sister’s “to do” list. She didn’t understand why brides worried over such silly decisions. “This is the list of music? Go for the Pachelbel’s “Canon” for the processional and “Ode to Joy” for the recessional. Red roses with my bridesmaid’s dress would be too much. White would be better. And not the hybrid roses but the cabbage roses. Vanilla-scented tapers for the candles—you know how much Mom loves those. And surf and turf for dinner, that way you’ll please everyone.” Caley slammed the binder shut. “There, that was easy.”
Emma blinked in surprise. “Caroline Lenore Lambert! You can’t just decide so quickly. All of these things have to be discussed.”
“With whom? Sam? He doesn’t care. I’ve heard that brides often focus so much time and attention on the wedding that they forget there’s a marriage that comes after it.”
“That’s why we wanted to keep this small,” Emma said. “And more manageable. Between Mom and Mrs. Burton, we wouldn’t have had a wedding, we would have had an event. But I don’t want to make decisions just to get them out of the way. I want this wedding to be perfect. So does Sam.”
“So you have to discuss everything with him?”
“No. He’s leaving the details up to me.”
Caley plucked a breadstick out of the basket and munched on the end. “That’s odd. I mean, that he wouldn’t even care. You know how those Burton boys are. They’re so bossy. They have to run everything.”
Caley could see Emma growing dizzy from the change in conversation. Tiny worry lines furrowed her brow and she kept glancing back down at her book, as if all the answers were contained within.
Caley couldn’t help but feel a little guilty, but this marriage would be a life-altering event and if Emma wasn’t prepared then Caley wasn’t doing her job as a big sister or a maid of honor. “If it isn’t perfect then the marriage will never succeed. It’s like bad karma.”
Emma frowned. “Yeah. I guess so.” She paused. “Is it? Is that some superstition I haven’t heard yet?”
“You’re marrying the perfect guy so you have to be perfect in return. So did you solve your motorcycle dilemma? I’d stand firm on that one. Once you give in, he’s going to take advantage and think he can run the show.”
“He doesn’t want to talk about it. He says it’s his decision.”
“Emma, things will only get worse after you’re married. Marriage magnifies problems, it doesn’t make them go away.” It was armchair psychology and a deliberate manipulation but if it saved Emma from making the biggest mistake of her life, then Caley didn’t care. If love couldn’t withstand a bit of poking and prodding, then it would never last.
Caley winced inwardly. It almost pained her to say those words. But maybe that’s why she wasn’t happily married and living in the suburbs with 2.5 kids. Perhaps there was some truth in what she said. She reached out and took Emma’s hand. “Are you really ready for this, Em?”
“I-I’ve thought about postponing,” Emma admitted in a small voice. “But then, I just wrote it off to nerves. Everyone would be so disappointed.”
“This is about you, not Mom and Dad,” Caley said.
“But how am I supposed to know for sure? What am I supposed to feel?”
“Passion, contentment, anticipation. You’re going to spend the rest of your life with this one man. You have to know that when you look at him over the breakfast table in thirty years, that he was and is the only man in the world for you.” Caley sat back in her chair. “If you called it off, Emma, I would stand behind you. I’d help you explain it to Mom and Dad.”
Emma drew a shaky breath and then forced a bright smile. “That’s what you do for a living, right? Take disasters and put a pretty ribbon on them and pretend they never happened?”
“This wouldn’t be a disaster,” Caley insisted. But a divorce in two or three years would be. The families would be forced to take sides and that would destroy the lifelong friendship that they’d all enjoyed.
Emma shook her head. “Don’t be silly. I’m not going to call it off. It’s just prewedding jitters, that’s all.” She grabbed a menu from the center of the table and handed it to Caley. “Here. Why don’t you order something for lunch. I’m going to run up to my room and get the folder from the florist and we’ll discuss the bouquets. The florist needs to know by this afternoon so he can place the order.”
Emma pushed back from the table and hurried out of the dining room. Caley slowly shook her head. The doubts she had before hadn’t been dispelled. If anything, they were now magnified. Emma wasn’t ready to get married, but she also wasn’t strong enough to make the decision on her own. If the wedding were going to be called off, then Jake would have to talk Sam into doing it.
Caley grabbed Emma’s binder and opened it again. It was filled with pictures torn from magazines and neatly scribbled notes. There was a whole section on bridesmaid’s dresses and another on bridal gowns. It was obvious that Emma had been planning for this wedding for much longer than a month and a half. Some of the photos were at least five years old.
Caley groaned inwardly. Did Emma feel the same way about Sam as Caley had felt about Jake? Had she carried a secret crush around all these years? If she had, then trying to convince Emma to wait was going to be a much tougher job than she anticipated.
Motioning to the waitress, Caley stood up. “Can you let my sister know that I had to run an errand? I’ll be back later this afternoon.”
If she and Jake expected to have any effect at all, then they’d better coordinate their efforts. She reached for her cell phone before she realized she wasn’t even sure Jake had a cell phone. How did a person exist in this world without one? Or without wireless computer access and a PDA and a fax machine?
Caley strode to her car, then remembered that Jake had an appointment to try on his tuxedo. The only place in town that rented men’s formal wear was a shop two blocks down and around the corner. Caley glanced over at her car parked in front of the inn and decided it would be faster to walk.
When she arrived, she was out of breath. She walked to the rear of the store and the small section devoted to formal wear. An elderly man with a tape measure around his neck stood in front of a mirror. “Is Jake Burton here?” she asked.
“He’s changing,” the man said, pointing to a nearby fitting room. “He’ll be out in a moment.”
Caley strode over to the fitting room door, opened it and stepped inside. Jake stood in front of the mirror in his boxers and a formal shirt. He saw her reflection and smiled.
“You have a perfectly nice room at the inn and I’m staying out in the boathouse. Why do we keep meeting in fitting rooms?”
“We have to talk,” Caley said. He slowly turned and her breath caught in her throat. His muscular chest was visible, his shirt half unbuttoned, and Caley’s fingers twitched as she imagined the feel of his skin beneath her hands.
Jake reached out and grabbed her wrist, then placed her palm on his chest. “So what is so important that it can’t wait until I’m dressed?” He dragged her hand over his chest to his belly, then left it resting near the waistband of his boxers.
She traced
