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We flank the happy couple, lined up at the altar as Poppy and Dylan say their vows and pledge their undying devotion to one another, in the sight of man and God.
It just about kills me to see how happy they are.
Doesn’t Charlie want this? The partnership, the security. Knowing someone has your back, no matter what.
I know I do.
I swallow back a lovelorn pang. Dylan is looking at Poppy like she’s the only woman in the world—like the two hundred people witnessing their marriage could disappear for all he cares. These vows aren’t for an audience. He means them, every word.
I want someone to look at me like that.
But Charlie is staring at the ground. I tear my glance away and look around, at the gorgeous flowers, and happy guests. I’ve always loved weddings. Yes, they’re an excuse to dress up and to enjoy your family’s goofy dance moves and to savor a delicious piece of cake. But a wedding is more than the commitment it celebrates. It’s an act of hope. It says: ‘I believe we can make it through anything.’
‘I believe our love is real.’
And that’s why I want this. Not because of the dresses and details or because everyone asks women when they’re getting married like it’s the most important thing in the world.
I want that hope. I want to be that person for someone—the partner who shows up and bears witness to every up and down.
And God, I want someone to be that partner for me.
I deserve it.
I feel another wave of regret, because suddenly, it’s crystal clear to me.
Charlie will never be that guy.
He’s been very clear from the start that he’s not interested in that lifelong, push-and-pull, in-it-together ride. And sure, I could convince myself that our casual fun is fine for now. I could ignore what I really want, just to savor another sizzling kiss. Another evening laughing ourselves silly on some madcap adventure.
Another mind-blowing night in his bed.
But I would be lying—to myself. Compromising my dreams.
And I swore I wouldn’t do that anymore.
* * *
After the ceremony,I hang with the bridal party for more pictures, and all my smiles are impossibly fake. There’s a gorgeous reception with music and food down by the water, but it’s not hard to stay mingling in the crowd with Poppy’s friends, keeping my distance from Charlie.
I don’t know what to say to him. I don’t know what Icansay.
But eventually, my luck runs out. I’m getting a refill at the bar when a familiar figure leans against the bar behind me.
I don’t have to turn. I can recognize his scent. My heart aches.
“Grace.”
I reluctantly turn.
He looks a mess, that’s something, at least; a glass of whiskey in his hand, and a shameful expression in his eyes.
But it doesn’t make me feel any better. Guilt isn’t what I want from him.
“So,” Charlie says. The syllable sounds a little stretched out, like possibly this is not his first whisky. “This is it then.”
I swallow hard.Way to get straight to the point. But, I guess Charlie’s had this conversation a hundred times before. “I guess so.”
“I never made any promises, Grace,” he says again, defensive. “I told you exactly who I was from the start.”
