Listed: Volume I (7 page)

On
this thought, the world seemed to shift.

Without
warning, the string music transitioned into something lofty and stirring, and
the wedding planner came into the garden, circling around the back and out of
the way. The sunlight itself had transformed without Paul's realizing it. The
sun must have finally lowered into the position they were waiting for because
just then the entire garden became gilded in warm light.

The
setting sunlight streamed in at an angle over the wall and bathed the trees,
the fountains, the cobblestone paths, the flowers—all of it in rich gold. Paul
stared around him in astonishment.

The
garden no longer looked like the real world—with hard edges and deep shadows.
It glowed like a dream.

Out
of this surreal haze emerged Emily, walking down the path toward him,
surrounded not by empty pews or vacant chairs but by trees and flowers and
foliage.

As
she approached him now, her fair skin, the white dress, the pink tulips in her
bouquet, the orchid in her hair, the emerald pendant he’d given her at her
neck, they were all gilded, all golden.

Paul
blinked in surprise at how beautiful she was. Then he shook his head to clear
it. If he had been in love with her, he would have been completely blown away
by this vision. As it was, he felt just a little breathless.

When
she reached him and stepped over to stand beside him in front of the arbor,
Paul was abruptly dragged out of his golden daze when he realized she was
crying.

She
wasn’t sobbing, but tears streamed down her cheeks. For just a moment, her face
twisted as she tried to control her emotion.

He
sucked in a breath and leaned forward, asking her a silent question with his
eyes. It was possible that Emily had changed her mind. That she’d decided this
wasn’t what she wanted. If that was the case, he needed to know.

She
shook her head at his unspoken question. Then a wide smile completely
transformed her face. She mouthed, “Thank you.”

Paul
relaxed as he turned toward the minister. It was perfectly natural that Emily
would be emotional, but her tears were clearly not a sign that she was
disappointed by the wedding or rethinking the marriage.

The
ceremony itself was very brief—just a few readings and the traditional vows.
The rings they exchanged were simple matching platinum bands.

When
the minister pronounced, “You may kiss the bride,” Paul leaned over and kissed
Emily gently on the mouth. She smelled like lavender, and she leaned into the
kiss for just a moment before they both pulled away.

And
then they were married.

At
least Emily had stopped crying.

*
* *

Paul returned to their
cottage about fifteen minutes after Emily did, since he’d had to wrap a few
things up with the wedding planner and the inn’s staff.

He
was tired, and he was still shaking off the remnants of that weird golden daze,
but things had gone well. He hoped Emily would be happy with the ceremony, and
he thought he’d done everything he could to give this to her before she died.

So
he was surprised when, on seeing the French doors off the main room open, he
looked out onto their private terrace and found Emily surrounded by champagne,
gourmet food, flowers, and the last light of the sun.

She
was crying again.

Her
face wasn’t just streaming with tears as it had been when she’d walked down the
aisle. Now she was sobbing for real.

His
felt vaguely ill as he processed her presence.

He
was tempted to back up and retreat to his own room, rather than deal with a
weeping woman after a very long few days. But he couldn’t seem to do it.
Cursing the over-developed sense of responsibility that had only emerged these
last few months, he stepped out onto the terrace.

As
soon as she saw him, she started to pull herself together, suppressing her sobs
and trying to wipe away her tears.

Paul
didn’t know what to say, so he didn’t say anything. He felt awkward and
disappointed and just a tiny bit resentful—since he’d invested so much time and
money in creating this wedding experience for her and it hadn’t been enough.

“I’m
sorry,” Emily choked, using a napkin to dry her face. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t
be sorry,” he said, pleased that his tone was mild, almost gentle. “I’m sorry
the wedding didn’t live up to your dreams.”

“It
did
,” she said, her eyes widening in surprise, “Paul, the wedding was
absolutely incredible. The most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. It was
perfect.”

Something
unclenched in Paul at her words. “Then…”

Emily
looked away. “I miss my dad.”

Her
father had died two years ago, but that wasn’t really so long.

There
was nothing Paul could say.

In
an aching, twisted way, he missed his father too.

After
a few minutes, when Emily had stopped crying completely, Paul got up and opened
the champagne. He poured two glasses and handed one to Emily.

They
weren’t likely to be arrested for under-age drinking in France.

They
filled their plates with the refreshments laid out for them. Emily finished
hers and then went back for more. Together, they ate most of their tiny wedding
cake and finished the bottle of champagne.

Paul
was a lot more comfortable by the time they were through, sitting now with an
Emily who was laughing and making wry comments—the Emily he’d known before, the
one who didn’t make his chest ache.

She
still wore her wedding dress, but her relaxed position had made the neckline
droop farther than it was supposed to.

Catching
himself eyeing her lush cleavage with the same kind of absent appreciation he
would have given any woman who looked so good, he forced his eyes away
immediately.

Emily’s
dress was sleeveless with a square neckline, and it fell to just above her
ankles. He’d already seen the bill for it, and he could almost guarantee that
Emily had no idea how expensive the dress really was.

He
heard her sigh deeply beside him and looked over to see that her lips were
turned up as she gazed out at the garden, almost pink with the last of the
sunset.  When she noticed him watching her, she smiled. “I’d always thought the
most beautiful places in the world were the beach and mountains.” She took
another deep breath of lavender- and herb-scented evening air. “I’d never
imagined a place like this.”

“I’m
glad you liked it.”

“Oh,
and thank you for this,” she said, putting a hand over the emerald pendant
resting at her collarbone. “You really didn’t have to get it for me, but it’s
gorgeous.”

He
gave a half-shrug. “Fair trade, then, since you gave me the cufflinks.” He’d
already taken off his suit jacket and flung it on an extra chair, so he held up
his arm to show her his cuffs.

With
a downward glance, she murmured, “I saw you were wearing them. I really had no
idea what to—”

“I
like them,” he interrupted. “Thank you.”

She
nodded. Then she took the final sip of champagne in her glass and reached over to
the table to pick up a folded piece of paper.

Paul
recognized it.

She
unfolded her list and slanted him a significant look.

“Go
ahead,” he prompted.

She
picked up the pen from the table and firmly crossed off the first item on her
list.

Then
she grinned at him.

Despite
the very strange day, the very strange week, the very strange few months, Paul
couldn’t help but smile back.

“Don’t
forget to cross off the Mona Lisa too,” he reminded her, noticing that none of
the other items on the list were crossed off yet.

“Oh
yes,” she said, drawing a neat line through some words near the bottom of the
page. “That makes two. Only twelve more to go.”

Despite
her shift into the relaxed mood, Paul felt a pang of deep sympathy at her final
words. He couldn’t imagine what it would be like to have only twelve more
things left to accomplish before you died. So his voice was gentler than normal
when he said, “We’ll make sure you cross off all of them.”

Emily’s
lip curled up as she made an annoyed face in his direction.

“What?”
he demanded, genuinely baffled.

“You
were feeling sorry for me.”

It
was true, but he didn’t know how he could help it.

“Anyway,”
she said, “Thanks for doing all this, Paul. I know you don’t want me to keep
thanking you, but I really have to a few more times. I can’t imagine anyone
doing a better job with it.” She lowered her eyes. “I never dreamed you would
do so much for me.”

The
truth was Paul wouldn’t have thought he would have done so much for Emily
either. While he found it easy to spend money on other people, he’d put more
time and effort into these wedding plans than he could have imagined doing for
Emily even two months ago.

But
he hadn’t known she was going to die then.

There
were things he wished he’d done and said to his mother before she died, and he
hadn’t done or said any of them.

There
were things his mother had wanted him to change about his life, and he hadn’t
changed them until it was too late for her to know.

He
wasn’t going to make the same mistake again.

Emily
continued, very softly, almost as if she were talking to herself, “I never
dreamed
anyone
would do so much for me.”

Paul
sucked in a sharp breath. There was something poignant in her words, and it
struck a chord with him. If he were honest with himself, he couldn’t imagine
anyone doing so much for him either—whether he was about to die or not.

Because
he felt uncomfortable, he tried to downplay her thanks. “It’s just money.”

She
turned to look at him, her deep blue eyes holding his soberly. “It’s not just
money to me.”

He
nodded to acknowledge her comment, and then he decided this day had lasted long
enough. Tomorrow, things would probably feel more normal. He and Emily could
return to their casual relationship, and Paul wouldn’t be dragged so often out
of his comfort zone.

“It’s
been a long day,” he said, in a tone that universally signaled conclusion, “I’m
sure you’re exhausted. You should get some sleep.”

On
Emily’s face was the strangest expression, although her tone was light as she
said, “So I guess that means no wedding night.”

Paul
froze in astonishment.

She
gave a huff of laughter and lifted her shoulders in a little shrug. “Well, we’d
never talked about it. So I was just wondering…but I guess not.”

“You
want to…”

Although
her voice and smile were teasing, he thought he glimpsed a self-conscious expression
in her eyes. “I told you before, I haven’t been nursing passionate fantasies
about you, so no need to worry about that. We both know that’s not what this
marriage is about. But I wouldn’t say no to sex. You’re a good-looking guy, and
I’m sure you know what you’re doing in bed.”

For
one of the very few times in his life, Paul was completely speechless.

She
laughed, the rippling sound just slightly strained. “But it wasn’t part of the
deal, and I had no expectations that it would happen. Just thought I’d throw it
out there.”

Trying
to collect his wildly scattered thoughts, studied her closely. She was doing a
really good job of coming across as worldly and blasé about this conversation,
but he didn’t think her ironic distance was quite real. Beneath her habitual
invulnerable demeanor, he guessed she might be a little embarrassed.

With
this recognition in mind, he forced himself to temper his natural
reaction—which would have been to ask her if she was completely insane and
demand what the hell she was thinking with such an inappropriate suggestion.

Instead,
he tightened his lips and said in a mostly even tone, “I hadn’t realized that
was even on the table.”

“Yeah,”
she said with another huff of very dry laughter, “I see that. It’s really not a
big deal. I mean, that would be going
way
beyond the call of duty for
you. I know I’m not your type. Although I didn’t know men turned down sex when
it was offered.”

Paul
felt flustered, and he didn’t like feeling that way. He had honestly never
thought about Emily in a sexual way, except for the occasional looks of absent
appreciation in the last few months that were second-nature for most men. But
now that she’d brought it up—now that he knew sex was a possibility tonight—his
body gave a little clench of interest.

Sex
was sex. And, although she certainly wasn’t his type, Emily was an attractive,
vibrant girl.

A
seventeen-year-old girl who was dying.

Feeling
like a degenerate—a flustered degenerate who had let things spiral way too far
out of his control in the last few days—Paul shook his head and said with
impressive mildness, “It’s not that. It’s not that I could never be interested.
But, Emily, you’re…”