Page 65 of A Storybook Wedding

“Indeed, she is. I was thinking that perhaps she’d consider applying for the Rising Star Program,” Professor Devereaux says.

Dillon Norway chews his grilled cheese sandwich thoughtfully, nodding. “You should do it,” he says to me.

“I don’t know,” I reply. “It sounds great, but the deadline is tomorrow at midnight. That’s not a lot of time.”

“The application’s not bad. And you’ve got the work ethic of a machine. I have no doubt you can complete it without even so much as partially disrupting your New Year’s Eve plans.”

I grin. “I appreciate your vote of confidence.”

“Will you be joining us for the New Year’s Eve soiree, Cecily?” Professor Devereaux asks.

“I’m not sure. Maybe?” I respond. “I have to check with Nate. We haven’t discussed it yet.”

“Not much else to do here on the island,” Devereaux says. “I’ve been on the planning committee for the New Year’s Eve festivities since I started here. Gosh, Dillon, can you believe it’s been ten years already?”

“Goes by in a flash,” he agrees.

“What are the festivities anyway?” I wonder.

“We have the party on the first floor of the main house,” she explains. “It opens up quite far in the back, with adjacent meeting rooms and such. There are board games and card games, along with snacks and drinks. Wine and beer. No hard alcohol. It’s a fun way to enjoy some camaraderie during the holiday, especially when we don’t have our family members to spend it with.”

I offer a small smile, unsure of how to reply.

“Although, you do, since your husband is here with you, of course,” she continues. “And what, may I ask, did the newlyweds do for Christmas?”

I gulp, although I doubt anyone notices. “You know. Normal boring family stuff. How about you?”

“My sister and brother-in-law have been hosting Christmas for years. So I go there. I’ve got three nephews who are all grown, and they come, along with their girlfriends. Of course, the oldest is engaged now, so it felt like all we spoke about was wedding planning. My sister is very excited.”

I nod, saying nothing.

“I don’t expect this girl to become a bridezilla or anything, but I think she’s already clashing over ideas my sister has.”

“That must be challenging,” I say. Dillon Norway is of no help to me here. He simply continues to enjoy his sandwich and his soup, occasionally letting out a microscopic moan of appreciation for the way the comfort food lights up his taste buds.

Men.

“It is. I never married, but I know she’s really going through it. How about you?” she asks. “Was your mother very involved in your wedding?”

Such a specific question. “Nope. Not really. Our wedding was pretty low-key. I have three sisters, and their weddings were all major productions. I just didn’t want that for my own, so Nate and I got married at the courthouse and called it a day.”

Devereaux raises an eyebrow. “That sounds…convenient.”

I don’t love the undertone, but I try to convince myself I’m just nervous because I’m not a good liar. “It was—both from a financial standpoint as well as an emotional one. I didn’t want to have to worry about juggling everyone’s opinions over dress colors and cake options and all that stuff. Also, who wants to spend that kind of money?”

“I’m quite certain your husband could afford you whatever sort of wedding you wanted,” she says.

The comment sounds a little judgmental, but I let it slide, seeing as how she’s been so supportive of my work so far this residency. “That’s true. I just didn’t want anything big.”

“Mm. I see,” she says. “Well, to each his own. I suppose, based on your workshop sample, that there may have been some unresolved wounds between you and your sister.”

Record scratch. I feel my nerve endings stand up on edge. I do not like this, they scream. “Oh,” I laugh, perhaps too loud. “That’s just a story.”

Dillon Norway, who knows better from having journeyed with me through the creation of the manuscript, looks up and gives me an eyeful but remains silent. We exchange a glance, my eyes pleading with his not to share what he knows about my writing and his expression silently agreeing to remain mute on the matter.

Meanwhile, Alice Devereaux chews on a bite of salad, studying me with a curious expression. I find myself wishing that Nate were here, because if he was, she likely would never have sat down with us for this meal, seeing as how she hates him.

“Well, nonetheless. I do hope that you and Nate will make an appearance at the party.”

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