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“Nova?”
“Hmm?”
“Just breathe.” Aunt Amber’s eyes soften with reassurance. “It’s normal to be anxious on your wedding day.”
With a swift nod, I smile. “Oh, I know. I’m good.”
As two of the women I admire most blow kisses and leave me with the click of the door closing, I return to my reflection in the ornate mirror Mom bought especially for today.
“For bridal portraits,” she’d said. I’m not as taken by the prospect of owning pictures of myself staring at myself, but I didn’t have the heart to say no. Planning this wedding has been an all-consuming process since we rescheduled from next year to today. My pulse takes flight, surging with the timing of a hummingbird’s wings.We didn’t forget anything. It’ll be perfect.
“Knock, knock.” Willa pokes her head in. “Can I come in?”
“Hey, please do.” I toss aside my jitters with an inviting smile. “This is the first time I’ve been alone all day. I needed a moment without the fussing of my family, but being alone kicked in the cold feet.”
A strained laugh bubbles from Willa.
My head tilts, brows furrowing. “Everything okay? You look terrified. I thought that was my job.” Her forehead creases, and I take a step toward her. “Willa?”
“I’ve tried to stay out of it, Nova. I really did.” She struggles to hold her composure, a restlessness rolling off her. “The stuff between you and Dev tore our friendship apart, but I have no choice—”
“We’ve discussed this, Will. He’s your brother, of course you protected him. It’s water under the bridge.”
She fusses with the neckline of her champagne bridesmaid dress, huffing a sad laugh. “I have something, but he told me it was up to you if you wanted to accept it. He said he didn’t want me to tell him what you chose.”
My gaze drops to the envelope in her clenched hand. “What are you saying?”
“Devin gave me a letter—”
Caught in a black hole, time moves in slow motion, the beats of my heart losing their rhythm. “Gave? When did you see him?”
“Just read it. If you want. Or don’t.” She extends the simple white envelope with shaking fingers, and I recoil like she’s holding fire, which she might as well be.
“I don’t understand. Why?” It’s been two years since our run-in at Thanksgiving. Not once has he texted or called. Over four years, and all we have is one unfinished conversation in the bitter winter on a downtown Burlington street. A conversation I replayed over and over, one that kept me up so many nights.
It took Willa and me a long time to repair the hurt. We’re finally in a great place. Why would she bring him up now? Today, of all days?
Her chin juts up at that. “I think you know exactly why.”
I still at her implication, her perceptive tone. “He told you?” My mouth dries.
In all this time I never told Willa that I slept with her brother. I didn’t tell her how he eased into my heart one stop, one tease, one playlist at a time over the most amazing, and subsequently painful, two weeks of my life.
“He confessed everything after you two had that run in when he was visiting a couple years ago.”
What did he say? What did he confess?More laughter in the anterior room has my knees shaking.
“Nova, you don’t have to read it. I will never tell him. I promise. But you need to know, if your jitters are more than cold feet, you’re only required to do what you want to do, what’s right for you. No one else’s opinions matter. You deserve every happiness.”
My heart and mind fight for what’s right. I’ve tried to keep him out of my life. I rarely look at his social media. In college, I forced myself not to pull up his baseball stats. I close my eyes, and it’s the memory of Devin’s intense stare that night in South Dakota when he asked me about fate that chooses for me. “No. No, I want to.” I reach for Willa’s hand before she can tuck the envelope away. “Ineedto read it.”
“Should I go?” she asks when I turn my back, moving toward the lone window in a haze. It’s a beautiful stained glass of Moses and the Ten Commandments—just like the mural on the ceiling of Basilica of the Sacred Heart. I nearly laugh as the irony hits me.
“Please don’t.” I grab a tissue and dab the moisture collecting beneath my eyes. “Will you just keep anyone from coming in? I need a moment for this.”
“Of course.”
The lock clicks, but I’m already sliding a notepad sized paper from the sealed envelope.
