He stuck the phone away, endured another reading. Finally the ceremony was winding down. There was a moment—a split second, really—when Max’s dad looked so happy that Max caught himself smiling in spite of himself.
During the kissing, he stared at the ground—enough’s enough—and at last, it was over. The ensemble played a reggae rendition of “What a Wonderful World” as Dad and Nina came down the aisle formed by the rows of chairs.
All the wedding guests filed out behind them to the pavilion with the banquet and dance floor. As they made their way to the feast, Max found himself surrounded by Romanos. Nina sure had a big family. The sun had just begun to set, turning everything in sight a livid sunburned pink.
His phone rang. He looked at the screen, seeing an international number he didn’t recognize. “I think this might be my mom,” he said.
Nina’s sister, Maria—the bossy one—gave a sniff. “Unbelievable. On today, of all days.”
He pretended he hadn’t heard her, and flipped open the phone.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Max.” It was his mom. She sounded … different. Her voice was thin. “Max, I know this probably isn’t the best timing—”
“It’s all right.” He stepped aside and moved to the shade of a large tree where it was quiet. “I’m glad you called, Mom,” he said.
“Are you, Max?” She sounded so tired, more tired than he’d ever heard her. He wondered what time it was, over in Holland. The middle of the night. “I’m glad, too,” she said.
Daisy Bellamy loved weddings. She always had, ever since she was little and got to be the flower girl in her aunt Helen’s wedding. She still remembered the lacy dress, the flowers twining through her hair, the shiny patent-leather Mary Janes, the feeling that she had a critically important role to play.
Taking a break from her dad’s wedding festivities, she sat on the balcony of her hotel room, looking down at the pavilion that had been set up on the beach for the reception. Sunset painted the sky every color of the rainbow. In a few minutes, she’d take out her camera to get some candid shots of the party.
All her life, she had fantasized about the day it would be her turn to be the bride. She had actually planned the entire event, right down to the seed pearls on her gown. She could perfectly picture every moment of her special day, from the delivery of the flowers—daisies, what else?—to the roaring send-off, to the Parisian honeymoon.
The only detail she couldn’t picture was the face of the groom.
At nineteen, she still couldn’t help dreaming about her own wedding, but there was a difference now. It was only a dream, not an eventuality. That option had been taken off the table last August.
She glanced down at the infant nursing at her breast and knew that the fantasy wedding simply wasn’t going to happen. Unless Prince Charming was willing to take on Daisy and Charlie both.
Logan O’Donnell, the baby’s father, kept trying to convince her that he was the one. There was one problem with that. Logan wasn’t Prince Charming. Oh, he looked like a prince, which was what had landed Daisy in trouble in the first place. But now that reality had hit Daisy like a brick to the head, she knew it took a lot more than looks to make a prince.
She lifted Charlie against her and draped a cloth over her shoulder to catch the spit-up, which was his custom after every meal. Thanks to Charlie, she had missed the very tail end of the wedding. He’d been great right up until the final reading. She’d promised her dad and Nina that she wouldn’t let him interrupt and, true to her word, she’d whisked him away at the first squawk.
Now she rubbed the baby’s back, standing up and swaying back and forth on the balcony. “We don’t need a prince, do we?” she whispered in his ear. “We just need to fantasize about something different. I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that. I mean, I know you’re really little, but I wonder if you’d mind staying with a babysitter for a few hours a week while I take a photography course at the college.”
He rewarded her with a gentle belch.
Daisy smiled. “That’s right, I got in. My portfolio was approved for the class, and it all starts in a few weeks. I’m going to feel totally guilty about leaving you, though. Mom left Max and me a lot when we were little. She had to, because of her work. I wonder if she felt like this, too. Just totally guilty—”
“Hey, Daisy!” Standing two stories below, Sonnet Romano waved at her. “Come on down. They’re about to cut the cake.”
“Don’t let them start without me,” Daisy called.
“You want some help?”
“That’s okay. We’ll be right there.”
Nina’s daughter Sonnet was the first friend Daisy had made in Avalon, New York, where they’d moved after Daisy’s parents divorced. She was the first person Daisy had told, after her dad, about being pregnant. Now Sonnet and Daisy were stepsisters. She hoped that didn’t mean the end of a beautiful friendship.
“You hear that?” Daisy said to Charlie as she put her camera into the ever-present diaper bag. “Cake! I love cake.” One of the best things about breastfeeding was that you could eat anything you wanted—cake, peanut butter, cookie dough, you name it—and you didn’t gain weight, because it took a lot of calories to be a milk factory.
She buckled the baby into his carrier and headed out the door. The hotel had open-air hallways and stairwells, and a warm breeze flowed through, carrying the scent of exotic flowers. Here in the tropics, winter seemed a million miles away.
At the bottom of the stairs, she headed toward the reception, but stopped when she saw Max running toward her.
She took one look at her brother’s face and knew something was wrong. Well, whatever it was, they weren’t going to bug Dad about it. Not today, of all days.
Part Four
Three weeks later
Decision
Every act you have ever performed since the day you were born was performed because you wanted something.
—Andrew Carnegie, founding contributor of the Peace Palace
Seven
The Hague, Holland
Three weeks later
While waiting for Tariq in the courtyard of the Peace Palace, Sophie turned in a slow circle, waiting for the flashbacks to hit like a bolt from the sky. She’d been told by her post-trauma treatment team to expect unsettling reminders of the ordeal she’d suffered here. But nothing happened, not even when she thought about André
