“Hey …” a familiar voice chimes from behind me, and I turn to see Emma looking at me with a tentative smile as she shifts from foot to foot, her eyes downcast, avoiding mine. She looks beautiful in a shimmering navy dress, her dark hair pulled up into a sleek bun, showing off her delicate neck and striking features.

“Hey.” I smile, breathing a sigh of relief, thankful to know at least someone outside of the groomsmen. “I didn’t know you were coming!” I wrap an arm around her, pulling her in for a brief hug.

“Yeah, I—um … It was all real last minute.”

My brows knit together in confusion at her words, and I watch as she obviously avoids my eyes. “What do you mean?” I laugh once under my breath before taking a sip of my champagne.

Finally, she lifts her head, her eyes finding mine, and she releases a sigh so heavy, her shoulders sag as if she has the weight of the world resting upon them.

“Em?” I press. “Is everything okay?”

To be honest, she’s starting to worry me. Emma has never been the kind of girl to take things too seriously. She looks like the whole world is against her, and my stomach is beginning to twist uncomfortably, because I just know something’s wrong, and I have a sick feeling that that something might have to do with me. But, before she can speak and say whatever it is that’s weighing heavily upon her, the throng of wedding guests is suddenly a flurry with excitement, and I glance over Emma’s shoulder to see Anna’s bridesmaids enter, accompanied by the groomsmen. And frustratingly, I can’t help but smile when my gaze lands on Harley as he effortlessly commands the attention of the crowd with a dimpled smile and a wave of his beer bottle in the air.

My heart begins to race as he makes his way toward me, his eyes raking over me from my head to my toes, and I feel a swarm of butterflies flutter wildly in my belly. Maybe I was wrong before. Maybe it’s not as good as done. But then, my heart sinks as those butterflies flutter off and abandon me the very minute he stops next to Emma and snakes his arm around her shoulders, leaning in to place a kiss against her cheek.

“Hi, babe.” He looks down at her, a cocky smirk pulling at his lips. “You look sexy as hell in that dress.”

Emma flashes me an uncertain glance, and I feel sick. Like I might actually vomit all over myself. The skin at the back of my neck prickles and itches, burns. My palms begin to sweat. And I just know tears are imminent. But I have no right to be upset. He’s free to do whatever or, whomever, he chooses. I’m the one who screwed everything up.

Emma looks from Harley to me, and back again, nervously tracing the rim of her champagne flute with her fingertip, avoiding my eyes. “I’m so sorry, Murph, I swear I—” She shakes her head, stopping herself, staring down at her glass.