Published by Louise Bay 2015

Copyright © 2015 Louise Bay. All rights reserved

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with or sponsored by the trademark owners.

ISBN - 978-1-910747-14-8

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Series Playlist

Acknowledgements

Other Books by Louise Bay

What the Lightning Sees

The Empire State Series

Hopeful

Faithful

Let’s Connect

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Luke

I wasn’t a fan of weddings, especially when the only people I knew had their names on the invitation. I’d only met the bride and groom once, maybe twice. They were Emma’s friends. Although Emma and I had been a couple for over three years, and even though we lived together, we still led quite separate social lives. I liked that independence from each other. I felt sorry for couples who couldn’t do anything apart. If it had been up to me, I wouldn’t have come to this wedding. Surely Emma wanted to spend the weekend catching up with old university friends. She didn’t need me here. And while she was doing what made her happy, I could be hanging out with my friends and doing what made me happy.

“Aren’t the flowers beautiful?” she whispered as the string quartet played a familiar tune to keep us occupied while the bride and groom disappeared to sign the register.

I glanced around the old stone church from our seats toward the back. Was anyone else cold? And what was that sweet, familiar scent lingering in the air? I hadn’t noticed the flowers. I nodded as Emma glanced up at me. Weren’t flowers always pretty? Did anyone go to a wedding and say the flowers were awful? I didn’t share the thought with Emma. She was normally the more cynical of the two of us—part of the reason we worked so well, so maybe I was being unfair. The flowers were pretty.

The bride and groom beamed at each other as they reappeared and started the march back down the aisle. We all followed them back into the sun for the beginning of the endless photographs.

“They’re using the same photographer as Julie and Tim,” Emma said. “Their photos were fantastic, weren’t they?”

I nodded and placed my hand on Emma’s lower back, guiding her toward the tray of champagne. I took two glasses and handed one to her.

This was the third wedding we’d been to this year. Hopefully, this was the last of them. All my mates seemed to be getting married, and each time another engagement was announced, I did my best to offer my congratulations, but hell if I could understand why they felt the urge to tie the knot. Marriage was such an outdated institution, and it didn’t seem to stop people splitting up. I really didn’t see the point.

My parents had died when my sister and I were teenagers. Perhaps that was why all this pomp seemed so irrelevant. Life had proven to me that all good things came to an end and there were no happy endings. If there was any hope of me believing in the fairy tale, it died along with my parents. To me it was couples like them who deserved to have happily ever after. It was clear to everyone they’d been crazy about each other. We hated it as kids, of course, but looking back, their love for each other was what made our home so happy when we were young. If it hadn’t worked out for them, what hope was there for the rest of us?

“To the last wedding of the season.” I clicked my glass to Emma’s.

“Try and be a bit more enthusiastic,” she said with a frown.

“You can talk. You can’t tell me you’re enjoying this.”

“Of course I am. Why wouldn’t I be? Everyone’s happy and in love. It’s beautiful.”

Emma handed me her champagne, opened her bag, pulled out a tissue and began to dab at the corners of her eyes. Was she upset? She was one of the toughest girls I knew. I’d seen her cry three times since I’d known her.

I bent my head to her ear. “Are you okay?”

She looked up at me. “It was just such a beautiful ceremony, and they seem so happy.”

I rubbed her lower back, and she leaned her head on my arm. I’d never have described Emma as sentimental, but apparently she was at weddings. I slipped my hand around her waist. It wasn’t a move I was particularly familiar with. We weren’t the kind of couple who needed to be touching all the time. Surprisingly, her arm slid under my suit jacket, but her tears didn’t stop.

“Hey, babe, what’s the matter?” I guided us to the side of the throng of people that were gathered to listen to the instructions of the photographer. I was sure she wouldn’t want anyone to see her upset. When my sister got like this, it was normally a hormonal thing. I decided not to bring that up. I wasn’t sure Emma’d take the suggestion well.

“It’s just such a nice wedding,” she said as we wandered toward a tree at the far edge of the lawn. “And I was just thinking that when we get married, ours should be just like this one.”

I had to work hard to keep my breathing even, my pace consistent, my hand on her back. When we get married? Where had that thought come from? That wasn’t who we were, and it certainly wasn’t anything I’d thought was meant for us. I’d always thought we were on the same page about this stuff. I had to fight off the feeling of my blood thickening in my veins and crawling through my body. I wanted to tense, to stop, but I kept breathing, kept walking. Luckily for me, we were interrupted by a squeal, and as I turned, I saw a tiny girl in a short red dress running toward us with her arms outstretched, clearly excited to see Emma.

I took the opportunity to excuse myself to the bathroom and made my way back to the church where I could consider the bomb that had just been dropped. I scrubbed my face with my hands. Had she made that comment because she was a glass of champagne in, or had she really been considering our wedding?

I had just turned thirty. The last thing I was thinking about was marriage. I wasn’t ready for that step, not now and maybe not ever. I didn’t believe in forever. My parent’s accident had proven there was no such thing. I didn’t want to think about until death do you part. It seemed so depressing.

Maybe I had conveniently assumed that because it had never come up between us, Emma and I were on the same page when it came to getting married. We’d never actually spoken about it, so I’d thought she was happy with how things were. She had been the one who suggested living together. Like she’d said, it made sense—we could save on bills and mortgage payments. It had been so logical. But marriage? That wasn’t logical—there was no sense to it. I had never been moving toward things being any different between us. Had she? The thought was like a short, sharp shock to my brain. My head began to throb in response.

In the bathroom, I let the tap run cold before I poured myself a drink of water. I watched my reflection in the mirror as I drank, my throat bobbing up and down as the liquid passed through my body. I set aside the glass, grasped the counter and took another deep breath. I needed my body to return to normal, but I could still feel the thickness in my veins and the panic in my shortened breaths.