Practice Makes Perfect (When in Rome, #2)

by Sarah Adams

What I realized is that I have been boring. I’ve been hiding so much of myself all this time to fit into the mold I accidentally made as a kid.

I’ve never been this dramatic in my entire life, and I’m sure that tomorrow I’ll feel embarrassed about it. But for tonight, I just need to be authentically me. Messy embarrassing emotions and all.

I’m so sorry you felt like you couldn’t be honest with us or that we were making fun of how kind and sweet you are. I’m sorry we made you feel like that’s the only version you could be of yourself around us.”

It’s a good night and I feel a thousand times lighter. Mabel was right, honesty is a gift, and one I wish I had shared with my sisters sooner. Then again, maybe everything is happening in its own perfectly messy timing.

He slowly slides his fingers between mine and I don’t think it’s a good thing that I already want to moan from that small contact. His smile slants. He knows.

Trust yourself and then tell me, Annie. It’s just me and you.”

Well, I feel incredible, but I didn’t get this dress for him. Or for anyone really. I bought it and am wearing it because it makes me happy and confident. So much so that if someone were to call me Sweet Annie tonight, I wouldn’t even be offended. Because it’s only an insult if I accept it as one. And thanks to Will, I will now forever and for always smile when I hear that particular adjective.

“I’m telling you,” Mabel says to Jeanine, Harriet, and James as I walk up to the huddled group. “I think there’s a ghost living in the top floor of the inn.” She says this so passionately that even I am lifting my brow and leaning in to hear the story. “Mabel, there’s no such thing as ghosts,” James says with a good-natured smile before taking a drink of his beer. Mabel gives him a duck lip expression and juts out her hip. “Then explain to me why I heard all those squeaks last night.” Of course I’m mid drink as she says this, which makes me spray it out of my mouth. I immediately cover my mouth, and Jeanine thrusts a cocktail napkin in my direction. “Goodness, child,” says Mabel with wide (far too innocent) eyes.

I peek back over my shoulder while I walk away and find Will holding his phone in my direction. I think he just took my picture.

I still think marriage is a wonderful idea and something I’d like to have one day—but I’m now seeing that it was the wrong thing to be placing on a pedestal of ultimate happiness. I was looking for the perfect person with the perfect traits and the perfect timing, when really, all my heart actually wants is to be fully known and loved. Someone to share the quiet moments with—someone to turn to when everything is good or everything is bad. Someone who wouldn’t be mad if I snuck in to see him before the wedding and ruined traditions—but who’d be just as eager to be with me as I’d be with him. Someone like…Will. The details were never as important as I thought they were.

“Hey,” he says suddenly, the look on his face changing. I’m afraid he’s going to prod me with questions about Will just like everyone else, but he shocks me by going in a completely unexpected direction. “Is it true about Maddie? Is she moving to New York for culinary school?” “Oh yeah, it’s true. Can you believe it? We’re going to have to be without her for two years.” I laugh lightly. “Then again, that will probably feel like a break for you because you won’t have to deal with her constant badgering anymore.” I expect him to laugh with me. He doesn’t. He looks oddly troubled as he gazes blankly at the stairs that lead up to the bridal suite. “Yeah. It’ll be nice.” He clears his throat. “Anyway. I’ll see you out there.” He winks and lightly squeezes my elbow as he passes. I watch him go, wondering if James has a secret too. Maybe I don’t know him as well as I think I do.

And now Noah and Amelia are slow dancing in the middle of the dance floor to “The Way You Look Tonight,” the moon and twinkly string lights over their heads, swaying with their bodies so close it almost feels inappropriate to watch.

But when I put my hand on the truck’s door handle, a familiar playful and roguish voice sounds in my ear, and a hand with a butterfly tattoo reaches over my shoulder to push my door closed again. “It’s me, and you’re safe. I’m going to blindfold you now.” A thin strip of black cloth blankets my eyes. I gasp. “Will?! What are you doing?” “Yes, it’s me, Will,” he says quietly and then clears his throat and speaks more firmly—theatrically—and definitely with more baritone. “But also—no, I’m not Will.” My heart is joyfully pounding. It’s singing and running and skipping and I don’t even know what’s happening. I thought he was gone! “My name is Captain Blackheart,” he says before hoisting me up over his shoulder, making me squeal. “And you, my lady, are being kidnapped.”

“Come with me?” I nod. “Anywhere.”

I can’t help but smile thinking of how much Brandon would scoff at this. How much my sisters would make fun of me. But Will doesn’t just support my love of historical fiction—he reenacts them.

“Just for tonight. And just for you. I’ll be your pirate, Annie.”

“I couldn’t make it to the wedding today because the trademark of every good romance novel is a grand gesture. And I wanted to give you one.”

“You never have to be scared of anything with me, Annie. Look at my photos.” I swallow and then slide the little bar to unlock his phone before clicking the photos app. Will then reaches between us and swipes down through his albums until he clicks one labeled For Annie. And then my breath catches as I scroll through photo after photo after photo of…me. Me in my mom’s flower garden. Me in the shop. Me at the farmer’s market. Me helping Mabel prune her rose bushes. Me wheeling my luggage through the airport. Me looking out the airplane window. And they’re somehow all great photos. Dare I say even…beautiful. I look so happy. So at ease in my own skin. I’ve never seen myself like this before. “Will…” I start, looking up at my boyfriend who doesn’t seem the least bit guilty for hoarding dozens of photos of me. “Now who’s the stalker?” He smiles. “It was going to be a present for you. Because you said…well, a while ago you said you don’t have any photos of yourself. And…I don’t know, that just broke my heart, Annie. Because you used to be so content to fade into the background. To offer to hold the camera to take everyone else’s photo. And I wanted to give you something that would show you how beautiful you are. How vibrant. I want you to see how I see you every day. Everyone deserves to have good photos of themselves—you more than anyone.”

How would I ever survive without him at this point? I never want to find out.

Because loving Will is pure adrenaline. Luxurious comfort. Wishing on a star and having it answered. It’s…otherworldly.

This one is for the softies. The tenderhearted sweeties. The introverts who are afraid to shine.