"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 fuck 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 fucking 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 fucking 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 hips 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 fucked 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 fucking 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.

My dad is looking down at his phone. "Can we leave now?"

Logan helps my mom into her coat and then helps me into mine. He leans down close to my ear as he spins me away from him. "You look good enough to eat."

My heart leaps. So do you, I sign.

His brows arch. Don't talk like that. I'm wearing some silk boxers your mom picked out. He adjusts his pants.

I grin at him. We get in the elevator, and he signs to me from the back. Are you all right? You look upset?

I'm fine. Just told Trip he has to find a place to live.

He rolls his eyes. He already did.

He's working on it.

I'll believe it when I see it.

Henry rushes forward and opens the door for us when we get downstairs. "You look lovely, Miss Madison," he says to me as Trip gets into the limo. I squeeze Henry's hand. He holds the door of the limo, and I slide inside. Logan gets in next to me, and I don't feel at peace until his shoulder touches mine.

You sure you're okay? he asks. He tucks a lock of hair behind my ear, his hands lingering at my temple. I arch into him like a cat and pull his hand down so I can kiss the center of his palm.

I lean my head on his shoulder and nod. I am okay, as long as he's beside me.

Logan I don't know what happened while I was getting dressed but something did. I can tell it by the way Emily holds herself, as though she's suddenly made of ice and she's bracing for the break of a hammer against her fragile surface. I'm on one side of Emily, and Trip is on the other. His thigh touches hers, and she moves over closer to me, inching away from him. He spreads his legs wider. I lean forward to look at him around her and look down at his leg. He shifts subtly as his chest bellows with a heavy sigh. But he's no longer pressed along her side.

Her parents sit across from us, and her dad is buried in his Blackberry. Her mom watches my subtle exchange with Trip, and she smiles at me. "Have your fall classes started yet, Logan?" she asks.

I take Emily's hand and thread her fingers through mine, our palms facing each other's. "Yes, ma'am. I started a week ago."

"Shouldn't you be at home getting your schoolwork done?" her dad asks suddenly, looking up from his phone.

"No, sir. I already did all my work."

"What's your major?" Mrs. Madison asks.

"I'm double majoring in Art and Advertising," I say.

Emily tugs on my arm as she sits forward in her seat. "You should see some of his art. It's really amazing."

"Do you do paintings, Logan?" her mom asks.

"I use different mediums," I say. "It depends on what fits the situation."

She points to the tattoo on Emily's wrist. "Like that one?"

"Oh, he didn't do this," Emily says. "His oldest brother Paul did this." She strokes her hand down the inside of her forearm. "It was a surprise for Logan."

"How did you two meet?" she asks. She tilts her head to the side. Something tells me that she already knows the story, but her husband has set aside his Blackberry and is listening now.