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“Yay.” Braith grabs his other hand and bounces up and down. “Uncle Max gives the fastest twirls.”
Uncle Max does not look in a twirling mood. “But I’m?—”
“Perfect.” I fix him with a look straight from my furious heart and force a broad grin to contrast with his frustrated eyes. “Happy twirling.”
I grab a glass of champagne from a passing server’s tray as I make my way to an empty table in a far corner of the tent.
Keeping up with Braith’s dancing is exhausting, but trying to smile and be happy for everyone for the last few hours has drained every drop of life from me. And there wasn’t a whole lot left to drain after Charlotte limped up the slope and disappeared around the corner of the house to where George was waiting to take her home.
It took every ounce of my strength to stop myself from running after her, and then again to stop myself from grabbing Max and shaking sense into him. But she was clear. She wants to handle this herself. I have to respect that. But, fuck, it’s hard.
The part of me she took with her has left a hole in the depths of my soul. A hole that’s been filled with a churning and burning pain so fierce it feels like it’s already seared into me forever.
I did my best to put on a happy face over dinner, but all I wanted to do was jump into my car and chase her back to that little studio apartment in Manhattan. I laughed at all the right parts of the speeches when the only thing I could think of was how Charlotte’s hair smelled of coconut when I kissed her head in the woods. And while I danced with Gwyneth, my mom, and then Braith, I was desperate to curl up in a quiet corner and go to sleep, if only because it would be a temporary respite from the pain.
I’ll never be forgiven if I slink off to my room early, though, so I sit at the table and drink half my champagne in one gulp.
“Oh, you’re so great with Braith,” Gwyneth says, flopping into the chair beside me. “Thank you for dancing with her so much.” She wraps a blue ribbon that had been in Braith’s hair earlier around her fingers.
“She’s a great kid,” I tell her. “You’ve done an awesome job.”
“And Owen,” Gwyn says. “It would have been even harder without him around the corner to help so much.” She nudges me. “You’ll make a great dad one day.”
And Charlotte would make an amazing mother.
I shake my head. “Right now, I can’t imagine anything less likely than having a family.”
“You have been a bit down in the dumps since the ceremony,” she says, tying the ribbon into a bow. “You were all bouncy and full of life earlier. But now you’re deflated.”
“Just tired. It’s been a long few days.”
“Yeah, it’s been great, though.” She obviously thinks I’m referring only to the wedding preparations. “I’ve loved pulling it all together.”
Owen and Summer could have had whatever fancy wedding planner they’d wanted, but Gwyneth offered to do it all for them. It’s been tricky with her living in San Francisco, and that’s probably not helped with Owen’s stress levels, but she did pull off a unique and very personal event today.
“I’m thinking that when I get back to the West Coast, I might try to start a wedding planning business.”
“You’d be amazing at it.”
“It would be convenient. I could work the hours around Braith’s school.”
“Perfect.” Gwyn deserves the time to do something for herself after focusing on Braith for so long.
And right there, my mind darts straight back to Charlotte and how she gave up everything she wanted so she could take care of her brothers.
“It’s your time now,” I tell Gwyn, my stomach knotting as Charlotte’s sentiment falls from my lips.
Gwyn cocks an eyebrow at me. “It might just be, oh wise one.” Her attention drifts back to the dance floor. “I’d better go rescue Max from being forced to spend the rest of the evening twirling a four-foot-two disco machine.”
“Anyway.” She stands up and ruffles my hair. “Try talking some computer nerd stuff to that kid over there.” She points at a little boy in the corner who’s hunkered over a game console. “A good geek-out might cheer you up.”
She dances toward her daughter, twirling the blue ribbon in the air.
Oh, the irony that the saddest day of my life is someone else’s happiest. The love and joy on the happy couple’s faces as they dance together would be a treat to behold if I didn’t feel like my insides were trying to climb out of my body through my throat.
All around the tent, the guests chatter and laugh—some sit at tables littered with empty bottles and glasses, others stand at the bar Walker and I put together.
Walker and Emily—his fiancée and business partner in the Toasted Tomato brewery—have been run off their feet serving drinks for the last few hours, but their smiles are still as wide and genuine as when they started.
