Page 104 of Open Secrets
I give him a look, then shift to a more serious tone. “Is everything okay with your dad? It’s not like General Connelly to cause a scene.”
He sighs, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. “He’s having a hard time with Clay’s age and I guess he enjoyed that open bar a bit too much.”
I shake my head. “Still can’t believe he broke his foot the week before her wedding.”
“I can,” Lyle says, “he’s old. I’m surprised he only broke his foot.”
“He should be happy his daughter bagged someone ten years younger,” I mutter ignoring him.
Lyle shrugs, one hand loose on the wheel. “Sometimes it feels like my dad thrives on tension. Things are finally civil between you and him, so now he’s pissed Anna off instead.”
I huff a laugh. “Well, maybe she’ll get an apology in five years too.”
“One can hope.”
We roll into the lot, the car humming quiet as he eases into a space.
Before I can unbuckle, he says quietly, “I hope you know—I don’t regret it.”
I turn back to him. “What?”
“I might be having a tough time,” he admits, voice low, “but I don’t regret leaving.”
A smile tugs at my mouth as I reach over and take his hand. Warm, steady. “I know,” I whisper.
He takes a breath, squeezes once, then lets go. “Come on, before Anna gets pissed off.”
We hurry inside, splitting off—me toward the dressing room, Lyle toward the front to make sure his dad actually found a seat.
As I walk, my heels clicking loudly on the tile, I can’t help but remember how awkward it was when Orson Connelly apologized.
If you can even call it that.
I don’t think the man has apologized toanyonein his life. Watching him try was like watching a gazelle take its first steps—shaky, unnatural, almost painful to witness.
“I suppose what I’m trying to say,” he’d stammered, stiff-backed and red-faced, “is that… well… I am sorry. I should not have taken sides without hearing yours. And… for what I said. Now I know I was the pathetic one. The man who failed to help his own grandchild.”
To be honest, I hadn’t really cared if he apologized. It’s not like Orson and I have ever been close. Still, it was nice to hear—and nice to know future Thanksgivings won’t be unbearably awkward if I ever get stuck next to him at the table.
I push the memory aside as I slip into the dressing room just as the makeup artist finishes the last touches on Anna. She’s still in a robe, her hair and face flawless, glowing in that bridal waythat makes even me want to tear up. She flashes me a quick wave before disappearing into the bathroom with her gown draped carefully over her arms.
Clay and Anna never wanted a huge bridal party—it’s just me on her side, and Clay’s brother on his. Simple. Intimate. But it also means there’s no buffer, no one else to help with last-minute chaos.
We have to hurry—the rest of the guests are already being seated. And we’re late.
I usher Anna along, helping her with the last of it—something borrowed, something blue. She murmurs that her mom just left to track down her dad, and I bite my tongue, pretending not to hear the sharp edge in her voice. Instead, I gush over the sparkle of her earrings, the way her veil falls just right. It steadies her, just enough, and together we head down.
The ceremony is beautiful. Simple, elegant, everything they wanted. August carries the rings down the aisle, looking absurdly mature in his tux, and my heart swells. I smile through tears, trying not to blot my makeup with the tissues I stashed in my bouquet.
Later, after the customary dances—the bride and groom, the best man and maid of honour—I barely have time to catch my breath before Lyle finds me. Without a word, he whisks me onto the dance floor, his hand firm at the small of my back, his grin infectious.
I laugh as he twirls me around. “What are you so happy about?”
“Life,” he says. “You.”
I smile, looping my hands around his neck. “Do you think they’ll be happy?”
He glances toward Anna and Clay, laughing with a circle of friends, then nods. “I think they will be.”
“Like us?” I ask.
He smirks faintly. “They can try.”
