I blink a few times and fish a tissue out of my pocket, just in case. My gaze catches on Hanna, standing with her bouquet of flowers in front of her, ducking her head every so often to dab at her eyes.

She meets my gaze and I quirk a brow, a silent, “Are you okay?”

She tips her chin down and gives me a quick wink, signaling that she is indeed okay, before she refocuses on King and Queenie. And I do the same.

Watching my daughter and her son join their lives together.

CHAPTER TWO

A Little Too Real

Hanna

I’M ONLY HALF-tuned into the conversation happening to my right. Soon, I’ll have to get up and give a speech. I feel like a bit of a fraud. Not because I don’t believe I belong at the head table as one of Queenie’s bridesmaids. She and I have grown close. At first when she asked me to be part of the wedding party, I thought she was being nice by trying to include me, to give me a role in the wedding, when the one I truly wanted to be able to claim wasn’t mine to take. But I quickly realized that wasn’t the case. That the request had been genuine.

I accepted regardless of motive, but in the months leading up to the wedding, I found myself taking on a new role in her life. Not just as a friend, but as a sort of maternal figure. Queenie came to me for wedding advice, and my unique relationship with Ryan gave me a special kind of insight.

Ryan and I were raised as siblings, but the truth is, he’s not my brother. An accidental teen pregnancy threw my life into upheaval. When my parents found out, they were upset at first, but they weren’t about to leave me to fend for myself. I wouldn’t consider terminating the pregnancy, so that meant I could either raise him on my own—the father was in college and not interested in being involved in Ryan’s life—give him up for adoption, or the third option my parents presented. They would adopt him and raise him as their own. I’d been young and scared, and allowing my parents to adopt Ryan had seemed like the best choice.

But today has tested my emotional limits in ways I didn’t expect. And maybe I should have. It’s an odd position to be in—sitting up here as one of the bridesmaids. Being part of the wedding party for Queenie and Ryan, who most people here believe is my much younger brother, when in reality, he’s my son.

That’s been the most difficult part of today—the realization that I’ll always experience the landmarks in Ryan’s life from the vantage point of his sister, even though in my heart I’m more than that. I’ll forever be in this strange middle ground between sibling and parent. I thought I’d come to terms with that long ago, and for the most part I have, but today hasn’t been easy. When I was younger, I didn’t have the same perspective I do now. I couldn’t see, in the same way, all the things I would have to take a back seat on.

I sip my wine, doing my best to keep a smile on my face and stay engaged in the conversation. I haven’t been able to stomach much for dinner, which is a pity since what little I’ve managed to eat has been delicious.

My mother approaches the head table. She pauses to talk to Queenie and Ryan before she makes her way down the table to me. “Sweetheart, can I talk to you for a moment?”

“Of course, Mom.” I set my napkin on the table and push my chair back, meeting my mother on the other side of the table.

She threads her arm through mine and leads me away from all the guests. When we’re a safe distance away, she puts her hands on my arms and gives me a warm smile. “You were fabulous today. I’m so glad you and Queenie get along so well. She seems like a good fit for Ryan, doesn’t she?” It sounds like she’s asking for confirmation more than anything.

“They’re perfect for each other,” I assure her. And they are. Queenie is full of life, effervescent, and willing to take risks and think outside the box, which is exactly what Ryan needs in a partner.

“Good, good. That’s good. You look so lovely in this dress. Such a perfect fit for the bridal party.”

“Thanks, Mom. Is there something you need or...” I let it hang.

“Oh. Right. Yes.” She adjusts my hair and the strap of my dress. “I wanted to tell you that you’re not obligated to give a speech tonight if you don’t feel comfortable. I know it’s awkward for you, so if you don’t think it’s something you can handle, don’t push yourself, dear. I know today is emotional for you.”

That’s mom speak for don’t embarrass yourself. She continues to talk around my relationship with Ryan, and the fact he’s not actually her son. It’s been a real challenge. And one I really don’t need shoved in my face today. “Thanks, Mom. I’ll keep that under advisement.”

The master of ceremonies for the evening steps up to the mic and gives it a tap. The feedback is extreme and loud.

“We should probably sit back down since the speeches are starting,” I tell her.

“Oh yes, of course.” She kisses me on the cheek and heads back to her seat and I do the same.

If I wasn’t trying my damnedest to hold it together before, I sure am now.

Thankfully, the emcee is Ryan’s best man, Bishop Winslow, whom I’m sure is going to provide some much-needed comic relief. He’s an interesting choice, in part because he’s clearly not comfortable speaking in front of people, despite half of them being his teammates. And also because he has the bedside manner of an agitated polar bear.

“Why does he have to touch it every single time?” Stevie pushes her chair back and hikes her dress up so she doesn’t trip on the hem as she rushes to the podium. Her heels are under the table, so her feet are bare.

When she reaches Bishop, she bats his hands away.

He makes a face. “Why are you slapping me, bae? What am I doing wrong?”

She huffs, “Just let me help.”

He steps away from the podium and clasps his hands behind his back, letting her adjust the mic for him while giving the crowd a shrug. Everyone chuckles, especially when he rocks back on his heels and starts whistling the Jeopardy theme song.

Stevie shakes her head at him and turns her attention to the waiting guests. “Sorry about that. Shippy doesn’t usually do public speaking.”

His mouth drops open and he holds his hands up. “Whoa, whoa. What the he—H-E-double hockey sticks?” He manages to censor his language.

She shrugs. “What? I’m not wrong. You never do.”

“You called me Shippy in front of a hundred people, bae.” He motions to the guests sitting at the tables. “Not cool. You’re gonna pay for that later.”

She rolls her eyes and spins around, but she’s smiling as she walks away. “Whatever.”

“You say whatever now, but later you’ll be saying—”

“Don’t finish that sentence unless you want me to toss your ass into the pool, Winslow!” her brother, Rook, shouts from a few seats down.

Bishop cringes. “Oh shit. I mean, shoot. Right. Sorry, grandparents and anyone with young children. I’m not the best at keeping it PG with my words, which I’m gonna have to get better at since Stevie has already told me she wants a bunch of little Bishops running around. Hopefully, they have her personality and not mine.” He sends a wink Stevie’s way.