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Alas, neither option is viable. Besides—and I shouldn’t have to keep reminding myself of this—I want a man who’s on the same page with me. I’m not a giant of the faith, but I have been growing again. I only wish Marco Gonzalez weren’t intricately woven around my heart. How did that happen in a couple of weeks? Shouldn’t I be over him by now?
I throw open my bedroom door and seek out people. If I don’t, I’ll look like a puffer fish by go-time, and I refuse to be the one to ruin Avery’s wedding photos.
Three hours later, I’m made up, dressed up, and ready to go—for, count it, myeighthwedding this year.
My heart is in my throat, yet all this angst may well be for nothing. In the next hour, I’ll know.
Avery went for simplicity with her wedding, so her sister and I are her only bridesmaids. The three of us, the mothers, and a hairdresser are gathered in the cabana, waiting for word as the moment draws near. Tripp’s long-lost brother, Grayson, found only this year, is his best man. Emery, Avery’s sister, is matron of honor. So, I’ll either be walking the so-called aisle with Marco or I’ll be going it alone. Lovely how this mirrors my life.
Mrs. Mitchell, Avery’s mom, answers a tap on the door. Whispered words are exchanged, then she closes the door and turns to her daughter. “I’m supposed to tell you ‘he’s here’.”
Avery presses her palm to her chest, darting me a look. A pointed, loaded-with-meaning look. The lump in my throat might be indigestion—or it might be my heart literally coming unglued. She makes the effort to come to me, her mom bustling behind, guiding the substantial train. Avery takes my hands. “I’m sorry to put you through this, Lise…but thank you for doing it for me. For us.”
I nod, barely holding back the flood that want to come. I think of my last words—not so nice words—to Marco, and I’m ashamed. I know he had his reasons; I just hurt so bad. Now, I have to look him in the eye and…
No. No, I do not. I’ll be looking at the beautiful bride and my dashing brother. The flesh and blood man on my arm could be anyone—as long as I don’tlook.
The time arrives.
We line up, me behind the mother of the bride and the cute flower girl. In turn, to the sweet notes of a violin, I descend the short rock steps…and there he is. Smiling.
Smiling?Yes, smiling, dare I say tenderly, at me.Why that—
I looked, didn’t I?Why oh why did I look!
How dare he. I want to smack that smile off his face.
Or kiss it away.
I make eye contact with the boutonniere on his lapel. At least anger has taken the edge off the urge to bawl.
He offers his elbow, which I take, but only because I must. I feel his familiar warmth and strength, but they don’t move me. Not too much, anyway.
It’s his freakin’ scent that gets me all in a roil.
We do our unhurried stroll across the sand to the violinist’s offerings. I keep speeding up, but Marco slows my steps, as if he were the one who practiced this processional last night and not I.Loser.
I’m shaking so hard that it reminds me of the night we met, when my low blood sugar had me in a tizzy and set me up for the dumbest decision of my life.
The best decision. Yes, it was wrong as could be and I’m eternally grateful we didn’t go through with it. Someday, I’ll be the old Sunday school lady, wagging my finger at every young pupil, telling her not to make my mistakes, but for now, I have a hard time regretting that night as thoroughly as I should.
As we part at the front, Marco pats my hand and gives it a squeeze. Call me crazy, but I think I saw a wink. Heat of all kinds washes through me.
I worry I’ll tip over before this is done, until Tripp steps out, handsome as all get out in a dove gray suit, beaming. Aw. The man deserves these smiles. He’s earned them. And then, Avery, indescribable in a mermaid-fit dress. I was surprised she didn’t go for ruffles and frills, but the gown looks amazing on her willowy figure.
They take one long look at each other, and the tears start. Hurrah! I have an excuse now.
Not to be disrespectful, but the preacher drones. I know I shouldn’t think it, but I chalk it up to nerves and fear of passing out from sheer panic.
Panic. It’s been nearly three months since my last attack. I had one more the day after the shooting, while pouring a cup of coffee, of all things. It was the day after Marco cut and ran. Funny thing how nothing at all could trigger attacks, while in real danger, like the gunfight at Avery’s, I kept a cool head and rose to the occasion.
Here’s hoping I don’t have to restart my days-since count over again tonight. It could happen. Marco’s here, looking like a prince. Worse, his eyes are trained on me, the rat.Bride and groom, buddy. Bride and groom.
The blush roses in my hand won’t need watering. My palms are sweating enough to hydrate the whole wedding party’s flowers.
Ick.I refrain from drying my palms down the front of my silvery dress.
The final prayer comes. The pronouncement. Three-points to me for staying upright. Marco and I join up in the middle and walk out to the rousing recessional. The second we’re out of the limelight, I pull my arm, but Marco holds fast.
