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“Yes.” Winter beams at him. “Where’s Logan?”
“The groom is already at the altar. All the guests are seated, and Archie is waiting in the chapel’s side room, from which we will make our entrance.”
Even hearing his name mentioned in passing makes me want to puke.
“What about my dad?” Winter asks.
“He’s with Archie. We’re good to go.”
Winter nods and follows Tucker out of the room.
As we’re walking down a hall to reach the elevators, Lana grabs my arm, gently pulling back. “Are you okay?”
Her kind eyes are genuinely concerned, so I tell her the truth. “Right now, my biggest life’s goal is not to puke on this beautiful dress.”
Lana chuckles, saying, “Take this,” and hands me a small wrapped candy.
“What is it?”
“Ginger. I’d gotten them in case Winter became queasy before walking down the aisle or something, but you seem to need it more than she does.”
We both glance ahead of us to where Winter is bouncing down the hall in a tulle cloud. Yeah, I need the ginger more than my sister.
We take the elevator down to the lobby, reach a back exit, cross a narrow patch of garden, and stop near the side entrance to the small waiting room leading into the chapel. Everyone is supposed to go inside, but I don’t want to share such a confined space with Archie, even if there’ll be half a dozen other people as a buffer between us. So, I let go of Lana’s arm, whispering, “You go ahead, I’ll be right in.”
She pulls me in for a small hug, saying, “Everything will be okay.” Then she disappears inside, helping bring in Winter’s train.
After a short time, the music starts. The melody streams out of the walls as if coming from the strings of a thousand violins. I count to ten. Archie and Lana must be already walking down the aisle, so I take a deep breath and walk in, taking my position at Tucker’s side without meeting anyone’s eyes. If my sister noticed my small cop-out, she’s too busy with her own walking-down-the-aisle jitters to comment.
Tucker offers me his elbow with a warm smile. “Ready?”
I take his arm and nod.
We exit the room and reach the start of the long aisle. Before us, a white carpet runway stretches to the altar where, out of the corner of my eye, I can make out Archie’s silhouette. He’s tall and in a black tux, but everything else is out of focus if I don’t stare at him directly, and I’d better not.
Tucker gives my arm an almost imperceptible tug, and we start our walk. I hold my head high and keep my gaze straightened ahead. I’m focusing on the forehead of the minister waiting at the center of the altar. As we pass the various rows of benches, my eyes don’t stray once toward snickering ex-friends or perfect strangers, and they never drift to the right of the minister to where Archie is standing.
The best man is looking at me; I can feel his gaze burning into my skin. Archie has kept his eyes glued to me from the moment I walked into the chapel.
The closer Tucker and I get to the altar, the harder it becomes to ignore Archie’s insistent stare. It’s like his mere presence is exercising an irresistible pull on my soul, compelling me to look at him.
I won’t look at him. I won’t look at him,I chant in my head, trying to keep my resolve. But as we near the final two rows of guests, my willpower wobbles, and I give in to the inescapable tug and shift my gaze to meet his.
A mistake.
The moment our eyes lock, time ripples. It stops, while simultaneously moving faster. In the few seconds it takes me to leave Tucker’s side and go take my position next to Lana, I study every detail of Archie’s face. The icy-but-burning light blue of his irises. The hair, combed back in a Sunday-at-church, good-boy sweep. The soft beard that I’ve come to love. And the lips underneath that I yearn to kiss just one more time.
He’s devastatingly handsome, and the ultimate fantasy: Archibald Hill in a black tux waiting for me at the altar. Only this is not our wedding day, and he’s not here to marry me. We’re just spectators to somebody else’s happily ever after, while our futures head in two opposite directions.
The first notes of the wedding march fill the airy room, followed by a collective intake of breath, no doubt caused by my sister making her entrance. But I don’t look away, and neither does Archie.
We’re trapped in each other’s stares.
23
ARCHIE
When the time finally comes to move out of the groom suite, I’m impatient. I want to see Summer, know that she’s okay, and talk to her. Tucker guides us down the hall, where we make a quick stop to collect the father of the bride, and then continue outside the resort and across the garden up a small hill to the white chapel.
