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Well, if there had been any chance of me convincing Monica I could be serious, I’d just blown it–like the flower petals from the palm of my hand.
I hadn’t glanced at Monica until after I hugged Bryce, but her face was unreadable. She didn’t look especially happy with how things turned out. What was I supposed to do? This was the best solution, and if Paula and Monica didn’t like it, well too bad.
But I still watched her.
When Krystal appeared, she was entirely focused on her friend.
I watched Bryce’s face as Krystal walked down the aisle toward him and praised God that he and Krystal had finally made it work after all these years. Bryce got to marry his best friend–other than me, of course.
And me?
Well, I got to try not to stare at Monica during the service and listen to Pastor Justin talk about selfless love and sacrifice and how marriage is a picture of Jesus’ love for the church.
I listened as he read how a husband was to love their wife the same way they love themself.
And all I could think about was how wrong that sounded to me. I loved Monica so much more than I loved myself. Which made me think of all the things Bryce had said, lecturing me on our way to get the tuxes.
As he said his vows to Krystal, I saw Monica behind them, wiping a tear from her eye.
If she was upset about how I’d handled the flower girl situation, then that was on her. I’d done the right thing. It might have been funny, but it also got Hannah down the aisle with a smile on her face and a sweet memory for everyone at the wedding.
Monica probably thought it was just me being reckless and ridiculous again, but she’d gone along with it. That was something, at least.
After we all cheered at the announcement of Mr. and Mrs. Bryce Storm and the kiss, I met Monica at the center of the stage and held out my arm.
“Miss Storm,” I said politely.
Her smile was warm when she answered and took my arm. “Mr. Barrett. Or should I just call you Prince Charming?”
I chuckled. “You can call me whatever you want,” I said, teasing. We were halfway back up the aisle when I spoke again.
“Look, I’m sorry about–”
“You did a good–”
We both stopped short, glancing at each other with questions. The photographer was at the end of the aisle, directing us to pose for a photo.
“Later,” I said firmly.
She nodded and we both smiled for the camera before continuing on to hug the newlyweds and offer congratulations. We endured the receiving line, and then the photographer called the bridal party and family away for group photos outside.
I couldn’t keep my eyes off Monica though. More than once, her eyes found mine through the small crowd. I had so many things I wanted to say, and I was dying to know what she was going to tell me.
I rode with Nathan out to Bloom’s Farm for the reception, but he wasn’t especially talkative. Attending a wedding as someone who had walked out on his wife and kids probably wasn’t very encouraging.
As we waited for the DJ to announce us to the waiting wedding, I stood next to Monica. It felt like the air was thick with unsaid words.
“I wanted to say I was sorry,” I said finally.
She gave me a confused look. “For what?”
I rolled my shoulders. “For the whole flower guy thing. I know it wasn’t exactly proper or whatever. I didn’t know another way…”
I didn’t get a chance to see how she would respond because at that moment, the doors opened, and the DJ announced Nathan and Mrs. Daughtry as the first members of the wedding party.
I grabbed Monica’s hand, trying to ignore the memories of all the times we’d walked hand-in-hand before. As we entered Storybook Barn to the fun dance beat, I spun Monica around in a familiar swing dance move. People cheered and clapped as I lowered her into a dip before pulling her back up and spinning her toward her side of the head table.
If there was one thing I was good at, it was pushing aside emotion and putting on an entertaining show.
