Page 10 of Chasing Clouds

“You can’t marry him.” We stare at each other so intently, and I’m praying she can read my mind. “I love you. Marry me.”

I’ve never told a girl I love her. It’s funny how, as impossible as I thought it would be for those words to ever come out of my mouth, there they are. Even though this is fake, it’s scary as hell, and sweat drips down the middle of my back.

Silence falls over the church. It’s so quiet I can hear both Camille and the prick next to her breathing, and then she laughs. She laughs at me.

Something in my chest cracks and my already racing heart feels like it’s dipped in warm water, slowing it down. Beautiful isn’t a strong enough word to describe her laughter.

Murmurs slowly pick up in volume and bounce around the space behind us.

“Look, pal, I don’t know who you are or what you’re doing here, but I think it’s best if you leave.” Patrick tries to stand in front of her, but Camille isn’t having any of it and moves down a few steps, putting us at eye level.

“Camille.” I swallow and reach for her hand. She lets me take it and her fingers wrap tightly around mine. Hers are cold, smooth, and pale, matching her perfect pedigree, while mine are warm, large, and darker, another stark difference between us. As my thumb automatically starts rubbing circles on the inside of her palm, she relaxes and loosens her hold.

“Camille, this is insane. You can’t possibly be considering this!” The arrogance from last night is gone, leaving him sounding desperate. He grabs her other hand, like an absurd game of tug of war, and her conflicted gaze travels back and forth between the two of us.

I pull gently, and her eyes return to mine. “It’s time to make that move,” I whisper, recognition lighting her up as a gasp slips through her perfect lips. A smile tips the corner of my mouth in hopes of reassuring her, and her expression fills with a growing reverence.

“Ms. Whitley,” the minister calls. She tears her eyes away, but her fingers clamp down around mine. “Are we going to have a wedding today?” he asks calmly. “And if so, with whom?”

She looks at Patrick; he’s shaking his head, imploring her not to do this, not to change her mind. The color has drained from his face and he’s deathly pale. Maybe if he had given this girl the respect she deserves, he wouldn’t be reduced to begging right now in front of a room full of people, but then again, something tells me this entitled prick won’t ever change his ways.

She looks at me, and I can’t help but wonder what she sees. The blue in her eyes shifts from light to dark; whatever she’s about to do, she’s decided absolutely. Her backbone has lengthened, her head is held higher, and then she looks past me. Her eyes lock onto someone behind me, and affection for this person floods her eyes. There’s a faint smile on her lips as she blinks then looks back at me.

This is quite possibly the stupidest thing I’ve ever done. I can already feel the crushing weight of the repercussions this is going to cause, but there’s nothing—not one thing—that will change my mind.

“Camille, have you decided?” the minister asks again.

She closes her eyes briefly, looks once more at the prick and at me, and then she drops our hands.

“Yes.”

LOOKING AROUND THE beautiful church, I know this will be the only real wedding I’ll ever have. After all of this is over, if I ever do find someone worth marrying, I will never have a big formal wedding again. Grandfather is already eighty-five, and for years he has talked about watching Clare and me marry and getting to dance with us at our weddings. Part of me feels like I need to do this for him, but I know in the end I must do this for me.

Looking back at the beautiful stranger, I see there’s a tiny bit of fear etched in the lines around his eyes, but there’s a lot of confidence backing this position he’s found himself in. I’m not sure what it is—he’s certainly not the escape plan I had in mind—but there’s something about him that I’m drawn to, a calmness that makes me feel safe and a strength in his grip that tells me he’s not going to change his mind and back out now.

Through the fear, he gives me a one-sided smile, and deep down I know everything is going to be okay.

“Yes, I will marry you.” There’s no waver in my voice, no pitched inflection, just relief and determination.

Gasps come from the guests, and from behind him my father stands, pure rage rolling off his body.

“What? No! You’re marrying me! That’s why we’re all here!” Patrick bellows, grabbing my arm.

My gaze snaps back to him, and his grip on my arm tightens to the point of pain. Wincing, I stumble in his direction as he yanks me out of the stranger’s grasp and toward him. His groomsmen step up behind him, glaring at me, and that’s when I realize Nate and Beau have stepped up behind my stranger.

Nate and Beau?

Alarm bells start sounding in my head, telling me I should know who this is, but with all the commotion going on around me, I can’t think, and therefore I don’t.

“Let me go!” I yell at Patrick, my voice echoing around the church.

“No,” he roars. “I wouldn’t do this if I were you.”

The fear and wariness so present a few minutes ago are now completely gone, and anger has taken their place. Anger is an emotion I can relate to; it’s been lying dormant, just waiting for this moment for the last five years, and it won’t be silent now.

“And why not? Now you’re free to go be with your mistress in public. Oh, Brittany darling”—I turn to glare at my cousin, contempt dripping from my words—“bless your heart, he’s all yours.”

More gasps from the audience as Brittany steps closer to me, both embarrassment and hope written across her face. She’s so stupid to think this is going to end with her and Patrick walking off into the sunset.