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CHAPTER1
FAITH
Weddings were like getting your period.
Things could get messy, unpredictable, and leave you wondering if you'd survive the whirlwind of emotions. The first time you’re a bridesmaid, it’s kind of exciting. But as you take in the sea of faces of close family and friends, the thought inevitably creeps in: “How many of those tears are full of joy?”
When love was so obviously in the air, wedding bells chiming, it was a time of bitter reflection for many, compounded by champagne toasts and garter removals, topped off by bouquet tosses which were no better than a slap in the face.
As I stood at the altar, looking out at the sea of taffeta and forced smiles, my shoulders tensed with a sense of unease. Although the ceremony was outside, the air seemed to close in on me, the overhead arch adorned with floral decorations threatened to collapse on my head any minute now, and I was trapped like a caged animal, while wearing an ensemble that resembled a fashion experiment gone awry. My dress was a pink marshmallow dipped in a vat of glitter, and I was a walking testament to my sister’s belief that tulle can conquer all. The color, a delightful shade of "bubblegum nightmare," clashed with my complexion in a way that even Picasso would find perplexing.
Despite all of this, not to mention the fact that my shoes now pinched and threatened to send me toppling over any minute like a tipsy giraffe, I was happy for my sister.
My heart filled with joy as I watched her walk down the aisle, leaning on my dad’s arm, enveloped in the cream-colored bohemian dress we found at an antique store. So why did tears spill down my cheeks despite my blissful happiness for her?
While the happy couple prepared to exchange vows, my fingers nervously tapped against my thigh. Their families and friends looked on, faces brimming with delight. But for me, every word uttered tightened the chain around my chest, threatening to suffocate the wild heart within.
My tears weren’t joyous. An ache of sorrow clung to me; it felt like I’d been ostracized. There was a sense I was missing out on something. Like being the kid who didn’t get an invitation to the birthday party.
There was a soft pink flush in my sister’s sweet, curled lips when she passed me her bouquet. Her expression was true happiness.
Better her than me, I reminded myself, forcing my attention back to the matter at hand—my sister being wed in holy matrimony.
For the rest of her life.
Clover had always been the sweet one, and I was everybody’s pain in the ass. They never said it outright, but living around them for years had me pegged as the troublesome one.
I knew very well that everyone who loved me would just fall to pieces with relief if I’d finally pay attention to the silver-haired, firefighter sitting in the third row. His baby blues lit on me with a glint of wonder, as if he found me more fascinating than the blooming wildflower-meadow my sister had planted in the field as a backdrop to her magical day, or the life-altering moment which was playing out before us.
No, I wasn’t mistaken. The light smoldered in his sky blue irises as if lit from within.
Dude did not take a hint.
I’d told Riley a million times I lived in sexual abundance, which meant no, I wouldn’t date him only.
He demanded loyalty and couldn’t accept that I wasn’t the relationship type. Every female around gawked at his hard build, his roughhewn features that could make an angel cry. But I remained steadfast; I wouldn’t let any man question my ideals.
My sister said “I do,” and there was unmistakable triumph on Duke’s face.
Adorable. Something I could never be.
Riley wanted someone meek who followed instructions.
Ava spoke from behind, “That smoke eater can’t keep his eyes off you. Go ahead, Faith, take one for the team so I can find out if he’s better or worse than my fantasies.”
Before I answered, Billy Idol’s “White Wedding” blasted from the speakers. It’s what Duke chose for the recessional, and we all proceeded jauntily from the gazebo to the reception, which was set up in the front yard of his and Clover’s ranch.
The florist had worked wonders, transforming the reception area with stunning decorations. People were already seated at the immaculately draped tables, chattering away. A waiter thrust a glass of champagne into my hand, which I immediately gulped down. I glanced around the room, enjoying the cool liquid as it soothed my sunburned feet in their stilettos.
Before I knew it, the happy couple was dancing their first dance as husband and wife, surrounded by their friends and family, who cheered them on. Then my gaze shifted to Riley, the handsome fire chief who made Ava—not me—drool. He was standing nearby, fixated on me. He hesitated for a moment before making his way over, determinedly cutting through the throng of people standing between us. My heart slammed in my chest as he stopped just inches away.
“Dance with me,” he directed, holding out his hand for me to take.
Feeling slightly dizzy from the champagne, which went down way too easy, I clasped his hand and swayed slightly on my feet.
“Easy there.”
He pulled me to him and his forearms rippled beneath my fingers, steadying me. Not sure why I’d never noticed, but he smelled delicious. Better than wedding cake. We moved on the dance floor together, swaying slowly to the music as one body, and he moved more expertly than any man I’d ever danced with. His brawny arms encircled my waist while one hand held mine tightly against his chest.
