Page 37 of Daddy's Best Friend

“I love you,” she sobbed, and I held her tightly.

“I love you too. And I told you it would work out.”

27

EPILOGUE

ELLA

Astring quartet played near the bow of the yacht; a few rows of chairs stretched out across the wood deck. Guests milled about still, while others remained seated in their chairs. I watched from the window of the bedroom as Alan, Trevor, and my brother stood waiting on the ceremony to start. Mom fussed with my veil, trying to get every strand of my red hair perfect before I walked out there to become Mrs. Alan Walters.

We had rushed things because Alan insisted he couldn’t wait for me to become his wife. He said he’d waited long enough to find me, and he was too old to waste time when he knew what he wanted. The drawback was that I had to plan the entire wedding in less than two months, and with a protruding stomach, I felt less that chic.

“Stop worrying.” Mom pulled my hand away from my stomach for at least the tenth time today. “You look beautiful.” She wasn’t the one with the bulging stomach; it was difficult to keep my hand away from it.

I turned toward the mirror. The seamstress had done a fantastic job with the lace and pearls on my gown, masking the growing baby bump. I still felt uncomfortable and would have preferred my trim figure to this shapelier version of myself. Alan didn’t seem to mind one bit. I could tell he really loved me for who I was, not for my body shape or my sexual flare.

“I feel fat.” The gown accentuated my hips, flaring out around my feet and puddling to the ground. But the round hump growing on my stomach was not my idea of sexy or beautiful. I wasn’t one of those women who loved pregnant bellies and maternity shoots. I wasn’t vain either; I just had a hope for my wedding day that was different than what it had turned out to be. That was my fault, I supposed.

“You look gorgeous, and Alan is a very lucky man to be marrying such a beautiful woman.” Mom put yet another hair pin into my veil and forced me to turn away from the mirror. The last thing my eyes took in before they were peeled away from my reflection was the way the V of the neckline showed off my more ample cleavage. The only good thing so far about being pregnant—and Alan seemed to love my growing breasts.

“I feel like I’m going to vomit.” I let her adjust my necklace and she smiled at me.

“Morning sickness?”

“Nerves.” It wasn’t morning sickness. Thankfully I hadn’t had it too bad. I had lived with Alan for almost three months. I didn’t even understand myself, why I was full of anxiety about marrying him. It was just a piece of paper to say we were legally bound. We already had the rest. “Why do I feel this way?”

“Oh, Ella. Every bride feels this way on her wedding day. And your emotions are on high alert right now because you’re pregnant. It’s hormones, and there is nothing you can do about it. Now, take a deep breath.” She turned me toward the window. I saw Dad approaching, but beyond that I saw Alan laughing with the boys. “See that man out there?” She pointed at Alan, handsome as ever in his tuxedo with a purple bowtie. His salt and pepper hair were debonair.

I nodded. I saw him. He was everything I ever wanted in my life, for the rest of my life.

“That man is a fantastic catch. He loves you. But I’m telling you right now, if I hadn’t met your father, I’d have claimed that one for myself.”

I turned and saw the grin on Mom’s face. “You and Alan?” I couldn’t believe it. I smiled at her.

“Oh, well, back in the day he was quite the looker. He asked me on a date more than once, but your father had my heart by then.” She shook her head and smiled. “Speaking of…”

Dad opened the door and stepped into the room. He looked dapper in his tuxedo. We had only a handful of guests, a few family friends who would be shuttled back to the shore after the reception was over. The two-week stint in the Caribbean was only for immediate family, and now that Alan and I were to be married that meant my family and his.

“You look radiant, Ella.” Dad kissed Mom as she walked past him out the door. “They’re ready for us now, so I wanted to come get you, but I have some things to say to you before we go out there.” Dad held my hand. I realized that every bride must alsohave this moment with their father, the life speech or whatever he was about to say. For us it was different.

Things had been tense since Alan confessed, though they’d gotten easier once he proposed to me that night. Still, Dad had called daily with a new level of controlling. Instead of lecturing me not to drink and to do my studies, he found a way to micromanage what I ate, if I exercised, how much water I was drinking. When I asked Mom to have him lay off, she told me he was far worse with her when she was pregnant with me.

“What is it?” I squeezed his hand and smiled at him, hoping to reassure him. I was certain his controlling and micromanaging of my life had more to do with him worrying about me than anything else.

“Ella, you are about to change your name. That means you don’t need me watching over your shoulder anymore. You’re marrying a man who is more than capable of caring for you. I’m still going to worry about you though.”

I hugged him, trying not to cry. I didn’t want my mascara to run and make black streaks across the front of my gown. I didn’t remember the last time I felt loved by my father in this way. My entire adult experience had been him berating every choice I made. I never understood his actions as him worrying over me. I had always felt like he didn’t trust me. I knew different now.

“Thank you for loving me when I was so rebellious. I never appreciated how much you cared. I couldn’t see it.”

Dad held me at arm’s length and smiled. He swept a tear off my cheek and then kissed the damp spot where it had been. “I love you, Ella. I’ve only ever wanted the best for you. I’m sorry if thatdesire came out as being controlling to you. It was never my intention. I just wanted to protect you.”

A loud knock on the door was followed by Alex’s grating voice. “Hey, you two want to speed it up? I’m hungry.”

I grinned. “Let’s do this.”

Dad turned and offered me his arm. We had no bridal march or fancy processional. The orchestra continued playing whatever melody it was they were playing as we walked out of the bedroom onto the deck. Alan, Alex, and Trevor stood to the right, and Mom stood to the left, my matron of honor. Dad escorted me across the deck until we stood in front of the officiant. Alan beamed.

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