Chapter 4: Golden Hour

Romy texted me a time and a place on Wednesday.

Halsey House garden, 5:15. Bring comfortable shoes.

I left my desk at four, which in tax season would have been a crime.

The garden sat behind a brick townhouse on one of Savannah's squares, a long green lawn with a fountain and an iron gate.

In three weeks, a hundred and forty people would sit on white chairs in front of that fountain.

Troy and I had picked the date over a plate of oysters, and I had signed the venue contract at my own kitchen table.

Romy was already there, walking the lawn with a small gray device in her hand.

She held it up to the sky, then to the fountain, then to the brick wall.

"What is that?" I said.

"A light meter." She glanced at me. "You wore the right shoes."

"You told me to."

"People never do."

I came and stood beside her.

The sun was low, and the light had turned the color of honey.

It lay across the grass in long stripes.

Romy crouched, put her palm on the lawn, and looked west.

"Your ceremony is at four," she said. "That's too early. By the time you say your vows, the sun is right in everyone's eyes."

"The venue said four."

"The venue wants to turn the garden over for the next party."

"We have a contract."

"You always say that."

I stared at her.

"I've known you four years," Romy said, and almost smiled. "You said it about the Christmas gift exchange, too."

"I never said that about a gift exchange."

"Mama's present. You said, we have a rule, twenty dollars. You were right, for the record."

I had forgotten that.

I had forgotten she'd been standing in the room.

Keep reading free with an account. Start My Stepsister Is Photographing My Wedding to Someone Else from Chapter 1, then sign up free to read the rest of this chapter.