The Princess's Knight Complex

I was carrying three bouquets and a tray of champagne when my best friend told me she had found me a man. "Put those down, Nora," Tessa said, holding up the skirt of her wedding dress as I tried to navigate around a knot of guests. "I want you to meet someone." "I have a tray in my hands." "Then give it to someone." I looked at the champagne. A waiter in a black vest stood six feet away, pretending not to hear us. I handed him the tray and kept the bouquets. Tessa's wedding had been beautiful, expensive, and planned within an inch of its life. It was being held in the ballroom of the Vale family's hotel in Bellweather, a fictional-feeling coastal city even though I'd lived there for nine years. Every window showed the gray Atlantic, and every table had white roses flown in from somewhere that didn't have a coastline. I had helped Tessa choose those flowers. I had also fixed her veil, tracked down a missing seating chart, and found her younger cousin after he disappeared into the hotel's kitchen looking for cake. Now she was glowing beneath a chandelier, her ring catching the light every time she moved her hand. "You haven't even had a glass of champagne," she said. "I've been working." "You're a guest." "Tell the caterer that." Tessa smiled at me, but her eyes were serious. She had a way of looking at me that made refusal feel like a childish performance. We had been friends since our first year at Bellweather College, long before she married Adrian Vale and acquired a family whose name appeared on hotels, banks, and buildings with fountains in front. She leaned closer. "I want you to meet Graham." "The groom's brother?" "Uncle." I blinked. "The groom's uncle?" "His youngest uncle. He's only six years older than Adrian." "That is a very specific family fact." "Because I thought you would need it." She set a hand on my arm and guided me toward the ballroom doors. "He's handsome, kind, and single. The last two times I tried to introduce you to someone, you spent the whole evening asking about their career plans." "That was one time." "It was three times. And Graham has a career plan. He just doesn't talk about it." "I don't need a man with a plan." "That's good, because his is mostly not having one." We reached the edge of the ballroom, where a man in a dark suit stood beside an open door. He looked out toward the rain, one hand wrapped around an untouched glass. He was tall, with dark hair that had fallen out of place and a face that looked more accustomed to wind than chandeliers. Tessa touched his sleeve. "Graham." He turned. His eyes landed on the flowers in my arms, then on me. "Nora Hale," Tessa said. "My best friend. Graham Vale, my husband's uncle." "Youngest uncle," he said. His voice was low and warm. "I understand that's important." "Apparently." I shifted the bouquets. "I'm the person who kept Tessa's wedding from collapsing." "Then I'm grateful. I was told the whole thing was effortless." "It was effortless for the people who didn't do anything." His mouth turned up. "I'm starting to suspect I should have asked you to arrange my last birthday." "You should have asked someone who likes birthdays." Tessa laughed, then looked between us with an expression I recognized. It was the face she made when she wanted a plan to work out. "I'll leave you two alone," she said. "No, you won't," I told her. "I will for exactly two minutes." She disappeared into the ballroom before I could stop her. I glanced at Graham. "Does she do this often?" "Introduce strangers as if she's assigning them a table?" "Yes." "I've been introduced to a bookkeeper, a landscape architect, and a woman who owned a very successful dog-walking business." "Did any of them work out?" "I didn't ask." I laughed before I could stop myself. He seemed pleased, though he didn't push his luck. A quiet fell between us. Beyond the glass doors, rain blurred the lights along the harbor. Inside, a string quartet played something recognizable only because it was slow. "So," he said. "What do you do when you aren't saving weddings?" "I run an arts center." "Which one?" "Harbor House. It's a community studio in the old ferry warehouse. We run after-school classes, weekend workshops, and a printmaking program for adults who have never been encouraged to make anything." "I know it." "You do?" "I've driven past it." "That isn't the same thing." "No," he said. "It isn't." I adjusted my grip on the bouquets. "And what do you do, Graham Vale?" "I work with the Vale Foundation." "So you give money to arts centers." "Sometimes." "We don't need a donation." "I didn't offer one." "Good." He lifted his glass, still untouched. "You seem ready to argue with me." "I'm not. I just don't want anyone to hear 'arts center' and assume I need saving." "Fair enough." There was no wounded pride in his answer. That surprised me more than any generous offer could have. The ballroom doors opened behind us. A gust of music and voices rolled into the hall. Someone called Graham's name, and he glanced back. "Would you like to get coffee sometime?" he asked. "Not as a donation committee. As two people who have both survived Tessa's matchmaking." I looked at him, at the rain shining on his shoulders, and thought of Tessa's smile. She had meant well. She almost always did. But I'd learned to be wary of people who offered me help before finding out what I wanted. "Maybe," I said. Graham nodded as if maybe were a complete answer. Then the hotel lights flickered, and every guest in the ballroom groaned. I looked toward the ceiling. "Please tell me that isn't part of the wedding." "Not unless Tessa has become very ambitious." I set down the remaining flowers and reached for my phone.