Page 11 of Say You Will

Looming above us, silk-swathed rafters feature massive chandeliers dripping with Austrian crystal. Elaborate gold candelabras lord over every table, and if I never see another red rose in my life, it’ll be too soon.

Perfume, flowers, food, cologne, music, talking, laughing, the scrape and clink of flatware against plates. People getting too close to me. All that smiling, most of which can’t possibly be real.

I instinctively scan for threats. The sheer size of the assembled crowd makes the back of my neck itch. “How do you not feel suffocated?”

As I search the Park Avenue hotel ballroom forher, Spencer trips along behind me. “I don’t think most people would. Now, regarding your search for a bride, I’ve taken a few moments to . . .”

I stop short and lose the thread of Spencer’s words because there she is.

Franki Lennox ishere. Until I’d laid eyes on her earlier in the church, I’d thought she was still in California.

Before the wedding ceremony, I hadn’t seen her in four years, nine months, and twelve days. And then there she was, standing at the front of a cathedral in a black bridesmaid dress with a bouquet of flowers in her hands.

Following the ceremony, I lost her briefly when she disappeared with the bridal party for whatever it is that happens in the time between the wedding and reception. I’ve found her now, and I’m not losing her again.

I drink in the sight of her. The shape of Franki’s face has changed, and her body looks subtly softer. Her light brown hair now has streaks the color of caramel popcorn that shimmer under the ballroom chandeliers. Her eyes have the same sparkle.

Spencer pushes his tablet into my line of vision. “As you can see, I’ve—”

“What are you doing?” Interrupted from my musings, I turn my head toward Spencer and lift an eyebrow. “Your workday is over. Come to think of it, do you even have an invitation to this wedding?”

He yanks his collar away from his neck. “I’m not here as a guest. You don’t attend social gatherings, as a rule, and it will likely be some time before an opportunity to meet so many women at once is available to you—”

“Stop. Go”—I wave a hand and shake my head in exasperation—“enjoy the party. Have a drink. Do whatever it is people do at these things.”

“I understand that, typically, this would be a non-working event. However, given your recent decision to find an appropriate bride, I’ve assembled a list from the guests in attendance here tonight. This is the perfect time to meet some of these women in an organic setting and establish—”

“I don’t want to see it.”

“I’ve already spoken with several potential brides. Brittney Belgoise is first on the list. She’s five-foot-eight and has brown eyes. She’s agreed to dance with you.”

When Spencer attempts to show me his tablet once more, I lift my upper lip in disgust. “Brittney Belgoise?”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“She’s perfect,” Spencer protests.

“She’s hideous.”

“She’s extremely symmetrical and has an Instagram page with over a million followers lauding her attractiveness.”

“I said I wanted a woman who didn’t need attention. You’re not finding her on a Google search. Give me that list.” I snatch the iPad from his hands.

His face falls as, one by one, I delete the names as I read them.

“Absolutely not. . . . No. . . . Never. . . . Are you joking? I said ‘gentle.’ That woman would castrate a man with a spoon in his sleep if he pissed her off.”

Finally, after deleting all fifteen names from his list, I type my own choice into his tablet.

Francesca Louise Lennox

He looks over my shoulder at the screen. “Who is that?”

Nodding in her direction, I say, “The bridesmaid on the end. Right there.”

“I didn’t notice her.”

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