The Roses Wilted at Dusk Chapter 03

The wedding planning meeting was set for Wednesday afternoon.

Tamsin Calder arrived ten minutes early, holding a printed document with several creases at the corners.

“Ms. Ellison, these are some ideas I organized. Can you see whether they can be worked into the plan?”

I took it and flipped through.

An outdoor ceremony. Natural light at dusk.

Lemon tarts for the dessert table. No fondant.

Debussy’s Clair de Lune as the processional. Solo piano.

Handwritten vows, groom first.

I recognized every line.

The wording had changed, the order had been adjusted, but every preference came entirely from my original vision.

Clair de Lune was the music looping in the bookstore on my first date with Dashiell.

Lemon tarts came from the time I said wedding cake was too sweet.

Three years ago, I had sent Dashiell a text that started with:

[If We Get Married.]

I revised it three times before sending.

He replied with a received meme.

Then never mentioned it again.

He had only tucked them into an unsigned corner somewhere, waiting until he needed a wedding to pull them out.

Then he told someone else it was his idea of the perfect wedding.

“Ms. Ellison? Can these be done?”

Tamsin’s voice pulled me back.

I picked up a pen and made notes.

“The outdoor ceremony is fine. I’ll coordinate dessert table vendors. Today I’ll contact the piano studio to confirm music licensing.”

Tamsin nodded.

“Dashiell said you’re the best planner in the city.”

I smiled faintly.

She did not know the pages in her hand were not Dashiell’s taste.

They were my old dream.

Tamsin suggested making a couple’s memory video to play before the ceremony.

“I’ve organized some of the materials. There are more photos on Dashiell’s phone. He said he’ll send them to you later.”

The USB drive went into the computer.

There were more than twenty photos, mostly of the two of them from the past six months.

When I reached the seventeenth, my hand stopped.

A photo of sunrise by the ocean.

No people. Only sand and horizon. The light had the gray-blue tone unique to five in the morning.

I recognized the angle.

Three years ago over Memorial Day weekend, Dashiell and I went to the Atlantic to watch the sunrise. He hugged me from behind and said we would come back every year.

There was never a second time.

I had taken this photo.

Now it was mixed in with Tamsin Calder’s materials, evidence of one love mistakenly stuffed into another.

I dragged the photo into the trash and emptied it.

Tamsin did not notice. She was discussing invitation fonts with Marlowe.

After the meeting, Dashiell stopped me in the hallway.

“Audra Ellison, can we talk alone for a minute?”

Holding my folder, I stood by the fire door and did not go in.

“Go ahead, Mr. Lockwood.”

He took a deep breath.

“The Lockwood company is having cash-flow problems,” he said. “The Calder family agreed to bail us out, but their condition is a marriage of convenience.”

I looked at him.

“So you’re using our fourth anniversary to save your company?”

His face went pale for an instant.

He did not deny it.

His silence was uglier than a confession.

“Audra Ellison, I didn’t want to hurt you.” His voice was very low. “I just… had no choice.”

I nodded.

“Mr. Lockwood, I understand.”

“The Lockwood company has a cash flow problem. The Calder family has conditions. Ms. Calder has a wedding.”

I paused.

“Only I have no place.”

His expression froze.

“That’s not true.”

“After the wedding is done and the situation stabilizes, I’ll give you an explanation.”

I looked at him.

“Mr. Lockwood, would you like me to write that explanation into the schedule?”

His throat moved.

“Audra Ellison, can you…”

“The meeting notes will be emailed to you tonight. Please reply with any revisions within three business days.”

I turned to leave.

Behind me, Tamsin’s voice sounded.

“Dashiell, there you are. I wanted to talk with Ms. Ellison about the vows.”

She came over and naturally took his arm.

“Ms. Ellison, I want Dashiell to handwrite his vows, but he says he isn’t good with words.”

“Could you polish them for him?”

She paused, her smile faint.

“He said you understand the process best, and you understand the style he wants.”

“Of course,” I said evenly. “Have Mr. Lockwood send me the draft, and I’ll adjust it.”

Back in my office, I closed the door.

Inside the old wedding scrapbook was a card.

My vows.

The first line:

[I want to marry you in the fourth year.]

I stared at that sentence for a long time.

Then I flipped the card over. The back was blank.

I picked up a pen and wrote the first line for Dashiell Lockwood.

[From the day I met you, I knew I wanted to give you one wedding in this lifetime.]

My hand was steady when the pen touched the paper.