Page 162 of Where Roads Lead

The dress was too tight.

So tight that I could scarcely breathe. But how? I’d been to all the fittings. My measurements had stayed the same. My diet immaculate. My workout routine consistent. I definitely wasn’t pregnant.

So then why did it feel like I’d need someone to take a pair of scissors and cut me out of this damn dress in the next twenty seconds?

I needed to relax, I told myself. I always got myself worked up when things felt out of control. And there was nothing more unpredictable than a wedding.

I couldn’t calm myself down because I had no way of knowing if everything was perfect. I hadn’t gotten to look over the flower arrangements one last time. I had no idea if the cake was what we’d wanted, or if the baker had mixed it up with some raunchy bachelorette party dessert. I didn’t even know if the groomsmen had properly fitting suits.

If you left things to other people, there was always room for error. And on my wedding day, the unknown of it all settled into me like a bone deep panic that couldn’t be made better.

I had only one chance in life to do this right. Just one. I refused to end up like my parents, no matter what. Separated, embittered, too caught up in their grievances at the world that they’d neglected to even find joy in raising a child.

There was a way to do things in life, and I’d set out to live up to my ideal. You find a partner who’s compatible—that was the most important. It didn’t have to be fireworks and butterflies. It didn’t have to be roses and cards.

It just had to work. Like a partnership. You had to know that they were going to fulfill one end of the bargain, and you the other. You had to agree on the important things in life and leave no room for error or mistakes. That was the key to a lasting marriage.

Not the way my parents did it. A few dates, my mother getting pregnant, the two of them playing house for a year or two before deciding that maybe this real world with crying infants and bills on the table wasn’t so ideal after all.

But I’d been careful.

And who better for me in the entire world than my best friend? Sweet Matthew, who never took pleasure in arguing. Who made the best of every situation. Who loved his family, his town, and me with everything he had in him.

He was perfect. We were perfect together. We’d always gotten along, always. So, when he asked me to marry him, it should’ve been the easiest thing in the world to say yes.

It should’ve been.

“I can’t breathe.” The words tumbled out of me as I threw open the door to the veranda. “I can’t.”

I was shaking my head furiously, bracing myself on the railing to look out at the country club estate when Will’s voice hit me, as sobering as the spring air.

“Ava?”

He was behind me, sitting on the bench, watching me with curious eyes.

Will.

I forced myself to regain composure, refusing to humiliate myself in front of him.

He was always composed. Or maybe so detached that nothing could ever make him waver without his consent. I’d admired him for it our whole lives, then spent the better part of my life trying to emulate it.

“Will,” I said, taking a steadying breath before moving closer to him. “What are you doing here?”

“Uh, I’m the best man,” he said, taking a sip of his beer.

“Right. But I meant here,” I said, then stared at the drink in his hands. “Alcohol before the wedding?”

“Relax, Aves.” He rolled his eyes. “Just one.”

But I wasn’t worried. Will never lost control. He was like me in that way.

“Are you—” I started, desperate to just talk to him, and let that unwavering composure he never seemed to be without calm my nerves. “Having a good time?” I finished lamely.

“I guess.” He frowned. “I mean, I’m happy for you guys. But honestly, the day has been a lot of waiting around and people coming at me with cameras. I can’t say I’ll be sorry to get it over with.”

I nodded mutely, feeling at a loss for what to say next.

Stupid.