Listed: Volume I Page 5

  When he walked into his bedroom, he noticed a small black box on his table, tied with a silver bow. It hadn't been there before. Frowning, he picked it up and opened it.

  Inside was a folded piece of paper, on which was handwritten, “It’s fine if you don’t like them—you really don’t have to wear them. But they reminded me of you. I wanted to give you something, since it’s tradition and you’re doing so much for me. Emily.”

  Intrigued by this unexpected gesture, Paul put down the note and looked inside the box to find a set of Damascene cufflinks. They looked vintage and were probably Spanish. Certainly not very expensive—maybe a few hundred dollars. The black background and gold metalwork portrayed a tiny image of a horse and rider.

  He looked at the cufflinks. Then back at the note. Then he picked up the cufflinks and peered at them more closely. Both the horse and rider looked strong, graceful, almost noble. He couldn’t imagine why they would have reminded Emily of him.

  But he liked them, and he liked that Emily had thought to give them to him. So he took off the cufflinks he was wearing and replaced them with the Damascene ones. Then he put on his tie and jacket, and he was ready to go outside to get married.

  * * *

  As he waited in the garden near the arbor with the minister and manager of the inn, Paul decided he’d made a pretty good choice with the setting. The sun was lowering in the sky, and the sunlight in Provence at this time of day was always warm and glowing—like no other place he’d ever been.

  The fragrance of lavender and herbs from the hills around them, with a back note of sea air, mingled with the stronger fragrance of the roses and lilacs in the garden. The string quartet was playing Vivaldi’s “Winter,” the tune wafting with the breeze over to where he stood.

  It wasn’t a traditional wedding. There were no guests. No attendants. But the setting had a romantic, daydream quality that he hoped Emily would appreciate.

  For less than five hours of real wedding planning, he thought he’d done a pretty decent job.

  He was ready to go, and he guessed Emily was too, but both the wedding planner and the inn’s manager insisted that they wait until exactly seven-thirty in the evening to get started, which was still ten minutes away.

  So he waited in silence for his bride to walk down the aisle.

  He wondered how he would feel if this wedding was real—if this lush setting, warm sunset, and haunting music was initiating a life with a woman he loved. A woman who really loved him.

  Women had always wanted him for money, for prestige, for sex, for a certain lifestyle, but they didn’t actually fall in love with him.

  At least, no one ever had yet.

  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…”

  Seventeen. And dying.

  Emily sighed deeply, but she managed to smile at him. “I get it, and it’s totally fine. You’ve done more than enough to help me out. It really was just a passing thought.”

  He peered at her, trying to figure out whether that was true. While he was glad she was backing away from the idea, he didn’t want to act like an ass when she'd already had a really hard time.

  “I’ll be eighteen in a few weeks,” she added. She’d been studying him too, and she seemed to have discovered something in his expression, although he’d thought his face was suitably impa
ssive. “If I’m still doing all right, health-wise, maybe we can put the possibility back on the table then. Not for sure—but just to consider.”

  He nodded. “Sounds good.”

  There would still be virtually no chance he’d be comfortable with the idea of sex with her, even after she’d turned eighteen, but he was committing to nothing.

  At least it was a way out of this conversation.

  “I’m going to bed. But you know, Paul,” Emily murmured, standing up and brushing out the wrinkles in her dress. She was smiling now—tired but smiling—and she seemed to have gotten over whatever awkwardness she’d felt. “For a bad boy, you really are kind of old-fashioned.”

  Her tone was very soft, not critical or derisive at all, but he stiffened at the words anyway.

  “It wasn’t an insult,” she said, laughing at his expression. “Seriously. I’ve discovered that I like you a lot more than I thought. Goodnight.”

  “Goodnight,” he told her, watching as she walked back into the cottage.

  He didn’t get up immediately as he tried to mentally feel his way back to calm water.

  "Oh, by the way," she said, coming back out onto the terrace without warning. "I forgot to ask."

  Paul looked over at her questioningly.

  "I try to never act obnoxiously girly, but do you think…do you think I looked pretty today?"

  She'd cried her makeup off, the waves in her hair had gotten a little frizzy, and her dress was wrinkled. But Paul wasn't crazy enough to tell her anything except, "You looked absolutely beautiful today."

  It happened to be the truth, and it prompted a glowing smile on Emily's face. "Okay. Goodnight."

  "Goodnight," he said as she left the terrace again.

  He’d felt like a fool ten times over today, and that was something he’d always gone to great lengths to avoid.

  He’d made a mess of most of his life—constantly letting down the few people who had ever really loved him. Trying to turn it around, to do something worthwhile with his life, made him feel like a frustrated Prometheus, pushing a massive stone eternally uphill, only to have it roll back down when he got it to the top.

  But he wasn’t—he wouldn’t be—the total loser his mother had feared he might be.