“If they do what they’re supposed to. A three-year-old and a four-year-old are hardly reliable.”
“Which is why you still had to recruit a child wrangler. I’m sure Cleo will keep them all to task just fine.”
“Thank you for that,” she says, and I know she’s not just talking about Cleo’s help with her daughters in today’s ceremony, but she clarifies anyway. “Thank you for all of it, Eddie. You’ve been the best big brother a woman could ask for, and I’m so honored that it’s you who will give me away.”
I’m not given time to respond, which is likely for the best since my throat feels extraordinarily tight all of a sudden, before the door to the guest suite bursts open and Genevieve comes bounding in with Freddie on her heels, each of them carrying an assortment of cosmetic bags and beauty accessories.
“I’m late!” she says, scurrying to set her items out on the vanity. “I’m sorry. I should have stayed here last night as Dad suggested. I don’t know why I thought it would be easier to come in this morning, but lesson’s learned. I’m here now. I hope you’re not terribly cross with me.”
While I recognize there’re more important matters at hand, I’m admittedly self-absorbed. “Where’s Abigail?”
My daughter gives me a vexed look. “Chandler has her downstairs. Hello to you too.”
I shrug. I’m not going to apologize for wanting to see my granddaughter whenever possible. I see her so little since Geneveive’s life is across the pond.
Camilla clears her throat, reminding us she’s supposed to be the woman in the spotlight.
“You’re perfectly on time. It’s meant to be a laid-back occasion,” she says, the bride ironically soothing her matron of honor. “If I’d wanted something more formal I would have hired someone to do my hair and makeup. I asked you for exactly this reason—I wanted all of today to be real and authentic, and I hope it wasn’t too much of a hassle. I’m so thankful to get to spend this time with you.”
Genevieve settles, her aunt’s words being what she needed to calm her nerves. “I’m honored to be part of this day. Let’s get you sparkled up, shall we?”
“That’s our cue to leave,” I say to my nephew who I assume isn’t needed now that he’s done being my daughter’s bellhop.
“Unless you’d like to stay. I could always use some help testing out blush tones.”
Genevieve is teasing, but Freddie’s expression says he’s not so sure.
I jump in to rescue him. “He’d love to, but I need him downstairs for something. I haven’t decided what yet.”
Camilla laughs. “Get out of here, boys.”
As soon as the door shuts behind us, Freddie sighs in relief.
“It’s okay, kid,” I say, ruffling his hair. “We men have to stick together.”
“We do.” He fist bumps me then disappears, likely off to lose himself in one of the books he’s always carrying around or to latch onto Chandler. Between Camilla’s daughters and Genevieve’s and mine, there are a lot of women around. I understand the boy’s need for any male companionship he can get.
I, on the other hand, couldn’t be more content with those that surround me on a daily basis. Peering out the hall window to the backyard, I see them now, three of the people I love most in the world. They’re gathered round the maple tree near the hedged garden, and a momentary flash of regret cuts through me as I remember all the times I missed with my older children, days spent in the country where I stayed locked inside.
Instead of holding the regret, though, I let it go. I can do nothing for the moments I lost to distraction in the past. But it means everything that I choose to be present in the now.
CELIA
“Higher,” Cleo pleads from the tree swing. “Higher.”
“Mmhmm.” But I don’t push her any harder. I don’t think of myself as overprotective in general, but since Freddie broke his arm last summer from jumping off this exact swing, I’m perhaps more cautious than I need to be.
Besides, I’m a bit distracted. “Stella,” I scold. “Leave those alone. I mean it.”
“Mummy,” the four-year-old protests. “You said the balloons would fly!”
The strings of the helium balloons are gathered and loosely tied around the fence for later. We’ll release them as part of the ceremony, which is still an hour away. “Later. I promise.”
Stella’s expression says there’s no way she’s dropping her fascination. She’s willful and persistent and never takes no for an answer. A lot like her mother, in other words.
Fortunately, my dark knight has come to my rescue.
“Listen to your mother,” he says, scooping her up in his arms. It may have been irresponsible getting her dressed up so early—there’s every chance she’ll be stained and wrecked by the time the ceremony starts—but seeing her bundled in tulle and lace in Edward’s arms, I regret nothing.
“You look particularly dashing,” I say as he comes over. I’ve completely abandoned pushing Cleo now, so when my husband leans down to kiss me, I’m there for it.
“Mummy!” Cleo complains while Stella giggles.
“You’re breathtaking, as always.” He picks at a leaf that has found its way into the bun at the back of my nape.
I pose dramatically to show off my floral embroidered strapless fil-coupe dress.“You think so? My husband picked it out.”
“Your husband has good taste.”
“That he does. It has pockets.” I shove my hands inside the hidden pockets to demonstrate.
“Because a woman can’t be carrying a handbag all the time, and where is she supposed to put a binkie or her lipstick?”
He’s practically quoting me, and I love it. I’ve obviously been complaining about it for long enough since both our daughters are long past using a binkie, but the sentiment remains, and my husband, as always, listens. Always looks out for me. Always puts my needs first.
What more could a woman want?
Stella wriggles in Edward’s arms. “Flutterflies! Cleo! Flutterflies!”
I look where she’s pointing and see a swarm of butterflies over the bluebells. Edward puts her down so she can chase them, and Cleo, not wanting to miss out on the fun, jumps off the swing to join her.
“Care—” I wince as she lands on the ground, my warning coming too late. “Ful.” But she bounces after her sister, obviously unharmed.
Edward puts his arm around my waist. “You can’t protect her from everything. Eventually, they’re going to be hurt by something. Our job is to be here for them when they do.”
“I know.” I hug him back. I know it’s just as hard for him to accept that as it is for me. Neither of us want our girls to ever feel pain, and if they are ever hurt maliciously, I am certain that Edward wouldn’t let their abuser get off without serious maiming.
And I’m okay with that. I know who I married. While I’m grateful that he’s set aside revenging for the most part, I also find peace knowing the lengths he’d go to if provoked. He’s not an angel, and I’d never pretend otherwise.