I don’t say it out loud, but I can’t believe it either. Little Miss Goody Two-Shoes would never, and it’s that thought that makes my feet move forward.
There’s light music playing on a piano and a harp that grows louder the farther we walk through the marbled entrance. When we reach two huge wooden doors, a woman in a light pink jumpsuit asks, “Bride or groom?”
“Groom,” I say confidently, then for no other reason than my nerves going off like Pop Rocks beneath my skin, I add, “Jo and Noah Darcy.”
“To the right,” she instructs.
Milo leans over and whispers, “Jo and Noah Darcy?”
I shrug. “Took some names from friends I know well.”
He grins and leads us to the right when we enter the room with at least two hundred chairs set up, all draped in mauve tulle. White roses adorn the end of each row. On one side of the room, an orange glow from the setting sun seeps in through a wall of arched paned windows.
We sit toward the back.
“When’s the last time you went to a wedding?” I ask.
“Emmitt and Paisley’s last summer,” he replies.
“Were you in it?”
I can see the answer on his face before he gives it, a fondness tugging at his mouth and eyes. He turns to me. “I was.”
I look up at him. “Best Man?”
He nods. “Yes. What about you? What’s the last wedding you’ve been to?”
“Kelsey Tucker’s,” I answer.
His brows raise. “Our classmate?”
I nod. “That’s the one.”
“Were you in it?”
My lips pull up in a half smile. “In it? No. Did I plan it? Yes.”
“You’re not a wedding planner,” he states simply.
“I’ve planned nine weddings in the last six years . . . for free.”
His brows arch. “Do you like it?”
I chuckle. “No. I hate it. It’s so stressful making sure everything goes according to plan.”
The piano and harp suddenly halt their melody, causing an expectant hush over the room. I straighten, watching as the groom and five guys following in behind him enter from the side. He’s dressed in a black suit, a white rose pinned to his lapel, and even though it’s simple, he looks so alive. His eyes are already misty, his cheeks tinted pink.
“Please stand,” the minister says into his mic.
We all do, causing an echoing of skirts swishing and shoes turning on the floor to face the back, where a woman stands in a glory of white silk and lace, tulle shielding her face but not her joy. I can feel it through my bones. She takes a step forward when the music gently cues up, but I turn my gaze back to the groom. His misty eyes are now heavy with tears that he tries to wipe discreetly. His best man hands him a white handkerchief, which he takes with a slight laugh, as if the crying startled him in the best of ways.
When the bride makes it to the front and we are given permission to be seated, I glance over at Milo. His own eyes are glazed over and a single tear rolls down his cheek. I catch it with a finger, smiling at him.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it? The way he looked at her?” I whisper.
“It’s beautiful to choose a life together,” he replies softly, his words seeping into my veins.
We watch as two strangers take their vows.
