?”

He laughed in surprise. “No. No, it wouldn’t be easy for me. I want to marry you, and I’ll be very disappointed. But, if getting married is going to ruin us, I’d rather have you and not be married than get married and not have you.”

“I just…” I leaned into him. The thought of not being with him made me sick to my stomach. “I just don’t want this to fail.”

He pretended to consider. Usually, Neil not taking an argument seriously drove me up the wall. This time it was somehow comforting. “We could always just have the wedding, not sign the paperwork, and let everyone believe we’re married.”

“We could?” I snuffled. I wished I had some kleenex.

He nodded solemnly. “I’m sure it happens all the time. But, if you want to call off the entire wedding, you’re going to have to eat all those shrimp I paid for.”

I laughed through my tears. “You’re such an ass.”

“I know. It’s no wonder that you don’t want to marry me.” He pulled me close and laughed with me. Or at me. I suspected either was applicable.

I leaned back and looked up into those green eyes that still melted me every time. “Let’s get married.”

“Well, thank god for that.” He hugged me tight, and I heard his breath leave his chest in a stutter. “My vows are fantastic. It would be a shame if no one heard them.” His relief showed through his attempt at humor.

“That’s right. I better start working on mine,” I said, and he sucked in a breath. I looked up at him and sweetly sing-songed, “Just kidding.”

“I will paddle your behind,” he warned with a laugh.

I didn’t take it as a threat. “You’re going to cry when you hear mine,” I teased.

He put his arm around me and steered me toward the door. “Perhaps. But ten-thousand dollars says you’ll cry first.”

It was the best foolish bet I’d ever made.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

This
was it. This was the day I was going to get married.

“I need the bag, I need the bag!” I gasped, fanning my face, and Mom shoved a paper lunch sack into my hand.

“Are you hyperventilating or throwing up?” she asked, putting a hand on my wrist as I raised the bag to my face. “Because that isn’t waterproofed on the inside, it’s just a plain sack.”

Mom and I waited in the car outside the Plaza. After her toast the night before, things were a lot calmer between us. I couldn’t have been more grateful; it was going to be a stressful morning, and I needed all the support I could get. The jitters I’d managed to distract myself from had returned with a vengeance overnight, and she’d spent most of our mother/daughter breakfast promising me that everything would be fine.

“I don’t know yet,” I whined. “Oh my god, what is wrong with me? I want to get married to Neil. I know this in my intelligent brain. My heart-brain is going all—” I waved my hands, and the crinkly bag, in the air, and Mom sat back a little to avoid getting poked in the eye.

“Well, you’re having a very big wedding, with a lot of people, and you want everything to be perfect.” Before I could protest, she added, “I know you too well, Sophie. You’re a control freak.”

“I am not! I’m—”

Wow. I spent a lot of time accusing Neil of having control freak tendencies. No wonder I could recognize them. I had so many of my own.

But I wasn’t going down without a fight. “You know, I let Neil plan, like, eighty-five percent of this wedding. I mean, he ran things past me, but he’s picked the flowers, the menu, he’s the one who helped figure out seating arrangements—”

“So, all of that was out of your control,” Mom finished for me.

I glowered at her. “I was really busy working. Neil had the time to do it. I totally relinquished control on the grounds that planning a magazine and planning a wedding are two really big projects, and I couldn’t do them both. And it wouldn’t have been fair of him to expect me to do it all, because—”

“Sophie Anne! Stay focused,” Mom barked like a drill instructor. “Get your ass out of this car.”

I hated when my mom was right. My nerves were making me stall, when I really needed to get my shit together. I’d slept until eleven—my last-night-as-a-single-girl sleepover with Holli had kept me up really late—and now, the clock was ticking.

A cluster of my female relatives were waiting in the Royal Terrace suite. The place was bridal central; two salon chairs were parked in the grandly appointed sitting room area. The scent of congratulations and well-wishing flower arrangements filled the air, as did Aunt Marie’s raucous laugh and enough aerosolized droplets of hairspray that I wondered if we would all get some kind of awful lung disease. April, the hair stylist, had already done Holli’s hair, curled and shaped into a pin-up girl style, and now, she called, “Mother of the bride?” and pointed firmly to the empty chair. Debra, the make-up artist, shooed me toward the lighted mirror.

“We’ll get you done now and do touch ups right before you go backstage,” she said, like it wasn’t completely bizarre to refer to “backstage” as part of a wedding. She had come recommended by Holli, so I assumed she worked in the theatre or television. “You just relax.”

Relax. It would be so much easier to relax if I could just see Neil. I needed him to reassure me. Or to be my focus, I guessed. I pulled my phone from my purse as I sat down and brought up my photos. The last seventeen were of Holli and me trying to take a drunk best friends selfie, but after that, I had a picture of Neil on the beach in front of our house. He wore a gray t-shirt and a pair of comfy-looking, broken-in jeans, the cuffs rolled up above his hairy ankles, and he was smiling at me, squinting into the sun. I took a deep breath and decided I would focus on those times—Neil and I being a normal couple—to get me through the overwhelming production of the day.

“Ooh, that’s a nice picture,” Debra said, in the voice that all stylists used when trying to make small talk with a client. “A lot more casual than when I Googled you guys.”

“You Googled us?” I asked with a snort of laughter. “I hope we didn’t bore you.”

“Not at all,” she said with raised eyebrows as she shook up a bottle of moisturizer. “There are some really interesting rumors out there about you guys. But you already know that.”

No, I did not know that.

Nope
. Not today. I was not going to worry about Google rumors or awful books or any other problem. I’d already embraced all of that nonsense to be with Neil. I wasn’t going to let it turn me away from him now.

It felt like it took an hour to get my face on lockdown, which was somewhat worrying; what did I look like normally if it took so much careful contouring to make me acceptable? Every time I tried to peek at myself, Debra firmly turned the chair from the mirror. I guess she didn’t like having people watch her work. When she finally let me see myself, I gasped. I didn’t look like Sophie Scaife. “I look like Kim Kardashian!”

Aunt Marie’s face lit up with recognition. “I have her phone game.”

“Is looking like Kim Kardashian a bad thing?” Debra asked, peering at me over the slim rectangles of her magnifying glasses.

“Are you kidding?” I turned my face from side to side, examining all angles. “She’s a goddess.”

Pia arrived with the dress and a tackle box full of sewing supplies at three. My female relatives and Holli were all dolled up with hair and makeup, but I still had curlers in.

“They’ve got the mirrors upstairs,” Mom said, pointing Pia toward the stairs. “Do you need help with anything?”

“Yeah.” Pia awkwardly managed the huge box under her arm and juggled the tackle box to hand it off to Mom.

Aunt Marie hurried any non-essential personnel from the room, so I could take a break to eat something. “You don’t want to pass out on the way down the aisle, dummy,” Holli scolded me. Though the croissants were delicious and the fruit was as fresh as if I were eating it in the orchard it had been picked in, I could barely hold any of it down.

I hoped the few bites I got in would be enough to keep me from fainting during the ceremony.

There was a knock on the door, and Emma called, “Is everyone decent?”

Holli went to the door and let Emma in. Olivia was snuggled in her arms, dressed in the most adorable little pink shantung party dress with seed pearls and delicate embroidery on the front and more pearls scattered over the sheer organza skirt.

“Gimme!” I said, launching myself up from the couch.

Emma handed Olivia over to me. “You look like Kim Karadashian.”

When Emma said it, it didn’t sound nearly so positive as when I said it.

“Have some fruit and shut up,” Holli told her, thrusting a plate into her hands.

I kissed Olivia’s head, and her cute little eyes fluttered open. She stared up at me, blinking in the universally human expression of someone who is confused as hell upon waking.

“Hello, sweetheart,” I cooed at her. “Have you been to see Grandpa this morning?”

I wasn’t looking at her, but I swore I could hear Emma’s eye roll. “Oh, yes. We have been to see Grandpa.”

“How’s he doing?” I glanced up at Emma. “He’s not going to leave me at the altar or anything?”

“Sophie Anne!” Mom exclaimed, crossing herself. “Don’t even say something like that. That’s just terrible.”

“He’s doing obnoxiously fine, Sophie,” Emma reassured me. “I’m shocked that he’s not in here marrying you right now.”

The tight knot of worry in my chest eased, and I breathed an audible sigh of relief.

I sat on the sofa, and Emma took a seat beside me. “You don’t have to doubt him. You’re the one.”

“Thanks. That really helps,” I told her then added, just to rankle her, “daughter dearest.”

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 upon if not his loving wife? I promise not to make a habit of it.

My heart skipped a little beat, seeing him refer to me that way. I read on.

I love you. I love our best days and our worst, our arguments (and what usually follows). I love you when you lecture me about feminism, and when you listen to me prattle on about cars. I love your ice-cold feet, your magnificent breasts—

I laughed and looked up at the four women staring expectantly at me, and I whispered, “It’s private.”

—and all the rest of you. I love you, Sophie Scaife. There will never be a single day that I don’t. I am honored to be your husband.