Page 23 of Waiting for You

"Your face said plenty."

He laughed.

The hearty sound struck me.

I hadn't heard that sound in eight years—and of all places, it had to be in this beautiful hall, surrounded by flowers I'd arranged. The space between us was exactly the width of a friendship and about a thousand miles too small.

"I should go," he said, clearing his throat.

"You should."

He nodded once, turned, and walked toward the back exit. I watched his shoulders until he disappeared through the service corridor. Sighing, I sank into the nearest guest chair and pressed both hands over my face.

Friends.

We’re doing that sort of thing.

And I was nailing it—awfully.

An hour later, I stood still in my bridesmaid spot when the piano struck its first chord.

Across the flower-lined aisle stood Simon. His eyes were already brimming, tears tracking down his face without shame. The tailored suit cut him a sharp silhouette, with his broad shoulders squared and his hands clasped in front of him. He clamped down on the emotion, but his eyes wouldn't cooperate, and after a while he stopped trying to force them. He just stood there, open to the whole moment, letting the tears fall.

He loved her. He didn't care about the suit, the grandeur, the breathtaking room. He loved my best friend so deeply that his body couldn't hold it in anymore, and he wasn't asking it to.

Watching him, I crushed my bouquet a little tighter between my shaking hands. My chest ached, and I was grateful for the pain. She deserved this kind of love. I was so glad she'd finally found him.

But under that joy, a terrifying question I'd been ignoring finally stood up and demanded an answer.

Had I ruined mine?

I'd spent my whole life watching this caliber of love from the outside, standing in doorways, hovering on the freezing edges. Gripping my bouquet, I wondered whether I'd sabotaged my one chance at meeting a man who could love me like that. Had the impossible choice I made, that venomous note, those fabricated words, welded the door shut for good? What if the epic love of my whole life had already happened, and I'd blown it up with my own two hands? What if my only future now was standing quietly in the background, a spectator to everyone else's happiness?

The melody swelled through the hall.

I lifted my eyes.

Violet appeared at the far end of the aisle.

She looked ethereal and radiant in her white gown. The heavy silk cinched at her waist before cascading into a full skirt, the beading glinting across her bare shoulders. Her hair was swept up, a few loose tendrils escaping to frame her temples. She was so gorgeous the word itself felt like an insult. My best friend was living the pinnacle moment of her life, her cheeks flushed pink, her eyes bright, her chin high, present for every second of it.

And walking beside her, giving her away, was Xavier.

He kept his dark eyes dead ahead, his hand anchoring Violet's, matching her slow pace without a hint of hesitation. He was pointedly not looking at me. His jaw was hard, his chin tilted up, radiating that unhurried confidence. The room pivoted around him while he stayed an immovable force. He never rushed. He moved through life like he expected the world to pause and wait for him, and the maddening truth was that it always did. I'd spent eight agonizing years trying to forget that specific detail about him, and I'd failed.

He was my whole universe. Everyone else in that hall was white noise.

God, he was perfect.

And one day he'd be the one standing at the altar. He'd be the groom waiting in the distance, his eyes welling, his hands clasped just like Simon's, and the woman walking down the aisle toward him wouldn't be me. She'd float through those heavy doors, the piano would play that same haunting melody, the crowd would let out that collective breathless sigh, and I'd be buried somewhere in the back row. I'd be a silent spectator, watching the only man I'd ever loved marry the woman he loved.

My vision glassed over, tears gathering thick and fast before I could blink them away.

It felt like having your lungs removed from your chest, piece by piece, at every celebratory dinner and every obligatory wedding. It was the reality of hearing his name come up in a crowded room, forcing your face into an indifferent mask, holding your breath until the conversation shifted.

I pressed the crushed stems of my bouquet harder against my collarbone and blinked fast.

Xavier's gaze finally drifted off Simon and collided with mine.