I knelt in front of her and adjusted the small circle of daisies resting on her curls.
“Perfect. Now remember what we practiced. What do you call the tall man in the gray suit?”
She rolled her eyes in the dramatic way only a five-year-old can manage.
“Evan. Just Evan.”
“That’s right, baby.”
“Why can’t I call him Daddy? Lily at school calls her new one Daddy.”
I smoothed her hair and worked to keep my voice gentle.
“Because you already had a Daddy. And no one gets to take his name. Not ever.”
She nodded as if that made perfect sense, then returned to humming.
Evan entered without knocking, exactly the way a groom was not supposed to, and kissed my forehead before I could scold him.
“You’re not supposed to see me yet.”
“I couldn’t wait,” he said, smiling that careful smile. “And how’s my favorite flower girl?”
Sophie did not lift her head.
“I’m okay, Evan.”
He laughed and gave my shoulder a squeeze, but his eyes shifted toward a leather folder he had placed on the dresser. His fingers tapped it twice before he slid it back under his arm.
“What’s in the folder?”
“Nothing, love. Boring paperwork from the venue.”
Peter knocked against the doorframe behind him, glowing with big-brother pride in his charcoal tuxedo.
“There’s my baby sister. You ready to do this thing?”
“I’m ready.”
He came in and hugged me tightly, and over his shoulder, I watched Evan watching him. A quick look passed between them, almost playful, like a private joke I had not been invited into.
“What?”
“Nothing,” Peter said, pulling back. “I was just telling Evan this morning. Eight months ago, you couldn’t get out of bed. Look at you now.”
“You picked a good one for me, big brother.”
“I always do.”
He kissed my cheek and held out his arm, and I took it.
