Chapter Text
Despite everything, Regina has to laugh when she receives the invitation. It’s written in calligraphy so swirly that she can barely read it. The border is made up of birds and small frolicking animals in various colours. The entire thing screams Made By Snow White. But the most ridiculous part, by far, is the date.
Two weeks. That’s the amount of time Snow thinks they’ll need to plan this wedding. It’s true that Snow’s own wedding was technically thrown in much less time, but assuming Emma wants more of a ceremony than standing near a lake with a former knight acting as officiant, then Snow has her head firmly in the clouds. Which, of course, is nothing new.
There’s no doubt in Regina’s mind that the date was Snow’s decision. Regina hasn’t heard anything from either Snow nor Emma about the wedding since before the final battle, even though she’s seen them both regularly. Snow brings Regina tea and sandwiches and even casseroles, presumably in an attempt to ensure she’s not going to go off the deep end now that Robin is dead and the Queen is back inside her—a gesture Regina finds both kind and condescending. And Regina herself had gone to see Emma every day while she was recovering in hospital. There was nothing to indicate that she was in any rush to get married. She was in a rush to get off of bed rest and resume her life, yes, but anyone would want that. (In some ways, Regina thinks they’ve all been spoiled by magic solving their problems. True love’s kiss can fix many things, she’ll admit, but a near-fatal stab wound is not one of them.)
If Emma were itching to get married, Regina would surely know. She may not be an expert on weddings, but she knows the best friend of the bride is nearly always asked to be the maid of honour, and that fact has crossed her mind many times over the past several weeks. Emma hasn’t asked her yet, but unless she’s planning to ask her mother—a woman who can’t even plan a dinner party without Regina’s help—Regina is really her only choice. It must be a matter of days, perhaps hours, until Emma asks her, and then…
Even the thought of it brings heat rushing into her chest and makes her free hand curl into a fist. Hours upon hours of choosing dresses, picking the catering, choosing a cake. Days of smiling and pretending that everything is fine, just fine. Preparing for Emma to spend her entire life with someone who doesn’t deserve her and never, ever will—
The invitation in her hand ignites. She drops it, startled, then stomps out the flames.
It’s been harder to control her magic recently, and she’s not sure what to attribute that to. It could be Robin’s death; it could be her reintegration with the Queen; it could be the wedding. Most likely, it’s a combination of all three. Her perfect nightmare scenario.
Paradoxically, it’s even harder to handle now that there are so few distractions. Not that she’s complaining about that, as she’s rather glad not to be constantly afraid of her and her family getting horribly murdered by some villain of the week; but it does give her lots of free time to think about Emma, and how she feels about her, and how much she hates that she’s marrying someone else…
She sits down and takes some deep breaths, the way Archie taught her. She has to get ahold of herself. If she wants to remain part of Emma’s life, she needs to learn how to keep her feelings under control. Fortunately, she’s prepared for this.
So she gets up, throws out the burned invitation, opens a bottle of wine, and retrieves her folder labeled Emma Bridal Shower.
In one sense, it’s absolutely ridiculous that she, a traumatized ex-villain with historically terrible self-control who happens to be in love with the bride, should put herself anywhere near this wedding. At first she thought she might give it time, hope that her feelings faded away.
But she has given it time. She gave it weeks, months, years… and it hasn’t gotten better. It’s only gotten worse. Avoidance doesn’t help; she thinks about Emma all the time, even when she isn’t near her. Once she realized that, she went through every coping technique Archie had to offer, but nothing worked. She has no patience for meditation, no passion for athletics, no time for therapy, and not enough friends to start a knitting club. She’d go back to counselling, but Archie’s booked nearly solid these days; he’d offered to rearrange things for her, but she’d declined, knowing that the recent reappearance of the Queen was one of the reasons why people have been so anxious. She’d even considered medication, but magic interacts oddly with certain psychoactive substances, and she’d rather not be the first test subject in a potentially doomed experiment.
So, with Emma’s wedding approaching, she chose a new strategy: facing the problem head-on. Every time she’s felt overwhelmed at the thought of Emma getting married, she has focused on the one positive thing about this situation: the fact that it will make Emma happy. And she has channeled all her emotional energy into preparing to make her even happier.
Besides the bachelorette party, the shower is the only wedding-related event she can think of that’s only for Emma, so she thought it would be a good place to begin. She wouldn’t know where to start with the bachelorette party, which she’s always viewed as rather tasteless anyway, but she’s vaguely aware of the requirements for showers: silly games, tacky decorations, gift-giving, and probably some food. All things she can handle.
She chose her own home for the venue; it’s big enough, and she can be sure to keep Emma away from it long enough to prepare everything. She planned a menu of Granny’s pastries, chocolate brownies, and tiny, elegant grilled cheese sandwiches. All finger foods, because Emma likes to snack. Emma’s never been much for decor, so she keeps that simple, but when she finds a series of folded paper swans online, light and delicate, she couldn’t help but order them with a smile.
Emma hates opening gifts while everyone watches her, so Regina sets out a table for guests to leave their unwrapped gifts there. She designates Emma’s favourite chair, a slightly overstuffed leather recliner, as ‘her spot’ and arranges the furniture in a semicircle around it: close enough that Emma can see everyone, but not so close that she feels crowded.
She holds up the folder full of the fruits of her labour and feels, despite everything, a small glow of pride. A year ago, she’d never have been able to accomplish something like this. A year ago, in a situation much like this one—losing Robin; watching Emma move forward in her relationship with Hook—she’d reacted much worse. She’d lashed out, isolated herself, and nearly pushed Emma away forever. But this time, she has refused to do that, and she can see the results.
Maybe, just maybe, she’s getting better.
Regina spends another couple hours holed up in her house, plotting, and when she feels certain she has enough to go on, she drives to the loft to get Snow involved. Snow would never forgive Regina if she left her out entirely, so Regina summons her patience and braces herself to accommodate several awful bird-related decor suggestions.
She expects Snow to be knitting or organizing her kitchen, the way she often does on a Sunday afternoon. But when Snow opens the door, Regina realizes she’s not alone. Her living room is full of people: Ashley, Aurora, Kathryn, Belle, and… Ariel? What is this, book club for Disney princesses?
Snow steps into the doorway, blocking her view. “Regina! What can I do for you?”
“I was planning a bridal shower for Emma and thought I’d coordinate with you,” she says. “I’m sure you’ll have your own ideas for how it should go. But I don’t want to interrupt anything, so if you need me to come back later…”
“You were planning a shower?” Snow sounds surprised and oddly dismayed.
“Yes,” Regina says, confused by her tone. “Why, is that a problem?”
“No, of course not. That’s lovely of you. It’s just…” Snow hesitates, looking anywhere except Regina’s eyes. “We were actually… already planning one.”
“We?”
She spoke too loudly; she knows this from the way Snow flinches back. She glances behind Snow to the people in the living room. They’re all sitting still, clearly listening.
Snow hesitates, probably looking for a way out, but eventually she nods. “Some of my friends and I have been planning a shower for Emma for… well, a few weeks.”
“When were you going to tell me?” Regina asks, fighting to keep herself calm. “Or did it just not occur to you that I might want to help plan a shower for my best friend?”
Snow hesitates, eyes darting around as she grips the door frame. “Em—we—thought you might be… busy.”
“I’m not busy.”
“Well, Emma thought it might be a little insensitive to ask you to plan a wedding so soon after… well, after Robin passed away. But you can come in and help if you like,” she adds hastily, reading the offense on Regina’s face.
“I don’t want to disturb anyone,” Regina says, still trying to process this development. This was Emma’s decision. Emma didn’t want Regina to help with her wedding. Emma doesn’t think she can handle it.
It’s the exact same fear that she herself had, so she can hardly blame Emma. Still, it hurts to think about her best friend deciding to cut her out of the plans for one of the most important days of her life because she wanted to protect her.
Or—and Regina clasps her hands together to keep from curling them into fists—to protect other people from her. She remembers Emma’s face when she said she thought Regina might be the one under the hood, and her stomach twists uncomfortably.
“No, really, we’d be happy to have you.” Snow sounds sincere in the way that only a former royal can, but Regina doesn’t trust it for a second.
Regina almost declines again, but then she reconsiders. There’s no need to be selfish. If there’s some way she can contribute to this discussion, she should do that.
“All right,” she says, and Snow’s smile widens as she lets her in.
While Snow goes to refill the appetizer tray, Regina debates where to sit. None of the princesses seem in any rush to make room. She scans the room for someone who doesn’t have a well-earned personal vendetta against her. Ashley? No, she made her pregnant for 28 years. Kathryn, she had kidnapped. Belle gives her a curt nod but doesn’t look approachable, and Regina honestly doesn’t blame her. Ariel gives her a bigger nod and a brief smile, but still doesn’t look exactly friendly. Regina’s eventual gift to her apparently wasn’t enough to make up for the years of misery she inflicted.
Then she hears, “There’s room over here, Regina.”
She turns to see Aurora, sitting unobtrusively in the corner of the room and smiling genuinely at her. Regina hurries over and sits next to her with relief. Vaguely, she remembers something about Aurora being turned back from a monkey into a person after Regina defeated Zelena. She smiles back, grateful for the friendly company.
The presence of even one person who doesn’t hate her is enough to make her feel slightly lighter, enough that she can put her anger aside to see the humour in the situation. It is rather funny, in a way, that Emma’s shower is being planned by a group of Disney princesses. It’s the kind of thing Emma would laugh at, half amused and half exasperated. Regina’s smile grows at the thought.
But as she looks over the binders and photographs spread out on the coffee table, her heart sinks. The plans are exactly as gorgeous as one would expect from a roomful of princesses. Most of the group has been formally trained in event planning, and it shows in the coordinated decor, the understated-yet-handsome colour scheme, and the precision of the timetable. Everything appears polished, thoroughly considered… and nothing at all like Emma. The plans are for a princess’s dream wedding, but though Emma may technically be a princess, there is no way she would enjoy this.
Snow sets down a tray of partially-defrosted shrimp and clears her throat. “Well, before you arrived, Regina, we were going around and discussing what we’ve come up with within our individual departments. Most of the jobs are filled, but I’m sure we could find something for you…”
Regina’s barely listening. “Emma hates caviar,” she says.
“Pardon me?” Snow asks.
Regina points at the catering binder. “On the canapés. Emma doesn’t like caviar.” Regina had served it to her once when she was over for dinner. Her expression of distaste had been truly memorable.
“Oh.” Snow blinks. “Well, we’ll certainly take that into consideration.”
“And flowers,” she says, pointing at a photograph in the Decor folder. “She doesn’t like the smell of roses. She’d prefer lilies, or lilacs.”
Even as she says it, she knows her suggestions are useless. This entire shower is a disaster; fixing it would require an overhaul of nearly everything they’d come up with.
“Thank you for your input,” Aurora says formally, a note of annoyance beneath the cultured tone.
“Is there anything else you’d like to add?” Belle asks politely.
Regina looks up to see a ring of annoyed yet pitying faces staring at her. In their eyes, she realizes, she is an intruder here, no more welcome than she was at Snow and Charming’s wedding.
She feels her anger rising. She may be Emma’s best friend, her co-parent, her magic partner. But to these people, she will never stop being the Evil Queen, the woman incapable of wishing for someone else’s happiness when she had none of her own.
It’s too much. Sitting here in front of Snow and a group of ex-royals, most of whom hate her for very good reason. People attempting to condescend to her, delegate to her, like they know better than she does about what her best friend would like.
Her best friend, who didn’t want her to know she was planning her wedding.
Her best friend, who apparently sees her the same way all these women do. Volatile, vindictive, out of control…
Snow looks at her hand, alarmed, and Regina realizes the sheet of paper is starting to smoke. She immediately puts it down, checks that nothing was damaged, then stands, forcing herself to smile. “It seems as though you have things well in hand,” she says as calmly as she can manage. “I think I’ll leave you to it.”
There’s only one coping strategy she can use at this point: getting out before she can cause more damage. So that’s what she does. She sweeps out of the loft as quickly as she can, her head held high. As she descends the stairs, she hears the loft door open and close. “Regina, wait,” Snow calls.
She stops reluctantly and turns. “Yes?”
“I don’t… I mean, is everything…”
Is everything okay, is what she’s trying to ask with all her hand-wringing and concerned eyebrows. And Regina knows that with Snow—with most people, really—there is only one correct answer.
She pushes the hurt down into a ball deep in her chest, tucked away where it can’t hurt anyone except her, and she smiles. “It’s fine,” she says. “Everything is absolutely fine.”
She makes it outside before the tears come.
“Yeah, everything’s fine.” Emma smiles to emphasize her words, the words she’s said countless times already in this session. “Everything’s great. No sleep problems, no flashbacks, no anything.”
As discreetly as possible, she checks her watch. Five minutes left. She forces her foot to stop jiggling and crosses one leg over the other.
“That’s wonderful,” Archie says. “I’m so glad to hear that.” He checks his watch. “We’re almost out of time here, but is there anything we haven’t touched on that you’d like to bring up before we go?”
“I don’t think so,” Emma says. “I don’t think there’s anything.”
Archie looks at his notepad. “You haven’t mentioned Regina yet. Would you like to—”
“No, it’s fine,” Emma says quickly. “Everything’s fine with Regina.”
“Good,” Archie says. “Well, if there’s nothing else, we can certainly—”
“Is it normal to feel nervous about getting married?”
Emma isn’t sure where that come from; she hadn’t intended to ask it. But now that the question is out there, she can feel how badly she wants to know the answer.
“Of course,” Archie says. “Absolutely normal.”
“Oh.” She nods. “Good. That’s… good.”
“Would you like to talk about why you’re nervous?” Archie asks gently.
She doesn’t know why. She’s never been good with feelings, either identifying them or describing them. But, well, she’s here. She paid for it and she came all the way here, so she might as well make the most of it.
“I guess… sometimes we argue,” she says, feeling a bit vulnerable. “Sometimes we don’t tell each other stuff. It comes out in the end, but still. We make mistakes. We have to forgive each other for things. I have to… we have to work hard at our relationship sometimes.” Unlike her parents. Unlike most of the other couples she knows.
“This is actually a concern I hear quite often,” Archie says. “Mostly from royalty who are concerned that their lives here don’t match up with what they feel they should be. Trust me, Emma, you’re not alone.”
She can feel her shoulders relax. “So it’s normal. For things to be a little hard.”
“I would say so,” Archie says gently. “But if you’re concerned, if you feel like you’re working harder than you’d like to, I wouldn’t want you to think—”
“No, this is great. Thanks.” It’s such a relief to hear that, when everything between them has felt so difficult recently. It’s the wedding stress getting to them. They’ve never had to deal with this kind of challenge together before, and, well… it’s getting to them. Just a little.
It had been easy between them at one point, a long time ago. She kind of thought they’d get that easiness back once she stopped being the Dark One. Once she got him out of hell. Once she moved in with him. Once they got engaged…
Turns out she’s going to have to work a bit harder. But that’s okay. Relationships take work; her parents say that all the time. And her parents are literally Snow White and Prince Charming, so, yeah. They probably know what they’re talking about.
Archie checks his watch. “I think we’re out of time, but let me know if there’s anything else you need.”
By the time he’s finished the sentence, Emma’s already standing. She thanks him and leaves, nearly tripping as she jogs down the stairs.
It’s not that she hates therapy. Therapy is fine. It was helpful, for a while, but she’s fine now, and she wants everything to go back to normal. She doesn’t love being trapped in a room where she once confessed her own impending doom. Even though her impending doom didn’t actually happen, being back there still feels like… bad luck, somehow.
As Emma leaves Archie’s building, her phone rings. It’s Killian. She picks up right away. “Hi.”
“Hey,” he says, and his low rumbly voice is soothingly familiar. “How was therapy?”
“Fine. How was your afternoon?”
“Excellent. Great catch today,” he says enthusiastically, and Emma groans internally, anticipating his next question.
She’s not wrong. “How would you like me to prepare it tonight?” Killian asks.
They’ve had fish six times in the past two weeks. “Actually, I’m already out,” Emma says. “I’ll just go grab something for us.”
“It’s raining. Come home. We’ll order in.” She can hear his frown through the phone line.
“Honestly, I’d be happy for the chance to stretch my legs. I’ve been cooped up at home for so long. You know how I need to get out.”
It makes her feel bad, not wanting to be around him, but after all that time in the hospital with him waiting on her almost constantly—and she’s so lucky, really, she is, to have a fiancé who would do that for her—she just needs some time alone. That’s normal, right? Anyone would need that.
“All right, love, if you like.” The disappointment in his voice cuts at her, but before she can change her mind, take it back and make the right choice, he’s hung up.
She shakes it off. He’ll sulk about it for a minute when she brings home the food, and then he’ll apologize and they’ll eat together and it’ll be fine.
By the time she arrives at Granny’s, it’s raining so hard that even in the short distance between her car and her diner, she gets soaked. She places her order and tries not to drip all over the counter.
After Granny takes her order, with only a slightly raised eyebrow as comment on her drenched state, Emma leans against the counter and surveys the diner. Granny’s is packed, like it always is on a Friday night: families celebrating the weekend, couples on dates, even a single woman reading the paper. And there, in the corner…
They haven’t spotted her. Henry, working on homework, and Regina, sitting across from him. Henry’s got his binder and textbook spread out in front of him, along with a chocolate shake and the remnants of a burger. Regina’s got most of a sandwich and a napkin sprinkled with brownie crumbs. They must be working on math; Regina doesn’t eat that much sugar all at once unless she’s stressed about something.
It’s Regina who sees her first. Her tired face breaks into a grin, and she says something to Henry, who looks over and sees her too. He grins back and waves her over.
It’s been too long since she’s seen both of them. Which is, again, her fault. She’d asked Henry to stay with Regina while she recovered, knowing that Regina would look after him better and she probably needed him more. She’s been more withdrawn since Robin died, laughing at fewer jokes and sticking to her own company most of the time—Henry excepted, of course—and especially avoiding Emma and Hook. Storybrooke’s latest shiny happy power couple, as far as everyone knows.
Emma can’t really blame her.
Now, though, Regina smiles at her. “Look who decided to make a reappearance,” she says warmly, and it makes Emma’s chest ache.
She gestures to a chair. “Can I…”
“Of course,” Regina says, as though it’s obvious that Emma would be welcome. Warmth flickers in her chest, just for a moment.
Emma sits in the chair across from them. “How’s the math coming?” she asks Henry.
“It’s trigonometry, and it sucks,” he says. “I don’t know any of this.”
She examines the paper, the lines and angles. “Hey, this looks familiar,” she says in surprise.
“Are you sure?” Henry asks, his tone skeptical.
“Yeah, we did it together, in New York. Remember?”
Henry still looks confused, and she starts to worry that she’s remembering it wrong. Maybe this was one of the fake memories Regina gave her. Maybe it never happened, maybe it wasn’t really her—
No, it was Central Park. It was definitely New York.
Definitely real.
“Oh yeah,” Henry says, and he and Emma share a smile. “I’m just catching up on a lot since I’ve been away from school for a while.”
Emma’s smile fades. Of course he’s behind, because of Camelot, because of the Underworld.
Because of her.
“Can I help?” She looks at Regina, worried about intruding on their time together. “Not to imply that you haven’t got this, or…”
“No, please, help as much as you like,” Regina says dryly. “This is hardly my area of expertise.”
“Unlike literally everything else,” Emma says, but she feels a small glow of pride. It’s nice to be useful.
She tries to look at Henry’s papers, but he shakes his head. “Mom and I can handle this,” he says. “I know you probably want to get back to Killian before your food gets cold.” He doesn’t look upset. Somehow, that makes it worse.
“I can make time for this,” Emma insists. She looks to Regina for support, but Regina’s looking off into the distance, her forehead wrinkled like she’s holding in stress.
“Really, it’s fine,” Henry says. Before Emma can insist, prove that she’s worthy of helping, he takes another sip of his shake, only to find that it’s empty. “I’m gonna get a refill,” he says.
He dashes off before he can get a reply, squeezing behind Regina’s chair. He was probably worried Regina would say no, but he didn’t need to be. Regina’s still lost in thought.
“You okay?” Emma asks softly.
Regina looks up and shakes herself a bit. “Yes, of course. I’m fine.”
She doesn’t look fine. But before Emma can press, Regina smiles at her. “You know, if you ever get tired of fish and takeout, you’re always welcome to have dinner with me and Henry,” she says softly. After a pause, she adds, somewhat grudgingly, “Hook is, of course, invited as well.”
The day Emma puts her fiancé and her best friend around the same table for dinner will be the day she feels like destroying said table. “That sounds really, uh, nice,” she says. “I can’t this week though. Tomorrow I’ve got dinner with my parents, and on Monday, I’ve got… a thing.”
Regina raises her eyebrows. “Wedding planning?”
Emma’s heart drops at the accusatory, hurt look on Regina’s face, underneath the mask of indifference. “How did you know about that?”
Regina scoffs, breaking her gaze. “Please. I’m the mayor. It’s my job to know everything that goes on in this town.”
Emma wants to kick herself. She genuinely hadn’t thought about what might happen if—when—Regina found out about her wedding planning.
It’s just, ever since Emma announced her engagement—hell, ever since she started dating Hook—Regina has been uncomfortable with him, and uncomfortable with them together.
It’s not hard to understand why. Emma would probably feel the same way if she had a friend who got everything she wanted, all the time, when she kept having her own happy ending stolen. Usually because of said friend, who also promised to make her happy and then completely failed to follow through. Sure, she’d said she was happy for her, and Emma doesn’t think that was entirely a lie… but she hadn’t exactly looked happy.
Sometimes Emma’s surprised that Regina’s still talking to her.
“Look, Regina, I’m really sorry, I—”
“You don’t have to justify anything,” Regina says coolly, not meeting her gaze. “Of course you should do whatever you want. It’s your wedding. If you want your mother to be your maid of honour, that’s your choice. Although if your ring is carried up the aisle by live birds, I will never let either of you live it down.”
“I didn’t pick her,” Emma says. “I was going to ask you, I just thought…” She pauses, ignoring Granny signaling to her that her order is ready. “I just thought you had enough going on. And after everything with, you know, Robin…”
Regina can’t really want this job. It wouldn’t be good for her, not when it makes her so miserable just to be around Emma and Hook. But she looks so hurt, so sad, that Emma feels bad anyway.
“I understand,” Regina says quietly. “But I would be able to handle it.” The words come out in a rush, and she looks at Emma with pleading eyes. “I do want you to be happy, Emma.”
Emma’s phone buzzes in her pocket: probably Killian, wondering what’s taking her so long.
“And I’m not that busy,” Regina adds. “Now that our town is villain-free, my job is rather dull again.” She smiles, clearly trying to inject some levity into the conversation.
“Would you really enjoy it?” Emma asks. “Picking out flower arrangements with my mom and her baby club friends? It doesn’t really seem like your thing.”
“I designed an entire town from scratch,” Regina says, sounding offended. “I can handle a few flower arrangements.”
It’s hard to argue with that.
“And you wouldn’t mind being in charge of a bunch of people you don’t know that well?” Emma hedges. Her phone buzzes again.
Regina raises her eyebrows, looking like she honestly hadn’t considered this angle. “You think I’d have a problem with bossing people around?”
It’s also hard to argue with that.
Despite her intentions, despite her best instincts, Emma considers offering Regina the job. Snow’s already handling most of the work, so Regina wouldn’t even have to do that much. Emma could ask her to handle the stuff she herself couldn’t get to, so Regina wouldn’t be distracting to her.
And Regina clearly wants the job very badly. Regina is her friend. Emma doesn’t have an excuse for not giving her this job.
Well, she does. She’s given Regina the truth, but not the whole truth. There’s another reason why she didn’t ask her to be maid of honour—a reason Regina can never know.
But… Regina’s sitting there right now, looking so hurt but trying to hide it, and Emma just knows she’s going to go home wondering what she did that made her not good enough. She’s going to beat herself up about it and come to a million wrong conclusions, all because Emma couldn’t explain why she can’t have Regina around her.
And that’s just not okay, no matter what else comes of it.
She takes a deep breath. “Regina. Do you want to be my maid of honour?”
Regina smiles slightly, clearly pleased to be asked, but there’s some trepidation in her eyes. Like maybe she didn’t expect to get this far, and she’s not sure what to do.
“You can say no,” Emma says. “I won’t be offended. You’re still invited to the wedding. You won’t have to gatecrash.”
She says it lightly, an attempt at humour, and she’s not sure why Regina’s face falls until she remembers what happened at the last wedding she went to. “I’m sorry,” Emma says, feeling like an idiot. “I didn’t mean—”
“It’s fine,” Regina says, pursing her lips in a facsimile of a smile, and not looking at her.
“Regina…”
“I’d love to do it.” When she looks back at Emma, there’s a new resolve in her eyes. “But only if it’s what you want,” she says carefully.
Emma smiles at her as her phone buzzes yet again. “I wouldn’t want it to be anyone else.”
It’s the truth, even if she’s exaggerating how much she actually cares about it. As far as she’s concerned, all this wedding planning stuff is just there to get her to the wedding. But if it means a lot to Regina, then of course Emma wants it to be her.
Regina still looks concerned, and a bit like she already regrets this, but she smiles. “You do need a queen on your planning team,” she says with a hint of her usual sass. “Someone to break up the squad of Disney princesses you’ve assembled.”
“Squad of…” Huh, she’s not wrong. Emma hadn’t really thought about it that way before. “Yeah, I guess.”
She’s not sure why Regina furrows her brow as though Emma’s said something wrong, why she’s looking at her with growing concern.
“How are you?” Regina asks after a pause, and the way she asks it, Emma can tell she actually wants to know the answer.
“I’m fine,” Emma asks, resisting the urge to drum her fingers against the table. “I’m good. Feeling a lot better.”
Regina looks at her skeptically. Henry comes back with his shake and sits down next to them.
Emma’s phone buzzes for the fourth time. And suddenly she feels bad, sitting there with two people who don’t need her when there’s someone at home who does.
“I should go,” she says reluctantly. “Thanks for letting me crash your study session.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Regina says. “We were happy to see you.”
Emma stands up, then pauses and looks at Regina seriously. “If you change your mind about the maid of honour thing, that’s fine. Just let me know. I won’t be hurt.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Regina says, and she smiles like she’s trying to mean it.
But Emma can tell, just from looking at her, that Regina never will. Which is going to make Emma's job harder. Not only will she have to figure out a way to keep Regina’s presence from throwing her off her game, she also needs to make sure Regina’s doing okay, and not just saying she is.
Already, she can feel the responsibility pressing down on her. Which is silly because she doesn’t even have that many responsibilities. She has barely anything to do, and she can’t even manage that, can’t even…
She’ll figure it out, though. She will.
For Regina, she will.