Once they get going, they play a romantic melody. Setting the tone for what should be the happiest day of my life.
I wish I knew for certain it would be.
In no time, guests begin arriving, their hushed conversations and excitement filling the space. My parents, who flew in from overseas, are seated near the front. My mother has her monogrammed handkerchief. When I greeted her upon arrival, she’d dabbed the corners of her eyes with it and told me how handsome I look.
My father’s expression remains stoic, but he clapped me extra hard on the back. I also got a “Well done, son.” He heard about the hubbub last night and admired how I handled it. As much as it swells my chest with pride, I made one misstep.
Now I’m pacing the floors, afraid I’ll regret it forever.
Luis appears at my side. He’s mixed up his wardrobe today, exchanging the immortal black for a midnight navy suit. Judging from the serious expression, I already know the answer to my question.
I have to ask it anyway. “Is she here?”
He presses his lips together and gives the tiniest shake of his head.
I force my face to remain neutral, swallowing down the crushing wave of disappointment and panic. Every instinct tells me to run-to find her, to beg her, to say whatever she needs to hear so that she’ll step through those doors-but I can’t.
I promised I wouldn’t bother her if she couldn’t forgive me. I can’t force her to marry me. I wouldn’t want to.
The sad, inescapable truth is, Victoria’s been hurt before. She’s been let down and abandoned. Convinced that people like me and my world aren’t for someone like her.
I gave her every reason to doubt me, and that’s on me.
But she has to want this as much as I do.
As much as I’m trying to play it cool, I desperately need her to.
“Sir.” The event coordinator taps me on the shoulder. “We’re ready for you to take your place at the end of the altar.”
Each step feels like wading through waist-deep mud. I’m not sure if it’s my mind or my nerves playing tricks on me. But one thing’s for certain as I take my place: I’ve never ever been this high-strung and on edge before.
The guests quiet down, several pivoting in their seats for their first glimpse of the bride.
Nobody’s looking harder than I am.
Right then and there, I make a decision. I plant my feet and clasp my left wrist in my right hand, forming a picture-perfect image of a groom. There won’t be any fidgeting or budging.
If Victoria leaves me standing here alone, I’ll take it like a man. I won’t run, and I won’t break.
Because she deserves the choice-she deserves a man who’ll stand up here, his heart completely bared.
I just don’t know how to keep on going if she doesn’t show up soon and choose me.
Victoria
This is supposed to be my day.
My perfect day, the one I’ve dreamed of all my life. Where I walk down the aisle, toward the man of my dreams.
But the man of my dreams kept secrets from me.
So instead, I’d spent the morning in front of the closet of my childhood bedroom. Just stood there for a half hour staring at a spectacularly beautiful wedding dress like it’d personally betrayed me.
Until I heard the wheels of Grandma’s chair in the hallway, seconds before my mom pushed her into the room. During breakfast, I answered their questions about the argument they overheard between me and my fiancé. They assured me they understood and would support whatever decision I made.
I know they meant it, too. But I could also tell from their hopeful expressions which choice they’d prefer.
That’s how I got ready for my wedding in under forty-five minutes.
But life has a funny sense of humor-or possibly one I’d like to punch in the face. Because halfway to the Rose Hotel, we blew a tire.
Wind tugs at the layers of tulle making up my skirt and my veil as I study the damaged rubber. My silky train sweeps up dust as I pace, glaring at the tire iron protruding from one of the lug nuts. “I’m going to jump on it.”
From inside the car, Grandma yells, “Don’t you dare, Victoria. You’ll break an ankle and you’ve got an aisle to walk down.”
“I’m not going to make it to the aisle if I don’t get this damn tire off.” I frown at the useless tire iron again. Somebody put on those lug nuts extra tightly. Or, more accurately, I’m sure an electric impact wrench screwed them on extra tightly.
I take a deep breath, working to remain calm. This is just a small bump in the road. Literally. We hit a pothole, and our tire went poof.
I gave up on trying to hold up my dress, a flowing masterpiece in ivory. With intricate lace detailing along the bodice and beading that sparkles in the sunlight, it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever worn. That’s even with the gowns Simon spoiled me with.
“He’s going to think I’m not coming.” An invisible cord forms around my chest, binding my lungs and my breaths.
I turn my phone screen to my mom, displaying I still don’t have a signal. This area of town is a total dead zone. “He’ll be standing there waiting for me, thinking I still don’t forgive him. That after everything, I’ve decided he isn’t worth it.”
Tears clog my throat. “And he is.”
He’s worth everything, and of course I’ve forgiven him.
Not because he’s a billionaire. Not even because he’s promised me the world.
Because he sees me.
Sees me like nobody else ever has.
Like nobody else ever could or ever will.
When I felt like a failure that day I caught Carl cheating on me with Jade, he never once saw me as lesser. When I was floundering and feeling unsure of who I was anymore, he assured me I was already enough.
Every single time that Carl and Jade endeavored to tear me down, he built me back up.
He loves me. Not because I’m some perfect woman. But because I’m me.
And I love him. Not because he’s a billionaire. But because he’s Simon.
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.