“Oh, and it looks like he’s already been neutered, so I think he’s had a family before. You made a great choice. I’m not sure what kind of dog he is—he’s definitely some kind of mixed breed—but he’s not totally wild, and I think he’ll be a good—
“I’m afraid you’ve gravely misunderstood the situation. I don’t want a dog. I merely wanted you to wash the animal, and maybe feed it—”
Sam is laughing openly now, and I pivot to face her.
“You think this is funny? What am I supposed to do with a dog?”
“Um, I don’t know”—she shoots me an incredulous look—“give it a loving home?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“I’m—I’m so sorry,” Yara says, her eyes widening now with panic. “I thought he was your dog—I didn’t think he was— I mean he doesn’t obey anyone else, and he seems really attached to you—”
“Don’t worry, Yara,” Sam says gently. “You did great. Warner just wasn’t expecting you to be so generous, and he’s kind of, um, overwhelmed with gratitude right now. Isn’t that right, Warner?” She turns to me. “Yara was so kind to get . . . Dog here all washed and ready for your wedding day. Wasn’t she?”
“Very kind,” I say, my jaw tensing.
Yara looks nervously in my direction. “Really?”
Briefly, I meet her eyes. “Really.”
She flushes.
“Yara, why don’t you hold on to”—she fights back a smile—“Dog until the end of the ceremony? Maybe make sure he gets something to eat.”
“Oh, sure.” Yara shoots me one last furtive look before tugging gently on the animal’s leash. The dog whines at that, then barks as she coaxes him, one foot at a time, back toward the house.
I turn my eyes skyward. “This is unforgivable.”
“Why?” I can hear practically hear Sam smile. “I bet Juliette would love to have a dog.”
I look at Sam. “Did you know, I once watched a dog vomit—and then proceed to eat its own vomit.”
“Okay, but—”
“And then vomit. Again.”
Sam crosses her arms. “That was one dog.”
“Another dog once defecated right in front of me while I was patrolling a compound.”
“That’s perfectly norm—”
“After which it promptly ate its own feces.”
Sam crosses her arms. “All right. Well. That’s still better than the awful things I’ve seen humans do.”
I’m prevented from responding by a sudden swell of commotion. People are starting to rush around, pushing past us to scatter wildflowers in the grassy aisle. Sonya and Sara, clad in identical green gowns, take positions adjacent to the wedding arch, their black suitcases gone. In their hands they hold matching violins and bows, the sight of which paralyzes me anew. I feel that familiar pain in my chest, something like fear.
It’s beginning.
“You’re right, though,” I say quietly to Sam, wondering, for the hundredth time, what Ella might be doing inside the house. “She’d love to have a dog.”
“Wait— I’m sorry, did you just say I was right about something?”
I release a sharp breath. It sounds almost like a laugh.
“You know,” Sam says thoughtfully. “I think this might be the most pleasant conversation you and I have ever had.”
“Your standards are very low, then.”
“When it comes to you, Warner, my standards have to be low.”
I manage to smile at that, but I’m still distracted. Castle is walking toward the arch now, a small leather-bound notebook in his hand, a sprig of lavender pinned to his lapel. He nods at me as he goes, and I can only stare, feeling suddenly like I can’t breathe.
“I’ve seen her, by the way,” Sam says softly.
I turn to face her.
“Juliette.” Sam smiles. “She looks beautiful.”
I’m struggling to formulate a response to this when I sense the approach of a familiar presence; his hand lands on my arm, and for the first time, I don’t flinch.
“Hey, man,” Kenji says, materializing at my side in a surprisingly sharp suit. “You ready? There’s not much of a wedding party, so we’re not doing a processional, which means J will be walking down the aisle pretty soon. Nazeera just gave us the ten-minute . . .”
Kenji trails off, distracted as if on cue, by Nazeera herself. She saunters toward the wedding arch, tall and steady in a gauzy, blush-colored gown. She grins at Castle, who acknowledges her with a smile of his own; Nazeera takes a position just off to the side of the arch, adjusting her skirts as she settles in place.
It becomes terrifyingly clear to me then exactly where Ella is expected to soon stand. Where I am expected to soon stand.
“But I haven’t finished with the tablecloths,” I say, “or the seating inside—”
“Yeah. I noticed.” Kenji takes a sharp breath, tearing his gaze away from Nazeera to look me in the eye. “Anyway, don’t worry. We took care of it. You seemed really busy standing still for half an hour, staring at nothing. We didn’t want to interrupt.”
“All right, I think I should get going,” Sam says, offering me a real, genuine smile. “Nouria is saving me a seat. Good luck out there.”
I nod at her as she goes, surprised to discover that, despite the long road ahead, there might be hope of a truce between us after all.
“Okay.” Kenji claps his hands together. “First things first: do you need to go to the bathroom or anything before we start? Personally, I think you should go even if you don’t think you have to, because it would be really awkward if you suddenly had t—”
“Stop.”
“Oh—right!” Kenji says, slapping his hand to his forehead. “My bad, bro, I forgot—you never have to use the bathroom, do you?”
“No.”
“No, of course not. Because that would be human, and we both know you’re secretly a robot.”
I sigh, resisting the urge to run my hands through my hair.
“Seriously, though—anything you need to do before you go up there? You’ve got the ring, right?”
“No.” My heart is pounding furiously in my chest now. “And yes.”
“Okay, then.” Kenji nods toward the wedding arch. “Go ahead and get into position under that flower thing. Castle will show you exactly where to stand—”
I turn sharply to face him. “You’re not coming with me?”
Kenji goes stock-still at that, his mouth slightly agape. I realize, a moment too late, exactly what I’ve just suggested— and still I can’t bring myself to retract the question, and I can’t explain why.
Right now, it doesn’t seem to matter.
Right now, I can’t quite feel my legs.
Kenji, to his credit, does not laugh in my face. Instead, his expression relaxes by micrometers, his dark eyes assessing me in that careful way I detest.
“Yeah,” he says finally. “Of course I’m coming with you.”
FOURTEEN
Sunlight glances off my eyes, the glare shifting, flickering through a webbing of bare branches as a gentle breeze moves through the yard, fluttering leaves and skirts and flower petals. The scent of the gardenia affixed to my lapel wafts upward, filling my head with a heady perfume as the sharp collar of my shirt scrapes against my neck, my tie too tight; I clasp my hands in front of me to keep from adjusting it, my palms brushing against the wool of my suit, the fabric soft and lightweight and still somehow abrasive, suffocating me as I stand here in stiff shoes sinking slowly into dead grass, staring out at a sea of people come to bear witness to what might be one of the most publicly vulnerable moments of my life.
I can’t seem to breathe.
I can’t seem to make out their faces, but I can feel them, the individual emotional capsules that make up the members of this audience, the collective frenzy of their thoughts and feelings overwhelming me in a breathtaking crush that crowds my already chaotic thoughts. I feel myself begin to panic—my heart rate increasing rapidly—as I try to digest this noise, to tune out the barrage of other people’s nervousness and excitement. It’s a struggle even to hear myself think, to unearth my own consciousness. I try, desperately, to find an anchor in this madness.