Page 133 of The Love Losers

“I don’t care! Be better at gossip next time. So…what’s his deal? Where has he been for the last month and a half?”

“I don’t know,” she says with a shrug. “I guess that’s what we’re about to find out. We’re taking the train to go see him tomorrow. He’s in Virginia.”

Emma rises from the settee. “As much as I care about this story about someone I don’t know, we have a job to do, ladies. Get up, Rosie. We’ll let you know if your dress is tucked into your panties.”

I already know it’s not, but I get up and can’t resist a little twirl. This dress…it makes me feel like a real princes. Princess Rosie. It has a gold sequined bodice and tulle skirts, and even Emma had to admit it seemed exactly like something I might choose. I can’t wait for Anthony to see me wearing it—and I also can’t wait to see him in his tux. Something tells me his collared shirt will be even finer than usual today, and I’m going to like looking at it almost as much as I’ll enjoy taking it off him.

“Gorgeous,” Joy says, capturing my face in her hands and kissing my cheek. “The movie star is going to enjoy peeling that off you.”

“I hope the snowplow driver will enjoy peeling that offyou.” I give her a playful look.

“We’ll see,” she says, but I can tell she’s pleased. Claire, Lainey, and I helped her put curlers in her hair this morning, something she said she did before all of her dates with Mortimer.

The first strains of the bridal march filter into the room, and I feel my whole soul shake with excitement, my skin buzzing with it. I’m going to marry Anthony. He’s going to be my husband. It’s ridiculous, but the thought that comes to mind isat last.

“It’s time,” Emma says, giving me a smile. It’s not quite joyful, but I appreciate the gesture. I’ve already told her my story—all of it. I ending by saying that sometimes you have to go through shit to find an emerald. She responded that she doesn’t really want a shit-covered emerald, but I think that’s because she’s still in the shit-slog part of her journey.

I nod, and Lainey leaves the room. Then Emma. Then Claire. And then Joy hooks her arm through mine, and we leave the room together.

Did Declan want to walk me down the aisle?

Of course.

But Seamus did, too.

I could hardly choose between them, and it would have felt dumb to go with both of them. So I had decided to take Anthony’s suggestion and make the walk with Joy. Because Joy has been exactly that for me: pure joy. My friend and so much more.

We walk down the short hallway leading to the great room, passing between some elaborate flower displays that Mrs. Rosings must have gone to great trouble and expense to acquire, considering it’s the dead of winter.

The song is humming through me, and as we enter the room, I see a sea of faces waiting for me. Watching me. Crowds have never bothered me, though. I feel buoyed by them, carried on their shoulders. And while there is an abundance of people I don’t recognize, my focus is on the man waiting at the end of the aisle—my handsome fiancé. His beard is freshly trimmed and he’s dressed in a tuxedo that would make James Bond salivate from envy.

Better yet, he’s looking at me with awe, as if he can barely believe I exist.

“Movie star,” Joy whispers to me, mischief in her eyes as we move toward him.

When we reach the front of the aisle, she kisses my hand and then Anthony takes it, his eyes on mine—and it’s as if an electric current runs through me. “I love you,” he mouths.

And I mouth it back.

Mrs. Rosings, standing in front of us, clears her throat. She’s wearing a blush pink tunic dress threaded through with silver,and there’s something particularly regal about her posture. She smiles at us, then announces, “We’re here today to witness the marriage of my son Anthony Rosings Smith to this delightful young woman, Rosie James. Now, if you have any objections to their marriage, you can keep them to yourself, because the rest of us aren’t interested.”

Anthony’s mouth twitches, and I feel laughter trapped inside of my ribcage, knocking and asking to get out. There’s a tittering from the crowd.

“But my son tells me it’s standard to allow the bride and groom to speak, should they choose to do so, so take it away, Anthony.”

His lively gray eyes hold my gaze, his hand gripping mine. He always touches the ring when he holds my hand as if to assure himself it’s still there. “Rosie, when I first saw you, I thought you were an angel. You assured me that you were actually a devil. I think we were both right. Because I needed some excitement in my life, and I definitely needed your goodness. I neededyou.”

Dammit, I feel my eyes watering, and he’s just made himself a hard act to follow.

Squeezing his hands, my eyes on him, I say, “You make every day feel like a bucket list. It’s like we’re always on an adventure. But you’re also much more grounded than I am, which is probably for the best for both of us. I’m the luckiest woman alive to be your swap-in bride.”

There’s some tittering from the audience, and I’m sure we’ll be the talk of the town for a few months, or until someone finds something more scandalous and fun to talk about.

“Well, there you go,” Mrs. Rosings says. “Let’s not fuss about. Anthony, do you take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold, until death do you part?”

“You’d know a thing or two about that,” someone calls out—a man.

Mrs. Rosings’s gaze swivels to the audience. “Who said that?”

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