The Trouble With Love(49)
“Do you still have feelings for him?” Julie asked. “Nobody would blame you if having him close by recently has stirred up some long-buried emotion.”
Emma opened her mouth to deny it. To deny everything. She couldn’t force out the lie.
But neither could she muster the energy to tell the truth, because the truth was that she didn’t know what she felt. Or what he felt.
She just knew that the only thing more painful than living with Cassidy would be living without him.
And then she was saved from having to respond at all, because Julie’s worst nightmare was coming true.
Mitchell’s father had found himself a microphone.
Before she could stop herself, she searched for and found Cassidy. He was watching her with those ever unreadable eyes.
And when Mitchell’s father started talking, Emma found herself in for a very unpleasant surprise. Relationship PTSD was a thing.
And Emma had just discovered her trigger.
SEVEN YEARS EARLIER
“Your smile is looking a little pinched,” Daisy said in Emma’s ear as she drew her away from one of their more annoying aunts.
“That’s because my face hurts,” Emma said, massaging her cheeks. “I don’t think I’ve had to smile and small talk this much…ever.”
Her twin gave her a sympathetic look. “You’ll get used to it. Although…it may take a couple years.”
“No way,” Emma said, taking her sister’s champagne and stealing a sip. She’d barely had time to grab one of the bacon-wrapped scallops, much less find herself a drink. “The whole charming southern belle thing is your deal.”
“Well, until tomorrow evening it’s also your deal,” Daisy said, rearranging one of Emma’s hair-sprayed curls. “You know people expect their southern brides to be beaming and bubbly.”
“And simpering,” Emma said, batting Daisy’s hand away. “Don’t forget simpering.”
Daisy was too busy scrutinizing Emma to respond. “Your lipstick’s worn off. Time to reapply.”
Emma rolled her eyes as her sister dug around in her small beaded clutch and came up with a lipstick tube. She pulled off the cap, twisted the bottom, and offered Emma the light pink color.
Emma obediently put on a fresh layer. She was no stranger to makeup—her mother had taught both twins the art of “subtle sophistication” the second they’d needed a training bra. She didn’t mind makeup; she liked looking her best. But she wasn’t as diligent about it as her sister. Emma’s routine was generally limited to eyeliner, mascara, and a swipe of ChapStick before a night out with friends, but Daisy didn’t so much as go to the grocery store without her face on.
Most of the time, Daisy let Emma be. But then Emma had gotten engaged, and Daisy had taken it upon herself to stock Emma’s bathroom. Hair spray, curling irons, lipsticks, nail polishes, highlighter, bronzer, blush…everything a southern bride needed to get through an endless parade of engagement parties, bridal showers, bachelorette parties, and now her rehearsal dinner.
Almost done, Emma thought. Tomorrow she could finally stop being the bride-to-be and start being what really mattered.
Alex Cassidy’s wife.
She absently handed the lipstick back to Daisy as her eyes scanned the crowded room until she found who she was looking for. It didn’t take her long. Alex Cassidy had always been like a magnet for her eyes. Even before he’d known who she was, she’d found herself looking for him around the UNC campus. Although, to be fair, that didn’t make her special. All the girls had had a crush on the university’s star soccer player.
And out of all the girls, he’d picked her.
As though sensing her gaze, Alex turned his head slightly from where he was talking to his uncle and gave her a wink.
She winked back.
“This is real, right?” she asked Daisy. “I’m not going to wake up and realize this was a beautiful dream. I am actually going to marry him tomorrow. Right?”
Her sister laughed and linked elbows with her. “Are you kidding? That man is crazy for you. He’d have dragged you off to Vegas to elope if Daddy would have let him. And speaking of Daddy…”
Daisy nodded toward the front of the room, where their father was talking to an employee and reaching for a microphone.
The twins looked at each other and rolled their eyes cheerfully. Winston Sinclair was a doting father, if a bit controlling at times, but he could be prone to blatant displays of ego. There was no way he wouldn’t leap at the chance to be the center of attention, even if this wasn’t his party (Cassidy’s parents were hosting the rehearsal dinner, as was custom) and even if it took away from the bride.
Emma’s father didn’t need to tap the microphone to get everyone’s attention. He was just the sort of big, commanding presence that had only to exist in order to dominate a room.
Emma smiled tolerantly as the room quieted down and attention turned to her father, although her eyes flicked warily to the glass of amber liquid in his hand. Daisy apparently had the same thought, because she made a little sigh of dismay.
When it came to alcohol, Winston Sinclair had only two settings: too much or not at all. When he was working, he didn’t touch the stuff—said it made him foggy. But when he was in party mode, which he increasingly was as he got older, he was inclined toward a drink too many.