Chapter Thirty-Eight

In a flurry of arrivals, Kit’s mother slipped away and headed to the ladies’ room with Aunt Dee Dee, and Kit seized the chance to talk with Shane. She’d been so angry earlier, but now after her talk with her mother, the anger had morphed into sadness. She studied his face and realized she loved him despite what she’d seen in the restaurant when Dana had come back from Milan. Maybe she had been too quick to judge what she’d seen. Maybe it was too close to the scene she’d lived through with Brian and Co-Co. Her mind was a jumble; her heart quickened in her chest. Maybe it was the champagne on an empty stomach.

His eyes were on her as she closed the distance between them. “Shane, look—”

“Please just listen, Kit.”

“But—”

“Please.”

She closed her mouth and waited.

“I know how it had to have looked, but when I came home to explain, you had locked me out. That’s how things get more messed up.”

The way he said home made her heart fall. She missed him being up in the loft, missed seeing him in the morning over a cup of coffee and discussing the day ahead.

“Tell me you believe me.”

“Kit!”

She turned to Co-Co’s signature high-pitched tone. She clutched her oversized bouquet and trotted over to them. She grabbed Kit’s arm. “Come on. We’re taking a picture with our mothers.” She turned her attention to Shane. “Hi, you. Don’t you look delicious.”

“Congratulations, Co-Co.”

“Come on, Kit. They’re waiting.”

She left Shane there in the lobby while she allowed the bride to whisk her up the grand staircase where their mothers waited with a photographer. The man positioned the four of them on the top step and then repositioned them until he finally decided he had the right angle.

While he fussed, Aunt Dee Dee leaned in around her daughter to speak to Kit. “Thank you one more time for what you’ve done with my mother’s wedding gown.”

Her mother gave Kit’s back a squeeze as she stood close.

“All right, ladies, stand tall and smile.”

Kit felt her lips curve into a smile, but her eyes cast beyond the photographer in search of Shane. Maybe he was a man of honor, as he vowed, as her heart now dared to hope. Her heart fluttered in a series of clicks to the sound of the photographer’s rapid finger on his camera taking shot after shot. Hope bloomed fuller with each second and dared to pound a message of the truth she believed to her soul—there was nothing “maybe” about Shane Dugan.