Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 94687 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94687 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
At least a third of the pictures are of our bridal party, and I can’t fault Joel for that. Even Mama made a comment about their fine looks—including a debonair bridesman Ronan with a champagne tie to match the dresses. Preston wouldn’t stop flirting with Aunt May, who was left flustered but not bothered in the least.
“Oh my God! I forgot about this.” I laugh at one particular photo captured before the ceremony, down at the waterfront where Ronan and I used to sit watching the ducks and the sunset. I’m on one side of Ronan, while Margo is on the other, her body pressed against his, her hand conveniently hiding behind him. His face is etched in shock, while Margo wears a lascivious grin. “Do you know what she did to him there?”
“I have a pretty good idea.” But Henry’s voice is laced with humor. “I told her to be on her best behavior, for Violet’s sake.”
Joel was low-key obsessed with Violet, taking dozens of candid shots of her—alone, with me, with Henry. “She looks so grown up.”
Henry’s heavy sigh fills my ear. “I wish I’d met her when she was little.”
I break to kiss his cheek. “But you know her now. That’s what matters.” And all because she had the guts to take a train and barge into our lives.
Henry rests his hand over mine, stalling my scroll as we work through the ceremony shots. There’s a picture of Daddy walking me down to where Henry and Reverend Enderbey stood, my vibrant red hair styled in old-world glamor waves, my dress trailing gracefully behind me. Daddy and I wear matching tears. The camera doesn’t show how tightly he’s gripping me, it doesn’t repeat the words he had just finished saying—that I’ll always be his little Abigail, no matter what. And yet it somehow portrayed the emotion of that moment all the same. A lump swells in my throat as those same feelings rush back to me now.
“Okay, I’ll admit it. Joel is good,” Henry murmurs, nuzzling his nose against my ear. “I didn’t think it was possible for him to capture how stunning you were that day, but he did. We’re getting this one blown up for the wall.”
I smile. I’ve never felt more beautiful than I did on our wedding day, emphasized the moment I reached Henry and he ignored all protocol, diving in to plant a searing kiss on my lips that left Reverend Enderbey clearing his throat and me flustered as we exchanged vows.
Every little detail that I lamented over these last months—from the silky invitations to the unconventional fig-and-blackberry-topped cheesecake to the dramatic black, white, and champagne table décor—will live forever in this folder. Joel missed nothing about the day, not even a shot of my diamond-laden wedding band next to Henry’s carved matte gold ring.
We reach the end of the Wedding Day folder. “Can we ask him to print all of these?” Because I’ll be revisiting them often.
“We can do whatever we want.”
There are other folders too. One marked Pre-Wedding. “What are in these other—oh my God.” I burst out laughing as Mama’s terrified face fills the screen. A Kodiak lingers in the river maybe fifty yards away, more interested in the fish. “I knew they’d seen plenty of bears, but I didn’t know Joel brought his camera with him.” In another shot, Mama stands beside Celeste, looking halfway through crossing herself, preparing to die.
But back at the docks in Wolf Cove, they’re all smiles for the camera, the yellow floatplane behind them.
The rest of the pictures in that folder are of our guests, enjoying all that Wolf Cove has to offer. Henry would not tell me what it cost, but he didn’t balk at making sure every one of our friends and family had a memorable time.
“Your mother really liked Joel. Kept calling him ‘that charming Frenchman.’”
“Yeah. Let’s hope she doesn’t look up his artwork.” She’ll never trust another person we introduce to her again. As it was, she nicknamed Margo “the Temptress” and kept a guarded eye on her whenever she was in the same room. Margo found it amusing.
Henry snorts.
“What’s in this folder?” I click the one marked After-Party.
My laptop screen fills with pictures from inside the staff lodge, where it seems our bridal party relocated to after the formal reception shut down. I assume Ronan and Connor led that charge. By the bottles of hard liquor on nearly every table surface and the drunken embraces, it seems grace and virtue didn’t follow.
My stomach drops as Connor’s bare chest fills the screen, his beefy arm slung over Violet’s shoulders. She’s winking at the camera, holding up a shot glass filled with red liquid.
Henry’s body stiffens.
Oh no.
“What the fuck are they doing?” he explodes.
“I’m sure it’s not what it looks like.” What else am I supposed to say? Damn it, Connor.