I should have wondered why he agreed so easily. Instead, I spent the week worrying about my dress. Max had trained me well. I rejected dress after dress because I could hear his old comments about my waist and arms. Eventually, I chose the one I had liked before imagining what he would think.
Edward picked me up on Saturday. There was a large cardboard box in the back of his car.
“What’s that?”
“Donation stuff.”
I didn’t ask again.
The wedding was enormous. Flowers everywhere. White tablecloths. Champagne. More chandeliers than any room needed. Our daughters were thrilled. Then Max saw us. His eyes moved from me to Edward and back again. For one satisfying second, he had nothing to say. Claire stood beside him in a fitted white gown. She looked beautiful. I hated that noticing still hurt.
Max approached. “So this is your plus-one?”
“Max, this is Edward.”
