What the f**k? That’s what this woman thinks he does? He belittles their daughter to anyone who will listen, and he just told me Emily is stupid, directly to my face. “Rose-colored glasses,” I mutter.

“Beg your pardon?” she says, looking up from the stack of clothing. She draws her lower lip between her teeth and worries it. It reminds me so much of Emily.

“Nothing,” I say. “Is this the one?” I take the shirt from her when she nods. “How much do I owe you for all of this?” I ask. I won’t be beholden to that man.

She looks like I told her I killed her cat. “Owe me?”

“For the clothes?”

“Oh, these are all Madison Avenue,” she says. “They’re part of a new line of clothing. Emily is wearing them, too. There will be a lot of models ambling about today. You’re really doing us a huge favor by going and wearing the clothes. They’re made for a younger, hipper audience than anything we’ve ever done before. We’re not sure how it’ll take off.” She smiles at me and runs a hand across my cheek. She points to the bed. “Trousers, socks, shoes, and two layers of shirts.” She grins. “If that’s okay with you, of course.”

“It’s fine,” I say.

“Thank you,” she says, looking into my eyes.

“I haven’t done anything yet.” I smile at her because her eyes are filling with tears and I don’t want her to cry.

“You have done more than you will ever know.” She sniffs and leaves the room.

I fall back on the bed, rubbing my face with my palms. What the f**k am I going to do about Emily’s father? I’m going into war with no weapons in my arsenal.

Emily

Something is wrong. I don’t know what happened while I was getting dressed but something is definitely wrong. Logan looks like he’s biting the inside of his cheek, and my dad looks smug and arrogant. Of course, that’s how my dad usually looks, but now it’s amplified. Logan closes the bedroom door behind me, and my mom is in there with him.

“Dad,” I say. “Is Logan all right?”

My dad shrugs, looking down at his Blackberry. He doesn’t look up. “How should I know?”

“Weren’t you just talking to him?” I jerk my thumb toward the closed bedroom door. “He looked irritated when he went in my room.”

Dad smirks. “I thought that was his general disposition.”

“Logan’s a nice guy, Dad,” I rush to say. I don’t know why I care but I do. I care about what he thinks. I want to please him. I just think it’s impossible.

Trip motions for me to follow him into the kitchen. I don’t want to spend any time with Trip. But he gets up, and I feel compelled to follow him.

When I get to the kitchen, he’s leaning against the counter with his arms crossed in front of his chest. “Just how much do you know about Logan?” he asks.

“I know everything I need to know.” I don’t need to explain our relationship to Trip, of all people.

“He and I had a talk while you were getting ready.” His eyes narrow. “Do you want to know what he had to say to me?”

“Not really.” I hold up a hand when he starts to talk. “Why are you doing this, Trip?”

He reaches for my elbow and jerk out of his reach. “Em,” he says.

“Don’t touch me again, Trip,” I warn.

Trip’s voice gets soft. “We were good together, Em, once upon a time.”

“No, we weren’t. We were terrible.”

His face falls. “Not until the end. We were fine until that night.”

I remember that night like it was yesterday, and it still hurts just as much now as it did then.

“Do I get a pass for being drunk when I said it? Can’t you forgive me?” He twists a strand of my hair around his finger and tugs it playfully. I brush my hair back over my shoulder.

We had our rehearsal dinner and all of our friends were there:

“Em, do you know what you want?” he asks, dropping an arm around my shoulders. He looks down at me, and I can see by his dilated pupils that he’s hit something a little stronger than champagne. I hate it when he’s high, but I have to tolerate him. I’m going to marry him tomorrow.

I look up at the waitress, who has her pen waiting to write down my order. “What do you recommend?” I ask. It’s the safest way to get away with not reading the menu.

“Just pick something, baby,” Trip urges. He flips the menu open and I try to read it, but the letters blur in front of my face. I get tongue-tied because she’s waiting and he’s waiting and they’re all waiting.

I look to Trip’s sister. “What did you get?”

“I haven’t ordered yet,” she says. She peruses the menu for another moment and calls out her order.

I close my menu. “I’ll have the same.”

Trip flips my menu back open. “Order whatever you want, sweetheart. Come on, you can do it.”

I shove his arm from around my shoulders. “I just gave her my order, Trip. Why don’t you give her yours?” I smile at him and pat the side of his face. His eyes are red-rimmed and not completely focused.

“Just read the f**king menu, Em. It’s not rocket science.” He laughs and snorts, and his buddies laugh, too. They don’t know about my dyslexia, that reading is hard for me. But he knows.

His sister says, “She already ordered, Trip. Leave her alone.”