The Statistical Probability of Love at First Sight(47)

But what she does know is this: He’s happy now. She can see it all over his face, even now, as he sits hunched on the edge of the bed like something broken, afraid to turn and face her. Even now, despite all this, there’s a light behind his eyes that refuses to go out. It’s the same light that Hadley’s seen in Mom when she’s with Harrison.

It’s the same light she thought she saw in Oliver on the plane.

“Dad?” she says, and her voice is very small. “I’m glad you’re happy.”

He’s unable to hide his surprise. “You are?”

“Of course.”

They’re quiet for a moment, and then he looks at her again. “Know what would make me even happier?”

She raises her eyebrows expectantly.

“If you’d come visit us sometime.”

“Us?”

He grins. “Yeah, in Oxford.”

Hadley tries to picture what their house might look like, but can only call to mind some English country cottage she’d probably seen in a movie. She wonders if there’s a room for her there, but she can’t quite bring herself to ask. Even if there is, it will probably belong to the baby soon anyway.

Before she can answer, there’s a knock on the door, and they both look over.

“Come in,” Dad says, and Violet appears. Hadley’s amused to see that she’s swaying ever so slightly in her heels, an empty glass of champagne in one hand.

“Thirty-minute warning,” she announces, waving her watch in their direction. Behind her, Hadley can see Charlotte lean back from where she’s sitting in an overstuffed armchair, surrounded by the other bridesmaids.

“No, take your time,” she calls to them. “It’s not like they can start without us.”

Dad glances over at Hadley, then gives her shoulder a little pat as he stands up. “I think we’re all sorted in here anyway,” he says, and as she rises to follow him out, Hadley catches a glimpse of herself in the mirror, puffy eyes and all.

“I think I might need a little—”

“Agreed,” Violet says, taking her by the arm. She motions to the other women, who set down their glasses and scurry over to the bathroom as one. Once they’re all huddled around the mirror and everyone’s got some sort of tool—a hairbrush or a comb, mascara or a curling iron—Violet begins the round of questioning.

“So what were the tears about, then?”

Hadley would like to shake her head, but she’s afraid to move; there are too many people poking and prodding her.

“Nothing,” she says stiffly as Whitney hesitates in front of her, a tube of lipstick at the ready.

“Your dad?”

“No.”

“Must be tough, though,” says Hillary. “Watching him get married again.”

“Yeah,” Violet says from where she’s stooped on the floor. “But those weren’t family tears.”

Whitney rakes her fingers through Hadley’s hair. “What were they, then?”

“Those were boy tears,” Violet says with a smile.

Jocelyn is trying to get the stain out of Hadley’s dress with a mystifying combination of water and white wine. “I love it,” she says. “Tell us all about him.”

Hadley can feel herself blushing furiously. “No, it’s nothing like that,” she says. “I swear.”

They exchange glances, and Hillary laughs. “Who’s the lucky bloke?”

“Nobody,” Hadley says again. “Really.”

“I don’t believe you for one second,” Violet says, then leans down so that her face is even with Hadley’s in the mirror. “But I will say this: Once we’re through here, if that boy comes within ten feet of you tonight, he won’t stand a chance.”

“Don’t worry,” Hadley says with a sigh. “He won’t.”

It takes only twenty minutes for them to perform their second miracle of the day, and when they’re finished Hadley feels like a different person entirely from the one who limped back from the funeral an hour ago. The rest of the bridesmaids stay behind in the bathroom, turning their attention back to their own ensembles, and when Hadley emerges on her own she’s surprised to find only Dad and Charlotte in the suite. The others have all returned to their own rooms to get ready.

“Wow,” Charlotte says, giving her a finger a little twirl. Hadley spins around obligingly, and Dad claps a few times.

“You look great,” he says, and Hadley smiles at Charlotte, standing there in her wedding dress, the ring on her finger throwing off bits of light.

“You look great,” she tells her, because it’s true.

“Yes, but I haven’t been traveling since yesterday,” she says. “You must be completely knackered.”

Hadley feels a twang in her chest at the word, which reminds her so sharply of Oliver. For months now, the sound of Charlotte’s accent has been enough to kick-start a massive headache. But suddenly it doesn’t seem so bad at all. In fact, she thinks she could get used to it.

“I am knackered,” she says with a weary smile. “But it’s been worth the trip.”

Charlotte’s eyes are bright. “I’m glad to hear that. Hopefully it will be the first of many. Andrew was just telling me you might come for a visit soon?”