Page 96 of Sapphire Storm

See this part, Ma. I hope you’re seeing this part.Because no matter our history, this man is the real deal.

“Shall I take your compliments to the chef?” Logan asked.

“Please,” Roman answered quietly. “Tell him it’s everythingI hoped it would be.”

“Congratulations, Mr. Walker,” Logan said, then he left theroom.

He’d been so entranced by the dessert he’d almost missed thecan of Dr Pepper sitting next to it.

Suddenly, Hank was leaning in behind him. Before he’drealized what he’d done, Roman had reached up and grabbed the man’s wrist,prepared to break it if the man so much as touched Ethan’s gift. “I was justgoing to tell you,” Hank said quietly, “there’s more on the back. But I guess Ideserve that.”

When Roman released his wrist, Hank backed away, thenquietly left, no doubt so he could stand guard outside the doors. Roman triedto make sense of the man’s parting words, then he looked to the menu card he’dset aside and turned it over. There, on the bottom, in the tiniest version ofEthan’s handwriting he’d ever seen were the words,STRAP YOURSELF IN. WE’REABOUT TO TOUCH THE SKY.

Was this what Rachel had meant by putting them in touch?

Would Ethan knock on the door in the next minute or find away to crawl up the balcony? It seemed risky, given Diana and her accompanyingjournalist could come calling at any minute.

He searched the room—its cabinets, the top shelves of itswalk-in closet—for any other message but turned up nothing.

The phones had been removed, so there was no calling in. Andwhen the knock came a little while later, it was his tuxedo, escorted bymembers of Diana’s LA security team he barely knew, all of whom had taken onthe role of groomsmen and were now crowding into the suite to change. The onlyprivacy he had left was in the spacious, marble-lined bathroom. There he tookhis time changing into the designer tux they’d fitted him for back in France.It probably cost ten times more than the one his mother had bought him yearsbefore, but when he finally put it on, it felt as sticky and uncomfortable as awet suit.

Strap yourself in. We’re about to touch the sky.

What did it mean? They were minutes from wedding time and nofurther word.

When he emerged from the bathroom fully dressed, he foundhis pretend groomsmen lounging around the suite, gazing glumly into their cellphones, with all the comradery of men recently thrown into a jail celltogether. Then Hank stood, responding to a text on his phone. “Time to headdown,” he said.

It was a similar walk to the one that had brought them up tothe suite earlier. Only when they reached the first floor, he heard a clamorjust beyond the walls that rivaled the gathering crowd in an arena.

His heart raced with anxiety.

When the double doors before them were opened, he saw theywere poised to cross a carpeted corridor and then enter the ballroom opposite.Silent signals were exchanged between Hank and the security guard manning theballroom doors, and from inside, what sounded like a full orchestra began toplay some classical tune he didn’t recognize.

By the time he and Hank crossed the threshold of theballroom together, it felt like his feet weren’t touching the floor.

The ballroom’s interior was so transformed that at first hedidn’t even notice the sea of faces staring back at him. At the end of each rowof chairs, spindly, twinkling trees soared upward toward the ceiling, theirinverted deltas of branches forming a single glittering canopy above the headsof all the attendees. Inside were more twinkling lights wrapped inside somekind of golden-hued taffeta-like fabric. Concealed above it were the ballroom’schandeliers, but it looked like they were aglow and giving the entire canopy acelestial backlight.

The altar ahead was a soaring wall of white roses. Fromoverhead, a thick circle of wisteria garlands dangled, outlining where he andRachel were supposed to say their vows like some floral recreation of theteleportation deck onStar Trek. Most of the faces he could see woresome version of an admiring smile. Many were familiar to him, but not becausehe’d ever met them before. They were actors and celebrities, a politician ortwo he’d seen on the news. The guest list was a who’s who of famous people he’dnever met.

In both back corners of the ballroom, camera crews had beenset up on little stages made of scaffolding. And there, seated in the front rowin a strapless gold ballgown he’d only glimpsed, sat Diana, watching him withhawklike precision to make sure he didn’t miss a step. He smiled at her as hepassed; she smiled in return. The minister was an old costar of hers fromSantaMonica,once a prime-time stud, now a snowy-haired grandfather type whoplayed serial killers on Lifetime.

Once he reached the altar, Roman turned, watching the restof his faux wedding party process down the aisle in couples. Then, after ashort pause, the wedding march began to play, and everyone rose to their feet.He felt his skin prickle on the back of his neck.

Diana was glaring at him.

His mind had wandered, and he’d gone numb. Obviously boththings had revealed themselves in his expression. It was time to play his part.

And there was only one way to do it.

He imagined Ethan walking down the aisle toward him in a matchingtuxedo, giving him that patient, comforting look that always made Roman gowobbly inside. Within a few seconds he’d managed to muster something that feltlike semi-convincing tears.

Beneath her bridal veil, Rachel’s smile was perfect but plastic.When she joined him at the altar, it felt like they were both trapped. Hisstomach lurched. For the first time since returning to Sapphire Cove, he wantedto run.

They turned to face each other.

“Please be seated,” the minister said.

The attendees sank back down into their Chiavari chairs.

---