“Where is he?” I ask Luis, because I couldn’t care less about my messy hair or dress, as long as Simon knows I’m here.
Luis gestures down the hall. “He’s waiting for you, at the end of the aisle like he promised. He always keeps his promises.”
I nod, shifting my weight to the balls of my feet, ready to run toward the man I’m in love with for the second time today.
Only Luis pivots, legs slightly spread, barring the hallway. “But I can also guarantee he’d want you to take all the time you need.”
I glance at the bathroom to my right. I read the plaque marking it as the Bridal Suite, debating how much longer I’m willing to wait to marry the love of my life. “Gimme ten, and then you tell the band to fire up the
Wedding March.”
With a nod of his chin, he performs a quick one-eighty and takes a step toward the double doors at the end of the hallway. Then, as abruptly as he turned to go, he spins to face me again.
Right as I’m pushing inside the bridal suite to freshen up.
“Ma’am, wait.”
We’re going to have to discuss the ma’am thing, although I suppose in Texas, he fits right in.
Impatience pricks my skin, my attention torn between Luis and holding the door open.
With careful precision, he withdraws a familiar item from the inner pocket of his suit coat. “I held on to your something blue.”
Simon
Sweat beads my forehead and I can’t stop fiddling with the bottom of my tuxedo jacket. I’ve also patted the pocket with the wedding ring a dozen times already.
Straightening my tie, I flash the audience a deceitful grin that claims I’m fine. It’s all going to be okay.
I let my eyelids drift closed, just for a second, and force the corners of my mouth to remain lifted. I do a good job acting like a man optimistic his bride will still show up. I can feel the guests’ eyes on me, their whispers, their pitying glances.
Where is she?
Is she coming?
Is Simon Jones’ bride-to-be going to leave him standing alone at the altar?
Mere days ago, I would’ve bet a million dollars that she would never.
Narrowing my gaze on that spot where the double doors meet, I long for the ability to bore a hole through it. See into the hallway.
Precisely eight minutes ago, Luis had lifted his vibrating phone out of his suit pocket.
He frowned at the phone screen. Then he’d lifted a finger, asking for a minute. Again, it’s been eight.
It’s given me long enough to come up with the perfect, extra sarcastic retort: it’s not like I have anywhere else to be.
Now I’m irritated he hasn’t reappeared to tell me what the hell’s going on. I suppose I already know what’s happening. I’m just in denial about it.
Victoria has decided she can’t forgive me.
Realization sinks in my gut, but it feels more like a cannon ball’s been fired.
My heart throws itself against my rib cage, attempting to escape the blow. Pain blooms deep in my soul and spreads, becoming an all-encompassing ache.
It’s over. I lost her.
At the cracking of the door, the hinges that open smoothly, a dangerous amount of hope floods me. It fills the developing fissures, leaving me afraid to move or to blink or to even breathe.
I’m a cat from those posters people tack on the walls of office cubicles, hanging from a branch with one claw.
That
‘s how hard I’m clinging on right now.
A new wave of whispers begin, our anxiously awaiting guests pivoting in their seats.
My heart crawls up into my throat, my hands flex at my sides.
And finally, finally, the double doors push open.
Luis walks through, and my morale divebombs to the floor.
But then he steps off to the side, glancing in the direction of the thrown-wide doors.
At his nod, the country quartet begins playing the opening notes to the
Wedding March.
Then I see her.
And my heart stops.
Long enough to skip a beat or two before hammering faster and wilder, as though making up for the pumps it missed.
Victoria stands in the center of the doorway, her mother to her right and her grandmother in a wheelchair to her left.
My bride absolutely takes my breath away.
Framed by the golden glow of the chandelier overhead, backlit with the fading rays of the sun. Her frothy veil cascades down around her shoulders and back. It creates a thin film over her curls, half up and half down, with soft tendrils that frame her lovely face.
Dizziness sets in, the sensation floaty and pleasant. Pieces of my heart mend themselves together, like phew, that was a close one.
Perhaps that’s just the only thought in my mind.
New Book: Back Home to Marry Off Myself
Loredana’s father left the family for his mistress, leaving them to fend for themselves abroad. When life was at its toughest, her father showed up with “good news” after 8 years of absence: To marry off Loredana to a paralyzed son of the wealthy Mendelsohn family.