judge if he’s kidding or not. “Your mother would kill us if we did that.” She cringes when she hears herself. “Sorry, bad choice of words.”
Tom shrugs again. “So what? My mom isn’t getting married. We are. We should be able to marry however we want. Besides, I don’t think she’s going to care as much about a huge wedding after this afternoon. We can cross the Seafarer off the list, that’s for sure.”
Riley tries to fight back her grin because it’s not funny. A woman has died today, and as a result, she has felt like crap all afternoon. But, yes, she agrees that the Seafarer, and preferably all the other fancy places where Marilyn might feel comfortable but Riley wouldn’t, should drop off the list. “Don’t tease me like this, because if you’re kidding, I might have to scream. You realize that you’re pretty much describing my dream wedding? Beautiful wildflower bouquets with a few friends and family. No fuss.”
He nods. “Mine, too.”
“But my dad!” Riley slaps a hand over her mouth. “My dad has to be there. He’d be so upset if he weren’t there to walk me down the aisle, even if it’s at a courthouse.”
“Not a problem,” Tom says. “With all the money we’d save on the wedding, we ought to be able to afford a plane ticket out from Michigan. How does sometime next week sound?”
He speed-walks into the study and comes back with his laptop before opening up a link to a travel website. Her hands are shaking. “You’re really serious about this.”
“Never been more serious in my life. The longer we sat there at the hotel, the more I realized that our wedding was turning into the wedding my mom always wanted but never got. And then, when that lady jumped, it seemed like the universe was shouting at us to get the hell out of there. I’m fairly certain that’s not where we’re supposed to get married.” He pauses, and Riley waits for whatever’s coming next. “And I’ve been sitting in the study, trying to work today, but all I can think about is what we saw and how sad it makes me, but also how I’m kind of glad we were there because it makes me realize that I don’t care about all this wedding stuff. I never did. All I want to do is marry you as soon as possible and enjoy every minute we have together.”
Riley is speechless for a moment. He gets it, she thinks. He really gets it. And here she’d been thinking she’d lost her fiancé to his mother’s niggling requests. For a second she considers how it might feel not to have the big wedding they’ve started to plan—will she be disappointed? But no, not even a flicker of regret rises in her at the thought. Instead, it’s more of a buoyant sensation, as if she might be able to actually breathe again.
Her lips graze Tom’s before she grins and says, “Yeah, I think I could get behind that.”
TWENTY-NINE
Earlier that day
Jason has got to get out of here. There’s no time to waste. What was he thinking? He’s stuffing his clothes into his black duffel bag, but his hands are trembling. He goes into the bathroom to grab his dopp kit, his toothbrush, the tiny tube of Crest that he and Gwen were sharing. Quickly he wipes the counter down and tosses the tissue in the toilet and flushes. His eyes scour the bathroom for anything else that’s his but there’s nothing.
Back in the main room, he races around to organize a few magazines on the table. He’s about to toss the empty cups and leftover trays from room service last night (he’d ordered a late-night snack after he got back from dropping Claire off at her room) but then thinks better of it. That’s what maid service is for. The bed’s still unmade, and he ruffles through the sheets to make sure there’s no stray underwear or a T-shirt left behind. Then he checks under the bed. Only some random Kleenexes. Gwen’s stuff is still all over the place—discarded clothes that she’d rejected for one reason or another for the cruise last night—but there’s not much he can do about that now.
His heart careens around in his chest, like a train that might torpedo off the tracks any minute. He looks around again for any last items, locates his wallet on the bedside table and slides it into his back pocket. He’s