Page 111 of A Very Merry Enemy
“Hush,” I tell her.
“Aw, are you blushing?” Emma exchanges a look with Hudson. “Is he nervous?”
“I’m not nervous,” I snap.
“Is that why you’ve been checking every carriage forHoliday like your life depends on it?” she mutters close enough for me to hear.
“I’m not?—”
“You absolutely are,” Hudson confirms, walking with Emma. “It’s pathetic. But also, kind of sweet.”
I’m happy they both stopped riding my ass, it gives me a chance to calm my nerves as more guests arrive.
Photographers are everywhere, capturing candid moments and directing people into positions. I recognize faces from all over—Claire’s family and friends from New York, their designer clothes and easy wealth obvious even from a distance. Jake’s friends from high school, more casual but still dressed to impress. Half of Merryville is in their Sunday best, clearly excited to be part of something this extravagant.
But I notice how they look at me, and I overhear their conversations as they pass.
“That’s Lucas Jolly, the one from the articles…”
“Is Holiday Patterson here?”
“I heard they had a secret relationship when they were teenagers…”
“My cousin saw them at city hall and said they couldn’t stop touching each other…”
Great. Just great.
Another carriage arrives, and then another.
The ceremony tent is full of guests taking their seats. The quartet starts playing soft background music, and everything is moving forward according to the schedule.
But there’s still no Holiday.
“You look like you’re about to pass out,” Matteo says.
“I’m fine,” I tell him.
“You’re really not.” But he’s smiling. “It’s cute, though. In a pathetic sort of way.”
Matteo laughs and I flip him off.
Ten minutes pass, and it feels like an hour as we get closer to the ceremony starting.
I force myself to greet more guests with a smile and make small talk, all while acting like I’m not constantly watching the path from the parking area. Like my entire nervous system isn’t on high alert waiting for her to arrive.
The photographer wants photos of the groomsmen before the ceremony starts. We line up, and I try to focus, try to grin naturally, and be present for Jake’s big day. But all I can think about is Holiday and what I’m going to say when I see her, or how I’m supposed to act like we’re just friends when I’ve been counting down the minutes until I could see her again.
“Relax,” Jake mutters as we pose. “You look constipated.”
“Thanks.Veryhelpful,” I say.
“I’m serious. Breathe. She’ll be here.”
I force myself to take a breath and relax my shoulders. Then I stop clenching my jaw.
The photographer finishes with us and we head back toward the ceremony tent entrance. Guests are still arriving, the carriages coming more steadily now. The ceremony starts in twenty minutes.
A white carriage travels down the path with bells jingling and stops. The driver opens the door, and my entire world narrows to that single point when Holiday steps out.
