Page 36

Stella

“Can you believe this is your third wedding but still only your first marriage?”

I glance over at where Mika is lounging on the bed in the bridal suite—which is really just one of the many guest bedrooms in the Maxwell-Browns’ manor—and blink as I take that fact in.

“Huh.” I have to laugh, because, really, isn’t that kind of outrageous? “Hadn’t thought about it that way.”

Also sprawled on the bed, Janelle smooths out her crimson matron of honor dress as she sits up. She may not have been in the bridal party of my first wedding, but I wasn’t going to miss out on having her next to me at this one.

“And no offense to your last two weddings,” Janelle says, “but this one is a hell of a lot better.”

As much as it pains me to admit, considering I put so much time, effort, and money into my wedding with étienne, Iris has planned an absolute masterpiece. When I stepped outside earlier to take in the multiple marquees, the overflow of fresh florals, and a glimpse of the Michelin-starred menus—yes, plural —I knew it was going to be the event of the season, if not the year.

“Our mother might not be good at much,” Geneva drawls from where she’s preening in front of the mirror, also wearing a matching crimson bridesmaid dress, “but when it comes to weddings and themed parties, she’s the best of the best.”

“Just wait until her midsummer fete,” Calais adds, and I glance down to where she’s kneeling at my feet, adjusting the hem of my flowing gown. “Pure bacchanalia. You’ll need a week to recover.”

The expectation that I’ll be there fills a spot in my chest I didn’t realize was hollow. As much as I don’t view leaving my life in DC as giving something up, it’s a relief knowing I have another life waiting for me here—one with family and friends and a man who worships at my altar. Even my career will be just fine. It’s the sweetest of fresh starts, more than I could have asked for.

But the best part is that I didn’t ask for any of it. There’s not a single part of me that would have prayed to meet a pretty-eyed race car driver and marry into his elite, upper-crust British family. In fact, it sounds like a fucking nightmare on paper, and yet here I am, being dressed by one of my sisters-in-law while my mother-in-law wrangles vendors in order to make this the perfect day. I’m so happy that tears burn the backs of my eyes.

“Hey, no crying over inevitable orgies in the garden,” Amara snaps at me, darting over so she can dab delicately under my eyes with a tissue. “I’m sorry, but that’s just the kind of family you’ve joined. You know how these old-money people are. Wait until you hear about all the blood sacrifices.”

I let out a watery laugh, eyes swinging to the ceiling so I don’t ruin my makeup. “I guess I’ll have to find a way to cope.”

“We’ll teach you the proper etiquette,” Geneva teases. “Nothing worse than not knowing the protocol for—” A sharp knock on the door cuts her short.

I glance over, expecting to find one of the wedding coordinators telling me it’s time to get the show on the road. But to my surprise, it’s Daphne standing in the doorway, lips pursed as she takes in the crowd. When her eyes land on me, some of the tension in her expression fades, though there’s still something in her eyes that has me concerned.

She clears her throat. “Stella, can we talk?”

I could absolutely tell her to fuck off. I probably should. Instead, I find myself nodding and waving her in. Maybe it’s morbid curiosity, or maybe I want the chance to threaten her not to sell any details of this wedding to the press, but we need to chat.

Daphne waits for everyone else to file out before primly taking a seat on the edge of the bed. Unlike my first wedding, I’m not wearing a massive ballgown, which means I can easily take a seat across from her at the vanity without looking like a fool. I’ll probably need one last steaming of the perfectly tailored ivory column dress before I walk down the aisle, but even if I don’t get the chance, the wrinkles will be worth it to have this confrontation.

“I didn’t even know you were here,” I say when Daphne makes no move to speak.

I don’t necessarily say it to hurt her—I legitimately had no idea she was on the guest list—but I’m done playing nice with someone who has never played nice with me.

Daphne frowns. “Of course I am. We’re family.”

Not like you ever act like it.

“I would show up even if you were getting married in the middle of the Amazon,” she goes on, probably having seen my doubt. “We’ve had our differences over the years, but we’re still blood, Stella. I’m never going to stop supporting you.”

A flash of anger surges through me. “Running to the press with every detail about me being left at the altar was you supporting me?”

It’s the first time I’ve flat-out accused her and I wait for her to start spluttering and denying it. But Daphne sighs and lifts her hands in defeat. She’s not denying anything.

My God, she really did it, and she doesn’t even care that I know.

“I was trying to help you,” she says, to which I give a scoff, leaving her to speak a little louder when she continues. “No, seriously, I was. And I did .”

“Are you kidding me?” I shake my head, disgusted. “Fuck outta here with that. You haven’t helped me at all.”

“You can believe that all you want. But have you paid any attention to what’s going on with étienne lately?” she demands.

My lips part to retort, but I shut them again when I realize that no, I haven’t, actually. At first, I didn’t feel strong enough to look into him and his life without me, and once I was, I just didn’t care anymore. I have literally no clue what’s happening with him.

“Telling the world what an absolute sack of shit he is was the right move,” she says firmly. “If it were up to you, you would have swept it all under the rug and let him go on his merry way, right?”

She pauses, giving me enough time to answer, but I keep my jaw clamped shut because she’s right and I hate it. I wanted everything to blow over quickly and quietly, even if it meant no consequences for him.

Daphne correctly interprets my silence. “Well, I wasn’t about to let him get away with that. Janelle was too sweet to do it, but I won’t sit back and watch people I love get played without retribution.” She sits up even straighter, leveling me with a hard stare. “I wanted that man ruined. So I told the press about what he did—how he left you in the worst possible way. It was never meant to be a slight against you. You didn’t do anything wrong. He did. And now he’s suffering for it.”

It’s my turn to frown, confused. “What do you mean he’s suffering?”

Her brows knit together the best they can with the beautifully subtle Botox she’s had. “You really don’t know?” She waits until I shake my head before letting out an exasperated breath. “The man is destroyed.”

If she means emotionally, then yeah, I saw that embarrassing shit firsthand. But in any other way? I have no idea what she’s talking about.

“Janelle told me he came crawling back to you,” Daphne goes on. “Did you ask him why?”

“No, I didn’t.” Because it didn’t matter. I already knew what I wanted, and it wasn’t him. I was only there to put the final nail in the coffin of our relationship.

“It’s because he’s losing money hand over fist and his reputation is shot.” She leans forward, making sure I’m not missing a single detail of this. “He came back because he needs you to fix it all. Between how he left you and the fact that you were the reason his business stayed successful for so long from riding your coattails, he’s cooked. And the fact that he tried to get you to forgive him means he knows it too.”

Damn Janelle for telling her my business, and damn Daphne for punching me in the gut like this. Part of me already knew étienne didn’t come back solely because he missed me and couldn’t live without me, but I didn’t bother to interrogate it.

“He didn’t even apologize,” I hear myself say. “So he wasn’t exactly begging for forgiveness.”

Daphne stares open-mouthed at me for a moment. “Wow,” she finally mumbles. “Fuck that guy.”

“Fuck that guy,” I wholeheartedly agree.

We’re both silent again, processing, some of our animosity slowly drifting away.

“I’m sorry if what I did hurt you,” she says after a few more beats. Despite everything, it’s an apology I believe, even if I’m not ready to forgive. “And when I talked to the press after your second wedding—”

“I’m sorry, what ?” I splutter.

Her face contorts in disbelief once again. “Do you seriously not remember?”

I almost snap that no, I definitely don’t remember, but then I have to consider all the lies Thomas and I have told about what happened that night, including actually remembering it.

“I was there,” she says slowly. “I was your witness, literally signed your marriage license. Were you so drunk that you don’t even remember that?”

I’m kicking myself now for not looking closer at our marriage certificate, focusing only on Thomas’s and my names together, not bothering to search farther down the page for anyone else listed there.

“Stella,” she admonishes. “I can’t believe you.”

I hold up a hand to stop her incoming tirade of disappointment. “We can save the guilt-tripping for later. How did you end up being the witness at our wedding?”

Daphne looks like she wants to protest more but ends up huffing instead. “I ran into you and Thomas at the pharmacy,” she explains. “You were just…all over each other.” Her lip curls in disgust at the memory. “Gross as that was, I couldn’t believe how happy you were. I hadn’t seen you light up like that in ages, and the way he was looking at you…I’m sorry, Stella, but I can’t think of a single time étienne looked anything other than smug to have landed you. But Thomas was ready to worship the ground you walked on.”

My throat tightens. I wish I could remember all of this, but the knowledge that Thomas has viewed me in such a way since the very beginning makes me all the more certain about being together.

“I don’t know what led to you two talking about getting married,” she says, “but you’d already made your minds up by the time you spotted me. I’m guessing you don’t remember making fun of me for buying antacids because—”

“Because you’re old and can’t eat tomato sauce after nine p.m.,” I finish for her, wincing. “It’s coming back to me.”

She rolls her eyes but thankfully doesn’t dwell on it. “Anyway, you practically dragged me with y’all to the chapel, begging me to take photos so you could ‘show your future kids,’ which were your words exactly, by the way.”

Okay, yikes at me getting ahead of myself on about ten thousand levels. “And you didn’t try to stop us?”

Daphne barks out a laugh. “As if that was even possible. You were both dead set on doing it, there’s no way I could have talked you out of it. And honestly…” She blows out a breath, starting to seem a little sheepish about her involvement. “I kind of wanted to see where it went. I wanted you to have something to rub in étienne’s face, to show off that you could move on from him. Something more than just a onetime hookup. That’s why when the reporter approached me, I shared all the details. I wanted it to get back to him.”

I want to be mad, want to yell at her for all her absolutely ridiculous machinations, but all I can manage to do is put my elbows on my knees and take it all in. She might not have gone about any of this in the right way, and she caused me more trouble than I ever thought possible, but when it really comes down to it all…Daphne did me a favor. She’s the reason I’m even with Thomas today. Without her meddling, I would have gotten that annulment without a second thought and moved on with my life.

I wouldn’t have had the chance to fall in love with my husband.

“Fucking hell,” I exhale, resisting the urge to scrub my hands over my face. “So you knew the truth about that night all along? And you just let me lie about it?”

She nods, trying to tamp down a smirk and losing. “It was funny watching you keep trying to dig yourself out of it.”

“God, you’re such a—” I cut myself short before I say something too mean, then finish with, “Honestly, you’re a conniving genius and you deserve a medal for this bullshit.”

Daphne doesn’t hold back a grin this time as she stands. “I’ll settle for a shout-out in your toast at the reception.” Her gaze drifts to the grandfather clock in the corner of the room. “Speaking of, it’s about that time. You ready to marry this man again?”

That’s not even a question in my mind. “Yeah. I am.”

“Are you at least sober?”

“Not even a sip of alcohol today,” I swear. “Learned my lesson.”

“Good.” She brushes off the front of her dress, letting the silence hang for a moment as an air of seriousness settles back in. “I’m glad you two found each other. Thomas is exactly who you needed.”

I agree. It feels like sheer luck, and I’m glad that whatever force controlling it decided to be on my side. Because—as scary as it is to admit to myself—I’ve fallen for Thomas. I mean, I literally ran in heels for that man. You can’t tell me that’s not love.

“Congrats, Stella,” Daphne says, softer this time. “Now go get your happily ever after.”

When Iris told me the wedding would be held on the manor grounds, I didn’t think I’d be having another church wedding. But lo and behold, there’s an old stone chapel not far from the house, surrounded by lush rolling hills and the best views millions of pounds can buy.

It’s barely big enough to hold the hundred people invited to the ceremony, and certainly wouldn’t fit the hundred more expected to be at the reception, but it’s perfectly rustic, covered in ivy and flowers brought in from greenhouses around the country. It’s nothing like the sweepingly modern church I chose for my first wedding, and yet this feels so much more like me.

Outside the chapel, I stand with my mom and dad on the narrow pathway leading down from the house, listening to the happy murmurings of the people already inside. I’m slated to make my entrance in a few minutes, and I’m using these last moments of peace to try to ease my nerves. Then again, I’m not sure how peaceful it’s going to be with the way my mother is looking at me and wringing her hands.

We haven’t spoken one-on-one yet, even though she’s been here since yesterday for the wedding rehearsal and the dinner after. There have been plenty of opportunities, sure, but every time we face each other, the words die out for both of us. I’m sorry for pushing you away , I want to tell her. I couldn’t keep facing your disappointment. But that sentiment won’t leave me until I hear what she has to say first. I’m stubborn and I got it from her.

“I need to say something before we go in,” she announces.

I try to share a glance with Dad to see if he can give me any hints as to what this is going to be about, but he’s pointedly looking away.

“Okay,” I exhale as I grip my bouquet tighter. “Go ahead.”

Mom purses her lips for a moment, like she’s trying to conjure something difficult. But then her expression relaxes and she’s reaching out to grip my shoulders, pulling me in so she’s all I can see.

“I’m sorry I doubted your feelings for Thomas,” she says. “And I’m so, so sorry I made you feel like you couldn’t talk to me because of that. I never wanted you to have to choose between him and us.”

It’s clear who I chose, though, considering this is the first time we’ve had a real conversation since Thanksgiving. But she’s still shown up for one of the biggest days of my life and I’m just happy to have my mom with me.

“It’s okay,” I tell her, and I mean it. There’s no animosity on my end, nothing that will overshadow my connection with Thomas. “I get why you doubted us. But you’re here supporting us now and that’s all I want.”

She frowns a little, probably surprised that I’m letting this go so easily. When her smile lifts again, it’s full of both love and relief.

“I hope he makes you happy,” she murmurs as she pulls me tightly against her. “That’s all I want for you, Stella.”

I hug her back and whisper, “No one’s ever made me happier.”

When I pull back again, the wedding planner is standing off to the side, waving to get my attention. It’s finally time.

“You ready?” Dad asks, eyes already shimmering with tears, but if he cries, I’ll cry too.

“I’m ready,” I reply, and then link my arms through his and mom’s.

It’s a tight squeeze through the doors of the church and down the aisle, but I barely notice. I’m too focused on Thomas at the altar—on my future in front of me.

We spent last night apart in a show of respect for tradition, and in the dark of my bedroom, I feared all the things that could go wrong today. What if he turned and bolted, just like étienne? What if he wasn’t there when I showed up? What if he stayed but obviously didn’t want to be there?

All those concerns are out the window now as he smiles at me, practically bouncing on his toes, looking like he’s trying not to run toward me. It’s reminiscent of how Ron looked at Janelle on their wedding day, the same look I thought I’d never have. How wrong I was.

I try to focus on my parents kissing my cheeks and the wink Janelle shoots me as I hand her my bouquet, but all I want to do is turn to Thomas. When I do, it takes a ridiculous amount of effort not to giggle. God, who has this man turned me into?

As he takes my hands, I can’t hide my grin. It mirrors his, wide and bright, and if this alone hasn’t convinced everyone here that we’re the real deal, then I don’t know what will.

“Hi,” he whispers to me as the officiant standing beside us loudly launches into his spiel.

“Hi,” I whisper back. “If you have any plans to run away, would you mind telling me now? I’d like to be prepared this time.”

His teeth sink into his bottom lip to stifle what was sure to be a guffaw. His shoulders still shake, which I’ll take as a win.

“No plans to run.” His ocean-blue eyes roam over my face like he’s cataloging every inch of me and this moment. “Though, if you want to run together, we can.”

I subtly shake my head. “I think I’ll stick this one out. Don’t want to disappoint everyone who showed up, you know?”

“You have to admit—it would give them quite the story to tell.”

I’m sure it would, but the only show I want to put on is us looking like two absolute fools obsessed with each other.

“I’m good,” I say. “I’m just glad to be here with you.”

Thomas’s grip on my hands tightens. I’d be fine if he never let go. “I’d follow you to the ends of the earth, if you’d let me.”

I might not have a week ago. In fact, I didn’t. Now, I’d let him follow me all the way, and I’d do the same in return. From here on, there’s no keeping us from each other.

When it comes time to recite our vows—the classic ones, no extra bells and whistles—we do it quickly and efficiently, ready to get to the good part. I’m nearly bursting when the officiant proclaims that the groom may now kiss his bride, and the laugh I’ve been holding in finally escapes as Thomas sweeps me into his arms.

“I’ve been waiting for this,” he murmurs, and then his lips are on mine.

This is the kiss the prince gives the princess at the end of a PG-rated fairy-tale film to seal their love, the kind where the scenery drops away and it’s just the two of them in a haze of golden light, a gentle breeze blowing their hair. It’s the kind that makes you close your eyes and let it sweep you off to some faraway place. My knees even go weak. If not for him keeping me upright, I’d be a puddle on the floor. It’s perfect.

My eyes flutter open when Thomas pulls back. The rest of the world floods in again with a crescendo of cheers and applause.

“Think they bought it?” he asks, smiling down at me.

Between the kiss and his smile, I’m breathless, though I still manage to say, “Maybe we should do it again, just in case.”

“Brilliant idea.”

This kiss is less of the fairy-tale variety and more save it for behind closed doors . But I don’t care who’s watching—let them see how much I want this man. Let them see the electricity that arcs between us. Let them see how we’ve chosen each other.

Staying married all those months ago was a gamble with no guarantee of paying off. But now?

I’m pretty sure we hit the jackpot.