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  I could hear the low roar of conversations above us. The chapel was starting to fill up, people eager to get a good seat.

  It was going to be bigger than any wedding I would’ve imagined for myself, but it was a display of affection between Frank and my mother. That’s how they’d been explaining it this whole time. They wanted to throw a shindig big enough for their love, so everyone could see just how much they cherished each other. That included a ceremony in a rustic chapel whose arching windows overlooked a copse of trees, gorgeous with autumn color. They could only fit 200 guests in the pews, so the seating arrangements in the reception would have to allow for many more people.

  “It’s time to put the dress on,” I told my mother, shooing the employee and her steamer away and trying to cage my mother long enough to get her out of her satin robe. “Could we have some privacy, everyone, please?”

  The steamer departed, and the florist’s assistants left our bouquets in some vases filled with water so they wouldn’t wilt. The tumult of having too much to do quieted into a manageable list of things to be completed. Get my mother into her dress. Make sure her hair and makeup are intact. Try not to think too hard about what it means to walk down the aisle with Peter before the start of the ceremony.

  As I carefully draped the gown over my mother’s head, making sure it didn’t come into contact with her wispy up-do or anything else on her face, I noticed that she was trembling.

  “Mom? Are you okay?”

  “Would you believe it if I told you I was nervous?” she asked, laughing a little as I tugged the dress down over her narrow hips and adjusted the straps at the top. It fit just as nicely today as it had when she first tried it on — depressed pizza binge be damned.

  “It’s fine if you’re nervous,” I murmured, securing a stray strand of hair into a nearby bobby pin. Her hair was streaked with gray — she was too proud to dye it, her pride a sort of badge of honor protecting her against vanity — but it looked regal, beautiful, all the same.

  “It’s just that so much has happened,” my mother said. “I’ve made so many mistakes in my life. Is this going to be another?”

  “It’s natural to be feeling like this right before you make a big decision,” I reasoned, even though my mother had much more experience in the matter than I did. This was her second march down the aisle. I understood her anxiety, though. Her first trip to the altar had ended with my father, and that had been a disastrous union.

  “This almost didn’t happen, you know.”

  “I know. I was there.” I was the reason for it, I could’ve added, but didn’t.

  “Maybe it was better that way, not happening,” she said. “Maybe that was a sign from the universe that I shouldn’t remarry.”

  “If it was a sign from the universe, it was that the love you and Frank share can weather any storm,” I said. “That’s the lesson that you should take away from it. That, in spite of your children’s best efforts to sabotage your wedding, your love overcame the drama and reasserted itself.”

  My mother sniffed, and I quickly grabbed a tissue, ready to dab away any tears before they could fall and ruin her makeup and her dress, but when I turned, she was laughing.

  “I guess if we had a normal life, it would be boring,” she said, her shoulders shaking with mirth. I smiled at her. Laughter was better than tears.

  “It would be boring. Think of how exciting your life is about to become.”

  Frank had convinced her to finally let that old house go, the one where I’d grown up in, the one where all those terrible things had happened all those years ago. I was glad she was going to be out of there, but a little sad, too. Even though I knew about the horrors that had gone on there, it was still my childhood house. Like my mother had said, it held many happy memories, too.

  I’d also miss her. Frank was a nomad, traveling the world, eager to explore and see new things. My mother had never left the country, but she already had her passport and was ready for its first stamp. When Frank was staying in the United States, it was always in New York, in one of the Bly Group’s many hotels. But he was really a citizen of the world, and my mother was about to become his traveling partner.

  It was going to be so good for her. That’s what I had to focus on. Not my despair at my job search, not my tangled emotions over Peter, none of that. I had to be happy for her, and hopeful that someday, my dreams would come true, too. At least I knew it was possible — that true joy was possible after suffering.

  A knock sounded on the door, and I handed my mother her tuxedo jacket before running over to answer it.

  “It’s about that time,” Peter said, straightening his lapels and checking his watch before glancing up, and stopping. His eyes widened, drinking in the sight of me as I admired him. He always looked handsome in his tailored suits and shirts, his impeccable ties, but there was something about a man in a tuxedo that was different, somehow. He looked really dashing, and I knew he could read my thoughts from my face before I thought to throw a mask up.

  “Gemma, you look beautiful.”

  “There’s no need for that,” I said briskly, trying not to remember how he’d made me feel not a week earlier, like he nourished me and poisoned me all at once. If I thought about that, it would be the only thing I could think about, and I couldn’t last an entire evening like that. It would be impossible to cope.

  “What do you mean?” he asked, giving a puzzled laugh. “I just wanted you to know you’re gorgeous in that gown.”

  “Look who’s here,” I told my mother, ignoring Peter. “That means it’s time to go.”

  She clapped her hands, more excited now than nervous. “Okay, you two. Let’s do this. I’m so glad you could both be here for us.”

  “Where else would I be?” I asked, smiling.

  “I’m very honored to welcome you to the family,” Peter said formally. “I’m glad that all misunderstandings were ironed out.” He looked at me. “Well, nearly all of them.”

  “The usher will give you your cue for when to walk down the aisle,” I reminded my mother. “And you’ll hear the music change, too. That’s how you’ll know.”

  “I know, I know,” she said impatiently. “Go on, you two. Leave me to it.”

  I followed Peter upstairs and begrudgingly took his arm when he offered it to me.

  “Now, tell me this isn’t nice,” he said, patting my hand. “Our wedding would be a lot better than this, though.”

  “Shut up. I’m not interested.”

  “On my mark,” the usher whispered, “proceed.”

  We started walking down the aisle, both of us with frozen smiles on our faces. There were so many people here, cameras flashing from all directions.

  “I adore that slinky number you're wearing,” Peter said conversationally. “Are you wearing any panties? My guess is…no. You wouldn’t want the lines. And I hope I was able to impart that little practice to you during our time together.”

  “If you keep on speaking to me, I will make a scene,” I said through my smile as we continued to talk slowly down the aisle, letting all who had assembled take a gander.

  “You wouldn’t,” he responded in kind, his grin not losing a single watt. “You care about our parents’ happiness too much to make a scene at their wedding.”

  He was right. I fixed my gaze ahead, on the officiant, trying to picture my mother in my mind, reminding myself that this day was all about her, all about her love for Frank that had very nearly been derailed. I had to be good for her, even if I didn’t feel like it. Even if Peter was grating on my nerves. Even if my hand tucked beneath his arm right now tingled with electricity at being in contact with his body. I hated the way my body insisted on reacting to him. I hated that it was one thing I couldn’t ignore about still having helpless, unwanted feelings for Peter. I couldn’t ignore my shudder, the way I pressed my legs together almost subconsciously when he got so near, sending a shock of arousal through my body. It was present even now, walking down that too-long ai
sle, a reminder at each step of what I could have if I just gave up, gave in.

  No. If I gave in, that would be one more piece of property that Peter had conquered. I’d said no. I needed to stick with that decision, and he needed to respect it.

  “What’s so wrong with telling you how beautiful you look, anyway?” Peter muttered as we approached the front, finally about to separate. It would be a mercy, and hopefully I could avoid touching him for the rest of the night.

  “It’s a compliment I don’t want or need from you,” I said pertly. “I know I look good in this dress.”

  Peter shook with laughter. “You’re impossible. It makes me want you even more. What’s even more impossible is how I’m going to hide this stiffy during the ceremony thinking about you.”

  “You’re disgusting.” We both smiled at the officiant, who nodded at us, and parted ways at the altar. It was a physical relief to not be touching him, but the way we were arranged on either side of the altar meant that we got to stare at each other for the duration of the ceremony.

  The arrival of Frank helped diffuse some of the tension between us. Frank was jolly but sweating in his tuxedo. If it had been up to him, he probably would’ve gone for short sleeves. The day had been hot, and the evening wasn’t quite crisp enough for his liking.

  “You look lovely,” he whispered to me.

  “Thank you so much for saying so,” I whispered back, smiling. I could see Peter roll his eyes in my peripheral.

  The music shifted, and all of us looked toward the entrance to the chapel. My mother stood there, holding her bouquet, looking immaculate and classic and modern all at once, smiling like a woman in love. My heart soared. She was so happy. Through everything, this was going to be her day. She deserved to soak in every second of this.

  I glanced over at Frank, and my heart rose to my throat. He wept in joy at the beauty of his bride. When my mother finally got to the altar to join us, she wiped his tears away on the sleeves of her tuxedo jacket.

  “Out of the two of us, I didn’t think it was going to be you who cried,” she said, kissing his cheeks.

  “I hope I’ll continue to be full of surprises for you,” Frank said.

  The officiant began the ceremony, the guests sitting down. I paid close attention to what was being said, if only to avoid looking at Peter, but the words were meaningless to me. I could focus on the ceremony, on the guests behind us, on the trees beyond us, but Peter robbed me of my complete attention. I watched him from the corners of my eyes during the entire ceremony. I couldn’t help but imagine what it might be like to trade places, to have Frank and my mother in our wedding parties and us holding hands, gazing lovingly into each other’s eyes.

  I would want to have it in the city, of course, but maybe not in a church. A park, perhaps, would be nice, if the weather held. Maybe one of the museums, surrounded by art. Or we could charter a boat and cruise around the harbor for the duration of the ceremony, then shift seamlessly into party mode. Knowing Peter, he’d want to blow everyone’s expectations out of the water. We’d probably leave our own reception in a helicopter, off to some other adventure, just to impress people. I wondered if I could just wear my same gown to our nuptials. It was really nice, and if he already liked the way I looked in it…

  Peter grinned at me, and I shook myself, realizing, with horror, that I’d been staring at him unabashedly over the course of that last daydream. I looked away just as the officiant told our parents to kiss, then looked back, my eyes dragged by some irresistible force. Peter looked softly at me. My heart swelled in my chest painfully. I wanted him, but I didn’t want him. I didn’t want to feel like this, in his thrall, unable to control my impulses. We had hurt each other purposefully. Surely love didn’t have a place for us anymore.

  It was the most difficult thing in the world to take his arm again and walk back through all those cheering people. The cheers were almost pushing us to get back together. I was having such a hard time resisting him.

  “Tell me what would be so bad about us being together,” he said in my ear, leaning down, his lips making contact.

  “Everything,” I said, refusing to make eye contact with him. “Everything would be bad.”

  “Be specific.”

  “You have too much control.”

  “What’s so bad about that? You never complained.”

  “Because I didn’t understand.”

  “What I understand now is that I want you,” he said. “You have to want me. I can feel it. The way you look at me. The way you try not to look at me. You bit your lip through the entire ceremony, did you realize that? You smiled. What were you thinking about?” My hand flew to my mouth, and I tried to distract myself by digging through my purse to find some lipstick to apply.

  “Gemma, answer me.”

  “All I want to do is get through this,” I said savagely. “Because after tonight, I never have to see you again. It will be like getting out of jail.”

  I shoved my way through the crowd, out the doors to the chapel. It was evening, now, all the lights in the buildings on, traffic moving down the streets, headlights illuminating the way before them. Everyone had somewhere to be except me. I was rudderless, floating, unsure of myself. Would I ever have direction? Could I ever learn to do things for myself? To do only the things I wanted to do?

  I couldn’t stand around and wait for everyone else, couldn’t stand the thought of riding in the same car as Peter — even if my mother and Frank were going to be in there — to the reception hall. I made a snap decision to walk. My shoes were comfortable. My dress wasn’t that fancy. And it wasn’t that far away. A lot of the guests would probably be walking, too, I knew. It would be fine. The fresh air would clear my head.

  “Gemma, we’re not done talking.” Peter had found me through the crowd, but I ducked away. I didn’t care how childish it was to run away from him, so that’s what I was doing, dodging around, hoping that he’d be too concerned with his pride to chase me. I couldn’t face him right now. I didn’t want to. I just wanted to get to the reception, sit with some strangers, eat my dinner, and drink myself away.

  “Gemma!”

  I didn’t bother turning around, didn’t care to hear what Peter had to say. I was done with him, done with this. I had endured about all I could handle. He had pushed me the entire ceremony, and I was through. I wasn’t even sure I could last through the reception anymore. There wasn’t a single thing he or anyone else could say to make me feel differently. I wanted to go back to my hotel room and have maybe a cocktail or five and forget about this entire evening.

  “Gemma, stop, you bloody idiot!”

  Oh, and now he was resorting to name calling? That really wasn’t going to work for me. It was as if Peter had exhausted all of his attempts at trying to win me back and had settled on being vulgar and annoying. It was as if all this effort had boiled him down to his most essential self. I was glad I wasn’t with him anymore. He was just a spoiled little boy. It didn’t matter that he was older than me. The moment he discovered that he wasn’t going to get what he so badly wanted, he showed his true colors.

  “Gemma, look where you’re going!”

  I looked up suddenly at the honking of a taxi and felt a hard shove from behind. The pavement rose up to meet me, too fast, and then there was a flash of pain, and then, almost coming as a relief, there was nothing.

  Chapter 19

  It was a long dream that occasionally unwound into a nightmare — plaster and pulleys and pain, oh my — and doctors at the ready, at my elbow, shining lights into my eyes. The beep of monitors punctuated my breaths, and people came and went: my mother, still in her wedding dress; Frank, his bowtie hanging loose around his neck; nurses upon nurses, cooing things, changing bandages, trying to get me to eat pudding when all I wanted was pizza. Wasn’t I supposed to be eating pizza?

  Reality gradually reasserted itself, and I came to realize that I was in the hospital, my entire right leg encased in a cast, a bandage around my h
ead. I looked to the side and saw my mother sitting in one of the chairs, leafing listlessly through a magazine. She was out of her wedding dress. That was good. But what was she doing here?

  “Aren’t you supposed to be in India by now?” I croaked.

  “Oh, Gemma!” She flung the magazine aside and flew at me, covering my cheeks with kisses, her hands grabbing at my arms. I had some abrasions on my hands, but besides that, everything else seemed to be in working order as long as it wasn’t wrapped in gauze or plaster. It registered that things should hurt, but they didn’t. I figured it had a lot to do with the fact that I felt I was wrapped up in a cloud. The pain medication was doing wonders.

  “What happened?” I asked.

  “You charged into traffic like a lunatic and got hit by a taxi!” my mother exclaimed. “It’s a miracle you’re alive at all.”

  I frowned, wracking my brain. “I wasn’t hit. I was pushed.”

  “That was Peter,” she said impatiently. “He pushed you.”

  “He pushed me into the path of the taxi?” I was confused again. “Is he in jail?”

  “No, of course he isn’t, and he didn’t push you in to the path of the taxi,” my mother said, rolling her eyes. “That was the miracle. He saw you leaving, saw that you weren’t paying attention, and pushed you away just in time to make sure your injuries weren’t any worse than they are now. If he hadn’t acted as quickly as he did, the taxi would’ve hit you head on, and not the glancing blow. It was going so fast, Gemma. You didn’t wait for the light to change.”

  That was because I’d been trying to escape. I hadn’t wanted to be there anymore. I was at war with myself, fighting my own attraction to him, repulsion ruling as he leered at me all night, alcohol fueling his attempt at making a pass at me. It was his fault I’d fled, his fault I’d gotten hit by the damn taxi in the first place.