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Chapter Twenty-Seven
The day of the wedding was warm and clear, gorgeous weather for an outdoor event, but Ryder was mostly concerned with trying to figure out the damn bow tie Noah was making him wear.
He stood in the dressing room at the Delacorte Theater, regarding himself in the lightbulb-framed mirror.
Best man. How had he gone from loner black sheep to best man?
Except, of course, he knew how. Vicky.
“The trick is to get a woman to tie it for you.”
He looked up to see his father’s reflection, approaching him from behind.
Things had warmed considerably between him and his mother, and even Noah and he had navigated a sort of cautious truce. But his dad . . . Well, his dad was his dad.
“Yes, well. I don’t have one of those at the moment.”
“Should I send your mother in?”
“I’ll manage.”
Warren took him by the shoulders and turned him roughly. For an instant, Ryder braced for some kind of confrontation, but instead, the older man merely set about trying to fix the dangling fabric around his neck.
“I ought to be able to do something with it. I’ve been dealing with them myself long enough.”
Ryder eyed his father as he worked on the knot. He looked worn around the edges. Not so formidable as he’d once seemed.
It had probably been more than twenty years since Ryder had stood so close to him. Before the money had turned him into The Warren Prince. Before resentment had turned him into The Ryder Prince.
His dad looked up suddenly, finished with the tie, and caught Ryder watching him. He held his gaze for a moment. It wasn’t the usual harsh Warren Prince stare. It was something more tender. Something that reminded Ryder of a whisper of a memory. Of being a little boy.
“There,” the older man said, looking away. And Ryder thought maybe he imagined the whole thing.
But when they both turned to inspect his handiwork in the mirror, Warren caught his eye again. He slapped his hand roughly on Ryder’s shoulder. “I’m glad you’re here, son.”
And as weird and screwed up and bittersweet as the journey had been to get him there, Ryder realized that he was too.
* * *
Vicky sat at her desk, willing her mind to focus on the spreadsheet in front of her and not the ceremony taking place a couple dozen blocks uptown.
It was Saturday evening, and the place was deserted. She ought to go home, but she needed the distraction.
She had chosen not to go, she reminded herself. Friends or not, Noah really didn’t need his ex there on his big day. And she didn’t need to see Ryder. Not now. It was too soon.
Besides, the empty office was the perfect opportunity to work on these funding statistics. She clicked on a column, resorting the numbers, and tried to focus on the endless numbers.
Her eyes caught the clock at the top of the screen. Just after seven. The ceremony was set for eight o’clock, just as the sun set, providing what was sure to be a gorgeous backdrop for the outdoor event.
The guests would be arriving soon. The wedding party was probably already dressed. Noah had assured her he’d convinced Ryder not to wear motorcycle boots as he had apparently threatened.
She smiled to herself.
He’d look good even if he did wear them.
She caught herself and squeezed her eyes shut. There was no picturing Ryder looking good in his tux, dammit. This was not productive.
She’d think about Sabrina instead. She would look so beautiful in her gown, Vicky was sure of it. Even though she had removed herself from bridesmaid duties, her new friend had sent her a few selfies from her fitting. As if her opinion mattered to someone getting a custom Vera Wang design for God’s sake.
