I hope to God that every one of her children turns out exactly like her. She’s f**king perfect.

“I won’t stop trying.” I need for him to know my intentions. “I intend to make myself worthy of your daughter. I want to be sure you’re aware of my thoughts on the matter, sir.”

He looks down at his watch. “Go and get dressed. I won’t let you make us late.”

I get to my feet. I can’t bite it back any longer. “Sir, with all due respect, you’re a f**king idiot if you think Emily’s stupid or incapable of learning. She’s brilliant. She’ll have brilliant children and do brilliant things. And she’ll do them married to me.” His eyes cloud with anger. I have pushed too far, and I don’t care. “I would be honored to have her as my wife, exactly as she is.”

“That’s because you have no drive,” he says with a laugh. I’m glad I can’t hear it, because I imagine it like nails on a chalkboard. “That’s what you learn when you come from nothing. You have no expectations.”

I turn and walk toward Emily’s room, my heart beating so hard I’m afraid it’s going to thump out of my chest. I knock on the door, and Emily opens it. My breath catches. She’s wearing an ivory dress that hugs all of her curves, some clunky jewelry that is probably real and costs a f**king fortune, and she now comes up to my chin in her five-inch heels.

Her eyes narrow. “Are you all right?” she asks. She looks over my shoulder toward where her father is sitting. Trip comes out of his room, and he’s dressed for the party, wearing a nice suit and black shoes. He has on a tie. Mr. Madison actually looks happy to see him. Me, on the other hand… I may as well be gum stuck to the bottom of his shoe.

“I’m fine. Your father is afraid we’ll be late.” I step into the room and let her mother sweep me into a dressing frenzy. I try to put Mr. Madison’s comments out of my mind because I’m nauseated every time I think about Emily growing up with that man as her example. This is what she knew. It’s no f**king wonder she left.

I decide then and there that I will change her life. And I will do it simply by loving her exactly as she is. It’s not as though I could keep from doing that anyway.

I close the door behind me, leaving her with her father and her ex-boyfriend. Her mom glares at me from across the room, tapping her toe on the oak floor. “What did he do?” she asks.

“Who?” I ask. I know whom she’s referring to, but my problem is with Mr. Madison, not Mrs. Madison.

“You know who.” Her foot starts moving faster. “He makes me so angry sometimes.” She picks up a shirt and holds it against my chest. “Not that one,” she says absently. She replaces it with another. And another. “She is such a smart girl, and he doesn’t give her any credit at all.” Her eyes fill with tears, and my heart lurches. This woman knows who and what her daughter is. She knows.

“Why do you let him treat her like that?” I ask.

“Oh, he’s really good to her when she’s in his presence. So she has no idea how much he worries about her or how much planning he does to be sure she has what she needs.”

What the fuck? That’s what this woman thinks he does? He belittles their daughter to anyone who will listen, and he just told me Emily is stupid, directly to my face. “Rose-colored glasses,” I mutter.

“Beg your pardon?” she says, looking up from the stack of clothing. She draws her lower lip between her teeth and worries it. It reminds me so much of Emily.

“Nothing,” I say. “Is this the one?” I take the shirt from her when she nods. “How much do I owe you for all of this?” I ask. I won’t be beholden to that man.

She looks like I told her I killed her cat. “Owe me?”

“For the clothes?”

“Oh, these are all Madison Avenue,” she says. “They’re part of a new line of clothing. Emily is wearing them, too. There will be a lot of models ambling about today. You’re really doing us a huge favor by going and wearing the clothes. They’re made for a younger, hipper audience than anything we’ve ever done before. We’re not sure how it’ll take off.” She smiles at me and runs a hand across my cheek. She points to the bed. “Trousers, socks, shoes, and two layers of shirts.” She grins. “If that’s okay with you, of course.”

“It’s fine,” I say.

“Thank you,” she says, looking into my eyes.

“I haven’t done anything yet.” I smile at her because her eyes are filling with tears and I don’t want her to cry.

“You have done more than you will ever know.” She sniffs and leaves the room.

I fall back on the bed, rubbing my face with my palms. What the f**k am I going to do about Emily’s father? I’m going into war with no weapons in my arsenal.

Emily

Something is wrong. I don’t know what happened while I was getting dressed but something is definitely wrong. Logan looks like he’s biting the inside of his cheek, and my dad looks smug and arrogant. Of course, that’s how my dad usually looks, but now it’s amplified. Logan closes the bedroom door behind me, and my mom is in there with him.

“Dad,” I say. “Is Logan all right?”

My dad shrugs, looking down at his Blackberry. He doesn’t look up. “How should I know?”

“Weren’t you just talking to him?” I jerk my thumb toward the closed bedroom door. “He looked irritated when he went in my room.”

Dad smirks. “I thought that was his general disposition.”

“Logan’s a nice guy, Dad,” I rush to say. I don’t know why I care but I do. I care about what he thinks. I want to please him. I just think it’s impossible.

Trip motions for me to follow him into the kitchen. I don’t want to spend any time with Trip. But he gets up, and I feel compelled to follow him.

When I get to the kitchen, he’s leaning against the counter with his arms crossed in front of his chest. “Just how much do you know about Logan?” he asks.

“I know everything I need to know.” I don’t need to explain our relationship to Trip, of all people.

“He and I had a talk while you were getting ready.” His eyes narrow. “Do you want to know what he had to say to me?”

“Not really.” I hold up a hand when he starts to talk. “Why are you doing this, Trip?”

He reaches for my elbow and jerk out of his reach. “Em,” he says.

“Don’t touch me again, Trip,” I warn.

Trip’s voice gets soft. “We were good together, Em, once upon a time.”

“No, we weren’t. We were terrible.”

His face falls. “Not until the end. We were fine until that night.”

I remember that night like it was yesterday, and it still hurts just as much now as it did then.

“Do I get a pass for being drunk when I said it? Can’t you forgive me?” He twists a strand of my hair around his finger and tugs it playfully. I brush my hair back over my shoulder.

We had our rehearsal dinner and all of our friends were there:

“Em, do you know what you want?” he asks, dropping an arm around my shoulders. He looks down at me, and I can see by his dilated pupils that he’s hit something a little stronger than champagne. I hate it when he’s high, but I have to tolerate him. I’m going to marry him tomorrow.

I look up at the waitress, who has her pen waiting to write down my order. “What do you recommend?” I ask. It’s the safest way to get away with not reading the menu.

“Just pick something, baby,” Trip urges. He flips the menu open and I try to read it, but the letters blur in front of my face. I get tongue-tied because she’s waiting and he’s waiting and they’re all waiting.

I look to Trip’s sister. “What did you get?”

“I haven’t ordered yet,” she says. She peruses the menu for another moment and calls out her order.

I close my menu. “I’ll have the same.”

Trip flips my menu back open. “Order whatever you want, sweetheart. Come on, you can do it.”

I shove his arm from around my shoulders. “I just gave her my order, Trip. Why don’t you give her yours?” I smile at him and pat the side of his face. His eyes are red-rimmed and not completely focused.

“Just read the f**king menu, Em. It’s not rocket science.” He laughs and snorts, and his buddies laugh, too. They don’t know about my dyslexia, that reading is hard for me. But he knows.

His sister says, “She already ordered, Trip. Leave her alone.”

He points to the menu. “But she should order what she wants. Not what everyone else wants.” He looks down at me. “Don’t be stupid, Em. Read the f**king menu.”

Tears sting the backs of my lashes. “Let me up, Trip,” I say, motioning for him to move.

“Why?”

“Because I need to get up.” My voice cracks, and I hate that it does. “Move!” I shove him, and he gets up, stumbling back.

“Em, you’re being ridiculous,” he says. But it’s finally clear to him that he’s said enough.

I start to tick items off on my fingers. “First, I was stupid. Now I’m ridiculous. Do you want to keep going?” I put my hands on my h*ps and glare at him.

“Em,” he says. He shakes his head. “Whatever you ordered is fine.” He points to the chair. “I was just trying to help.”

I’m shaking, and I can’t stop. This isn’t the first time this has happened. But it’s the first time he’s done it in front of other people. I turn to walk out.

“Where are you going?” he calls to my retreating back.

“I’m leaving.”

He sits down. I can still hear him, though. “She’ll be back in a minute. Sorry, folks. Must be some pre-wedding jitters.”

Pre-wedding jitters my ass.

“Penny for your thoughts,” he says playfully.

“I was thinking about that night in the restaurant, the night before the wedding,” I admit.

“The night I f**ked it all up.” He reaches for me and I sidestep.

“Don’t touch me,” I say.

“Fine,” he bites out. “Just talk to me. We never did talk about that night. We never talked about why you left. Is this about you not being able to learn?” He tries to look like he cares, but I still don’t think he cares about me at all.

“I can learn.” I point a finger at my chest. “I am smart.”

“I know you’re smart. I’m sorry I ever said otherwise. I know how smart you are.”

I turn away from him. “You called me stupid. You did it in front of your friends.”

“I was drunk!” he says. He looks over his shoulder and calms himself. “Either way, don’t I get a pass for choosing the wrong word?”

“Do I get a pass for being dyslexic?” I ask.

“I put up with your dyslexia for a long time, Em,” he says.

“You put up with my dyslexia?” I can’t believe he just said that.

“You can’t even read a f**king menu, Em. It can get a little frustrating at times.” He smiles at me. But it’s one of those smiles that don’t reach his eyes.

“How do you think it feels being me, Trip? I’m the one who can’t read.”

“You won’t even try!” He points to his chest. “I was there that night too. You wouldn’t even look at the menu. You could have at least tried. That’s all I wanted you to do.”

“Logan never makes me look at the menu,” I shoot back. It’s terrible to use Logan as an example, but he is the example for all men. He’s what they all should be. He’s kind and considerate and smart as hell and talented. And he loves me.

“Logan probably can’t read one either.”

I gasp. “How dare you?”

“He’s deaf, Emily,” he grinds out. “How much lower can you go?” He shakes his head. “Or is that what you were going for? Someone more on your level?”

What is that supposed to mean? “Logan is everything that you will never, ever be.”

“Well, I hope I’m never deaf, all tattooed up, and poor.” He blows a breath out through his nose.

“I’m done with this conversation.”

He glares at me. “Apparently.”

“Find a place to live, Trip. And do it soon.”

He nods. “I’ll try.”

“Try harder.”

He nods at me again.

I leave Trip standing in the kitchen. As I’m walking back out to the living room, my bedroom door opens, and Logan steps out. I have to catch my breath at the sight of him. He’s wearing black trousers, a black turtleneck, and he has on a royal-blue button-down shirt with long sleeves that’s open at the throat. He’s not wearing a tie, and he doesn’t need one. Goodness, he looks like he just stepped off the cover of a magazine. He has a jacket thrown over his shoulder, hooked by his index finger.

He lifts the edge of his pants for me. “Are these socks too much?” he asks. He has on socks with multi-colored stripes. He grins.

I shake my head. “None of it’s too much.” I sweep my eyes from his head to his feet and back again. God, he’s handsome. “You look amazing.”

“I guess I clean up okay, huh?” he asks. He looks unsure of himself.

“Logan, you look fabulous,” my mom says. She claps her hands together like she’s at the theater.