Chapter 11
White chairs faced an arbor covered in roses.
A string quartet played beneath a row of old trees.
I remembered those trees.
Julian had kissed me beneath them the first summer we dated.
Life had a cruel sense of symmetry.
Rebecca leaned close.
“We stop at the edge. You do not enter the aisle.”
I nodded.
Then Lily spotted balloons near the terrace and shouted.
“Pink!”
Several guests turned.
Then more.
Conversation began fading in sections.
I took Noah's hand.
Ethan held Rebecca's.
Grace followed beside me.
Lily insisted on walking alone.
Four small children entered the edge of the reception lawn behind a woman half the guests remembered as Julian Whitmore's former wife.
Whispers spread faster than I could have imagined.
Someone said my name.
Then someone else.
Near the terrace, Margaret Whitmore turned.
She was holding champagne.
Her eyes moved from me to Noah.
Then Ethan.
Then Grace.
Then Lily.
The glass slipped from her hand.
It struck the stone and shattered.
The sound silenced the nearest guests.
Charles turned toward her.
Then followed her gaze.
His face became unreadable.
Julian stood near the arbor speaking with two groomsmen.
He looked toward the commotion.
For a moment, he simply stared.
Then he started walking toward me.
Slowly.
As though his body had forgotten how.
“Evelyn?”
I had imagined this moment many times.
In none of those imaginings did my heart ache so badly.
He looked older.
Not old.
Just changed.
There were faint lines beside his eyes.
His hair was shorter.
He wore the expression of a man staring at a ghost that had brought four smaller ghosts with her.
“Hello, Julian.”
He stopped six feet away.
His gaze returned to the children.
Noah stared openly at him.
Grace hid behind my leg.
Ethan squeezed his airplane.
Lily waved.
Julian's mouth opened.
Nothing came out.
Charles arrived first.
“What is this?”
His voice was low.
Controlled.
Exactly as it had been two years earlier.
I reached into my handbag.
“A wedding gift.”
I removed the thick white envelope.
Julian barely noticed it.
He couldn't stop looking at the children.
“Who are they?”
I swallowed.
“Noah.”
I touched Noah's shoulder.
“Ethan.”
Then Grace.
“Grace.”
And Lily.
“Lily.”
Julian's eyes closed briefly at the last name.
Lily had been the name of his grandmother.
I'd chosen it because I loved the name long before I met him.
But I knew what he was thinking.