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Chapter 1
Aria
May
Camilla’s Wedding
The reverend marrying my best friend and her sweetheart has black sideburns and a jawline that remind me of Elvis, and I can’t stop staring.
No, she didn’t choose an actual Elvis impersonator to marry them. That’s not quite the vibe she was going for.
But true to Camilla’s personality, the wedding does have a few quirky surprises, like her flowerless bouquet, which is a mix of natural, dark green leaves so enchanting that, after seeing it, I wonder why anyone would ever choose a bouquetwithflowers. It’s a masterpiece of greenery, with some leaves even dipped in gold.
It’s not a flowerless wedding, though, and the mix of pink and purple hyacinths and tulips throughout the chapel and in my bouquet provide a sweet, earthy scent.
“You are now man and wife,” the reverend announces in a raspy, very un-Elvis-like voice. “You may kiss the bride.”
Camilla’s catcall punctuates the air in the white stone chapel in New Hedge, Colorado. There’s a smattering of laughter amongst the attendees as Jesse dips her low, kissing her soundly.
Like, really soundly. And when he tries to ease up, Camilla grabs the lapel of his three-piece blue and black tweed suit and smashes his lips against hers again, eliciting another round of laughter.
As maid of honor, I have the perfect view of the action, as well as of Jesse’s younger brother Theo, the best man, who keeps catching my gaze from the other side of the aisle. Maybe it’s the sentimentality in the air, or his earnest and uncharacteristically shy smile, but I can’t help but glance back.
I normally have little to do with Theo, ever since he came on too strong when we first met at Camilla’s bakeshop, Shorty’s, a year and a half ago. The man is an unapologetic flirt, and when he asked me what was good on the Shorty’s menu with a cringy “Besides you. I bet you’re good,” I saw red. I’ve been trying to avoid him ever since.
But today? He’s been a conscientious best man, taking care of such things as running home to get Jesse’s forgotten tie and cheerfully helping the guests get settled in the pews.
And we seem to both be dateless to this wedding, which somehow helps. My long-distance boyfriend, Rob, had to cancel his airline ticket from Arkansas last minute, which leaves me vulnerable. Alone.
And nervous, because he said he’d hoped we could have a conversation when he was here. Which sounded serious. Rob and I don’t usually do serious.
I figured this would all come to the surface at Camilla’s wedding. All day, my emotions have me feeling like I’m perched on one of those wobble balance boards. It’s thrilling, but I’m clenching every muscle in my body, willing myself not to fall on my behind. Camilla’s been my best friend since we were kids. The smallest thought or whiff of a memory has me pitching to one side, my arms flailing in wild circles, my mouth cursing at myself toGet a grip!
I’m happy she found Jesse. They’re perfect for each other. He’s the sensible peas to her loud, paprika-spiced carrots. But Camilla and I have been best friends for so long that it’s strange to have things shift so drastically.
To the strains of Frank Sinatra’s “Come Fly with Me,” Camilla holds hands with Jesse, skipping up the aisle in her soft white, A-line dress with a square neckline and sheer bishop’s sleeves. With every hop, her lavender Vans sneakers are visible, making me smile.
When they near the tall, dark brown double doors, Theo offers me his arm, his grin cocked to one side, his brows raised in a question. I weave my arm through his, the mint and wintry evergreen scent of his cologne hitting me.
He’s a tall, handsome, blue-eyed man. Why shouldn’t I enjoy his company today?
We walk, no skipping for us, and it’s fine. Maybe even nice.
He leans in close to my ear. “I thought bridesmaids dresses were often second rate, but this?” His gaze takes in my blush-colored A-line scoop chiffon dress. “You look unreal.”
It’s Theo. He flirts with everyone, including Camilla’s Grammy. But right now, I breathe it in, roll around in it like a cat in catnip, and find myself pressing the length of my upper arm against his. It’s a nice upper arm. With the attendees all standing and getting ready to head outside, no one’s paying any attention to us anyway.
Except for the blonde, leggy model who joins us as we exit the church.
“Good job up there, Theodore,” she says in a European accent I can’t place, before planting a wet, loud kiss on his cheek. I extricate myself from his arm, and his gaze goes back and forth between us like he’s torn between obligation—me—and her—the uncommonly gorgeous woman who’s wearing a short, poufy babydoll dress that’s so light pink, it could easily be mistaken for white.
White.At a wedding. My best friend’s wedding.
To be fair, it isn’t white. But itseemswhite, and that’s not okay.
The swoony air between them isn’t okay, either. I feel like I’ve intruded into their own personal romance novel.
“I’m Gelsey,” she says to me. She leans her arm on Theo’s shoulder and extends the other one for me to shake.
