Page 97 of The Paradise Problem

Go ahead and look, it says. Stare.

Speechless, I approach, cupping her shoulders and sending my hands down her long, soft arms. I bend, kissing her bare shoulder. When I close my eyes, I feel momentarily dizzy. It’s too soon to feel what I’m feeling, but I let it wash through me anyway, because it solidifies my resolve to get this precious woman out of here as soon as humanly possible.

* * *

I KNOW HOW MUCH money my family has. In abstract terms, at least, I know that it is in the billions. Alex got a Lamborghini Gallardo for his eighteenth birthday; Charlie got a Friesian horse from the tooth fairy. Hell, she got two whole houses as wedding gifts. And without really batting an eye, I agreed to pay Anna a hundred thousand dollars to tell a lie.

I know the absurdity; I can see it, even if sometimes only in theory.

But the scale of this wedding is unbelievable even to me. Along the path to the black sand cove, every tree drips with garlands of pearls, crystals, and tiny twinkling lights. Delicate glass chandeliers tinkle from the branches of mangrove trees that sway along to the ocean’s gentle rhythm. Swags of bamboo and layers of lush greenery drape every chair; columns are topped with towering vases of white king protea, cream roses, and orchids, more strands of sparkling crystal spilling from their lips.

And there is an aisle, not just a demarcation with petals or branches: a stretch of pure white marble has been meticulously set in the black sand. It’s lined in flickering candles and ends with three wide stairs, which lead to a raised circular stage that will function as the altar overlooking the waves crashing against the shores of the cove. Guests won’t be sitting in folding chairs during the ceremony; there are rows of neatly aligned vintage armchairs with fluted wood frames and tufted linen upholstery. A selection of antique gilded mirrors are propped in the sand, reflecting the entire, glittering scene back to us.

Not wanting to mingle, we’d waited as long as we could before arriving, and now, from inside the pavilion, Jake furiously waves me over. I squeeze Anna’s hand, checking her face before I have to leave her to join the groomsmen.

“You good?” I ask.

She lifts her chin and nods but I see my own disbelief echoed in her eyes. It’s so much. Weddings are supposed to be celebratory and grandiose, but this is bordering on grotesque.

I wait until she’s comfortably seated in the front row beside Blaire before walking away.

The minute she’s out of my sight, I enter a bit of a trance, wanting to get this all over with. Yes, it’s beautiful; in fact, odds are good this is one of the most beautiful weddings ever. But after this morning’s drama, it’s hard to completely enjoy it as I walk down the aisle with one of the Leighs on my arm. Of course, there are moments of perfection that follow. Like when the live orchestra dips into motion, and Linc, Nix, and GW walk in tiny suits down the aisle. Or the delighted coos of the gathered guests when GW veers off the path, determined to sit on Anna’s lap. Or Reagan, following with a basket of petals, looking beautiful and so grown-up. (She’d been nervous about walking alone, so Anna drew her a portrait, of Reagan glowing and confident with her chin in the air. She had stared at Anna with hero worship in her eyes. I see the sketch at the bottom of the basket when she reaches the altar.)

And of course, the appearance of Charlie in her wedding dress does something to me, something choking and instinctive, the most bittersweet moment of my life so far. At her side, Dad looks smug and dickish, but my baby sister is a vision, more beautiful than I’ve ever seen her. As Charlie nears, though, my eyes turn to Anna in the front row next to Blaire. The two women clutch hands as they watch Charlie walk down the aisle toward Kellan. The pink of Anna’s hair has faded from so much time in the ocean, leaving it the same blush as the blossoms strewn down the aisle.

I’m between my brothers at the altar, with my sister taking her careful steps up to the stage, and I can’t stop staring at Anna. I feel the longing solidify into realization: I want our marriage to be real. Marrying her for student housing was the most impulsive thing I’ve ever done, and it turns out it might have been the best thing that’s ever happened to me.

The sunset washes her skin in gold and our eyes meet. She smiles, laughing through her tears, and just like that, I know. I’m going to ask her to move in with me. I’ll move her father close, too, if that’s what it takes. She can paint all day, every day, for the rest of our lives. I’m so swept up with this version of forever that I’m startled when the audience breaks into applause and Kellan steps forward, lifting Charlie’s windblown veil and kissing her with sweet reverence.

The standard wedding mayhem follows: photos with the blazing sky as a backdrop, flutes of champagne passing from hand to hand, greeting everyone as if we haven’t all been together on an island for nine days. The party moves to a gossamer tent with the moon and stars visible overhead; the orchestra plays gentle renditions of pop songs, letting the crash of the waves take center stage. Everything is lit by candlelight and the chandeliers overhead. A six-tier cake is carried in, smooth with white fondant, a brush of gold leaf and an asymmetric swag of sugared orchids. Guests mingle and sample caramelized figs with bacon and chili, roasted oysters, and crème fraîche tarts dotted with caviar. They drink champagne by the gallon and talk about the splendor of the event, but I’m not interested in any of it. I have Anna Green in my arms.

I’m sure I look like a lovesick idiot, but I truly do not care. How did I not notice this perfect woman years ago when she was just across the hall?

“That wedding was beautiful,” she says now, looking up at me. Half of her hair is pulled back, loose and wavy from the salt air. Her skin is warm in the humidity, her cheeks pink after two glasses of champagne. “And absurd.”

“It was absolutely both.”

“You know, you were supposed to be paying attention to the bride.”

“Then you shouldn’t have worn that dress.”

She laughs and threads her fingers into the hair at the nape of my neck. “I think this dress is the most inexpensive thing Vivi packed, and yet it’s my favorite.”

“I can see why. You look like a sunset.”

Emotion swells in my chest, eager and demanding. I should ask her to move in with me now. It’s sudden—it’s crazy—but it’s right.

“Anna.”

She turns her eyes up to me. “Mmm?”

My heart speeds up, not because I’m nervous, but because I’m ready. “There’s something I need to—”

“Mr. Weston? Excuse me, Liam?”

We both turn at the sound of a voice to my left. Ellis.

Anna and I step apart a little. “Oh. Ellis—this is Anna. My wife. Anna, this is Ellis Sikora from Forbes.”

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