Listed: Volume I by Noelle Adams Read Free Book Online Page B

shouldn’t have
it.
    He
walked through the grounds until he’d reached the private cottage where he and
Emily were staying. It was really more of a two-bedroom luxury suite than a
cottage, but a cottage was what the inn called it.
    When
he walked into his bedroom, he noticed a small black box on his table, tied
with a silver bow. It hadn't been there before. Frowning, he picked it up and
opened it.
    Inside
was a folded piece of paper, on which was handwritten, “ It’s fine if you
don’t like them—you really don’t have to wear them. But they reminded me of
you. I wanted to give you something, since it’s tradition and you’re doing so
much for me. Emily .”
    Intrigued
by this unexpected gesture, Paul put down the note and looked inside the box to
find a set of Damascene cufflinks. They looked vintage and were probably
Spanish. Certainly not very expensive—maybe a few hundred dollars. The black
background and gold metalwork portrayed a tiny image of a horse and rider.
    He
looked at the cufflinks. Then back at the note. Then he picked up the cufflinks
and peered at them more closely. Both the horse and rider looked strong,
graceful, almost noble. He couldn’t imagine why they would have reminded Emily
of him.
    But
he liked them, and he liked that Emily had thought to give them to him. So he
took off the cufflinks he was wearing and replaced them with the Damascene
ones.  Then he put on his tie and jacket, and he was ready to go outside to get
married.
    *
* *
    As he waited in the
garden near the arbor with the minister and manager of the inn, Paul decided
he’d made a pretty good choice with the setting. The sun was lowering in the
sky, and the sunlight in Provence at this time of day was always warm and
glowing—like no other place he’d ever been.
    The
fragrance of lavender and herbs from the hills around them, with a back note of
sea air, mingled with the stronger fragrance of the roses and lilacs in the
garden. The string quartet was playing Vivaldi’s “Winter,” the tune wafting
with the breeze over to where he stood.
    It
wasn’t a traditional wedding. There were no guests. No attendants. But the
setting had a romantic, daydream quality that he hoped Emily would appreciate.
    For
less than five hours of real wedding planning, he thought he’d done a pretty
decent job.
    He
was ready to go, and he guessed Emily was too, but both the wedding planner and
the inn’s manager insisted that they wait until exactly seven-thirty in the
evening to get started, which was still ten minutes away.
    So
he waited in silence for his bride to walk down the aisle.
    He
wondered how he would feel if this wedding was real—if this lush setting, warm
sunset, and haunting music was initiating a life with a woman he loved. A woman
who really loved him.
    Women
had always wanted him for money, for prestige, for sex, for a certain
lifestyle, but they didn’t actually fall in love with him.
    At
least, no one ever had yet.
    On
this thought, the world seemed to shift.
    Without
warning, the string music transitioned into something lofty and stirring, and
the wedding planner came into the garden, circling around the back and out of
the way. The sunlight itself had transformed without Paul's realizing it. The
sun must have finally lowered into the position they were waiting for because
just then the entire garden became gilded in warm light.
    The
setting sunlight streamed in at an angle over the wall and bathed the trees,
the fountains, the cobblestone paths, the flowers—all of it in rich gold. Paul
stared around him in astonishment.
    The
garden no longer looked like the real world—with hard edges and deep shadows.
It glowed like a dream.
    Out
of this surreal haze emerged Emily, walking down the path toward him,
surrounded not by empty pews or vacant chairs but by trees and flowers and
foliage.
    As
she approached him now, her fair skin, the white dress, the pink tulips in her
bouquet, the orchid in her hair, the emerald pendant