I had fallen ever so slightly back in love with Pearce while he was carrying me, but then he’d turned out to be Cooper. And I wasn’t marryingCooper!
“Okay, now,” my mother said, still hoping the breathing would do the trick. “Sit up straight. You, too, Coop— Oh, hi, Cooper. Welcome home.”
“Hi, Mrs. Burton.”
“You’re looking… burly.”
His frown looked amused. “Thanks.”
And then she was back to business. She tapped me on the back. “Three seconds in, and three seconds out.” She counted with Mississippis out loud as she and I—and Cooper, too—took some gentle, cleansing, reoxygenating breaths, sitting side by side, three in a row.
While my mother’s eyes were closed, I looked over at Cooper, likeThis is all your fault.
And he gave me a little shrug, likeYou’re welcome.
Next, my mom turned to me, her face bright, and clasped my hands. “Okay, sweetheart. You ready to get back out there?”
And there was the moment of truth.
I hesitated.
I didn’t say no. But apparently I couldn’t say yes, either.
I guess I didn’t need to say anything.
My mom read my face, the way moms do, and her shoulders sank.
“Oh, god,” she said, and then she dropped to a whisper and said, “Did you fake it?”
I looked down. “I’m sorry.”
“Josephine,” my mother sighed—the word and the breath sailing out together. “You were two minutes from the finish line.”
“It was Cooper’s idea.”
“Cooper,” my mother scolded, like she was very disappointed.
But now it was hitting me—what I’d just done. How humiliating it would be for us to send all those guests home. How much money I had just wasted. How thoughtlessly I had just reduced all my plans for the future to rubble.
“I’m sorry,” I said as tears appeared from nowhere and spilled over. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
My mom, who always had more faith in me than I had in myself, patted my back and said, “There’s nothing wrong with you, sweetie. He must not have been the right one.”
But honestly, if Pearce Richmond—clean-shaven, competent, tux-owning, trust-fund-wielding Pearce Richmond—wasn’t the right one, then who the hell was?
I stared at my lap as the tears splatted onto Mrs. Richmond’s gown—until Cooper reached over to hand me what looked like a wad of toilet paper.
I looked at it. “What’s this?”
“A tissue,” Cooper said.
“Is it—used?”
“Naw. It’s just crumpled.”
I examined it. “Where did it come from?”
“My pocket.”
