It Had to Be You by Georgia Clark (iphone ebook reader .TXT) 📕

he had no control over, the one most people genuinely believed him to be. That she’d start to want what that Clay could give her, further erasing the real Clay from the world. He pressed his lips together, willing the strength to trust her. Love her, like she deserved to be loved. But it wasn’t there.

And then, there was the other concern. The darker one.

“Say we do it,” Clay said flatly. “Would she get hate mail? Twitter trolls? Death threats?”

These were, of course, rhetorical questions.

Dave was silent for a beat. “You have a lot of very supportive fans.”

“But it’s different for women. Different for people of color. Different if you’re not used to it.”

And there was no way optimistic, kindhearted Zia Ruiz would be able to handle the tsunami of hatred, of overt racism and sexism, that would try to drown her if they were to go public. It would threaten her faith in humanity. Clay left the house every morning knowing that tens of thousands of people hated him, for no good reason at all. He didn’t like it, but it went with the territory. But he couldn’t do that to Zia.

“Of course it’s a concern,” Dave said carefully. “But are you sure worrying about that is not just an excuse?”

He wasn’t sure. But he needed more time to figure it all out. He wilted forward in defeat. “We’re not ready.”

Dave sighed. “We’ll work something else out. And, Clay?”

“What?”

His manager’s words were tactful. But they were also a warning. “Zia’s a pretty cool chick. She won’t live in the shadows forever.”

46

Liv suggested Vanessa keep her father in the loop about all the wedding preparations: the menu, the ceremony, the guest list, the dress. “The more he knows about the day, the more connected he’ll feel to it,” Liv said. “Hopefully.”

But despite Vanessa’s efforts, her line of communication was decidedly one-way. Liv’s polite voice mails and emails also went unanswered. As the day of the wedding dawned, hazy and humid, Liv felt equally ashamed and angry that her logistical powers weren’t enough to guarantee Vanessa’s key bridal wish. Weddings were a space outside of normal life. A space where dreams could come true and magic could happen. Liv was determined to create that magic for Vanessa. Intent on proving to herself and her client that she hadn’t lost her touch.

The ceremony was set for 6:00 p.m., with doors open to guests a half hour prior. Liv and Savannah arrived at midday to oversee setup: unpacking personal decor, running through the timeline with the vendors, double-checking the floor plans. It wasn’t exactly a modern venue. As Liv put it to Savannah, it was a clubhouse where rich white men could fanboy about late-stage capitalism over a bottle of American bourbon.

The venue’s mounted animal heads—including one of an elephant—appeared as earnest odes to colonialism. Better days, the deceased beasts seemed to signify. Better days.

At exactly 5:30 p.m., General Fitzpatrick was one of the first to arrive, in his service dress uniform. Instead of mingling with Lenny and Vanessa’s friends, he loitered in a far corner, a drink in hand.

This would’ve been Eliot’s job. A bit of dick swinging and sexist jokes about bridesmaids and C’mon, man, do the right thing. Now the task fell to Liv. She lowered her center of gravity, channeling the cocky confidence of her dearly departed, and swaggered over. “Ahoy there.”

His eyes narrowed, not able to place her.

“Liv Goldenhorn. Vanessa’s wedding planner.”

He returned her handshake reluctantly. The air around him was prickly.

“The club looks fantastic,” Liv enthused. “So much history.” From every wall, portraits of dead white men judged her best effort at manly. “I heard Teddy Roosevelt bagged the elephant in the Great Hall.”

The general snorted. “Old wives’ tale.” His voice was thick and guttural. Possibly not his first cocktail. “Do you hunt, Mrs. Goldenhorn?”

Not the time to point out it was Ms. “I was born on the Upper East Side. Less bayonets, more bagels.”

This failed to raise a smile. “Didn’t think so. Not really a woman’s game.”

Which was probably crocheting and childbirth. Time to get “man-to-man.”

“Let’s cut to the chase. It’s your child’s wedding day. It would really mean so much to everyone here, especially Vanessa, if you’d honor her desire to walk her down the aisle.”

The general bristled. “Do you have children?”

Liv braced herself. “I have a son.”

“A little boy.”

She knew where this was going, but felt no choice but to answer: “Yes.”

“And how would you feel if one day that little boy—who you played catch with and taught how to chop firewood—came home and said, I’m.… I’m…” His voice died on the vine. He couldn’t even conjure the words.

“A girl?” Liv finished. Her blood turned hot. “Look, honestly? I’m sure that would be disorientating and confusing. But I love my child, General Fitzpatrick. Not his gender. And whoever he turns out to be, even if it’s wildly different from what I wanted or what I’m comfortable with, I’ll be on board.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

The general took a long slug of his drink. “You have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about.”

Liv snapped, “Well, that makes two of us.”

“Excuse me?”

Maybe it was the talk about Ben, or the fact the ceremony was in twenty short minutes, or maybe it was just the fact that this man was choosing to hurt his daughter on her wedding day over his outdated notion of tradition.

“With all due respect, you’re being an asshole. So for Chrissake, just do the damn aisle walk.”

The general’s voice was pure steel. “With all due respect, go to hell.”

The guests assembled for the ceremony. Lenny stood at the altar, smiling nervously and rocking on his heels. Around the corner, Vanessa waited for Liv’s cue.

The general was MIA.

Liv raked the seated crowd. She spotted Sam across the room, whom she’d asked to do a sweep of the kitchen. Sometimes guests could be found eating their feelings. But Sam just shrugged and shook his head.

“What’d he say when you talked to him?”