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“To lights. Yeah, I put that together,” he finished, and my lips pressed into a firm line as I wondered when he'd figured that out and why he hadn't mentioned anything. “Come on. Hold on to me.” He pressed his elbow against my arm, and I took it as he said, “I mean, I can’t guarantee I'll get us both there without flying down these scary-as-fuck stairs, but I'll try.”
“They might have an elevator,” I suggested, hoping they did. For both of our sakes.
So, Dylan steered us in the direction of a person standing behind a nearby counter. The closer we got, the easier I made out the shape of a woman, and she asked what she could do for us.
“Hey, we're here for the Porter-Potter wedding,” he said, then bumped his arm against mine. “Still can't believe that's real, by the way. But, anyway, um, we were wondering if there was an elevator because—”
“Oh my God,” she cut him off with urgency, flattening her hands against the counter. “You're Dylan Pierce.”
He exhaled loudly through his nose and feigned disappointment before replying, “You figured out my secret.”
“I am … oh my God, I am such a huge fan—you have no idea,” she gushed, letting her composure go in a matter of seconds. “Can I get an autograph? Please?”
“Yeah, of course,” Dylan said before scribbling on something she’d produced.
“Oh my God, and a picture, if it's not too much to ask?”
It was hard to maintain my patience in the moment when I knew we were already late for the wedding. We were going to walk in during the ceremony, as if we needed any more attention drawn to us, and this woman wasn't helping the situation at all. I started to wish we had just taken our chances on the stairs, but then I thought better of it, knowing damn well it could've been disastrous if we had.
“Uh, sure,” he replied, his own impatience sneaking into his voice.
He didn't want to be rude and ungrateful, and I understood it. Hell, I even understood this woman's excitement, greed, and disregard, and I knew I would've done the same if I'd been in her position—before I’d ended up in his bed, of course.
But seriously, didn't she realize we were in a rush?
“Thank you so much,” she said as she shoved what I assumed to be her phone at me. “Here, can you take a picture of us?”
The phone was unfamiliar, the font was likely too small, and the lights overhead were too bright for me to make an attempt at figuring it out. I looked ahead at her face, nearly featureless to my eyes, and shook my head.
“I—”
“Here, I'll just snap a selfie,” Dylan said, and I wondered what else he had figured out.
He took a quick picture with her before handing the phone back and asked again if there was an elevator for us to use. The woman seemed to think for a moment, and I braced myself for the worst.
“Actually, we do have a service elevator. We don't typically use it for guests, but I can make an exception,” she offered, lowering her voice to a whisper.
“That'd be great,” he replied with gratitude.
We followed her down a hallway to an elevator occupied by a few waitstaff. The lights were less offensive outside of the lobby, and I watched as the young women in aprons stole obvious glances at Dylan. They either knew who he was or thought he was hot, and they wouldn't be wrong on either account. But they never once looked at me, never cared to even acknowledge my existence, and, God, I hated it. For all they knew, he and I were in a serious relationship, and they had the nerve to blatantly stare at him directly in front of me.
Maybe I'm not as cut out for this as I thought I was.
The second the elevator stopped, Dylan escorted me down a long corridor to the venue's chapel. We entered as quietly as we could, only to find there weren't any seats left. So, we found a spot against the back wall, beside the acoustic guitarist playing Ed Sheeran's “Perfect.”
There were too many people, and we were too far back for me to see anything. Instead, I found a blank spot on the carpeted floor to stare at, while allowing my thoughts to lead me on a downward spiral. One in which I wondered if dreams were better left as nothing more than that.
Dreams.
***
“Lennon!” Cassie hurried toward me in her fluffy princess dress, arms outstretched. “I am so, so happy you came!”
We had never been super-close friends in our youth, and we never hung out much when we were in school. But ever since the rise of social media, we had begun to chat a lot more and found we had more in common than we'd initially thought.
Still, it had been years since we'd seen each other, and the hug was a little closer to awkward than I'd have preferred.
“Congratulations,” I said, giving her one final squeeze before letting go. “I'm thrilled for you guys.”
