As Flicka passed the front row, she nodded to her Aunt Elizabeth on her left. The mature woman’s silver curls bobbed under her pink hat as she acknowledged Flicka.
At the top of the aisle, Wulfram stood ramrod straight. Sunlight streamed through the windows and touched his silvery-gold hair.
There shouldn’t have been direct sunlight lasering in the windows at the congregation at all, but the wedding had started an hour late. Thus, the sun was out of the position that Flicka had scheduled for it. Some of the guests were squinting from the glare.
Damn it,she had planned better than this.
Yes, she needed to think about the stupid little imperfections. That would keep her mad enough so she wouldn’t do something regrettable, like cry.
The sunlight—damn sun—glinted off Wulf’s golden hair, and Flicka had to admit that her brother cleaned up well.
When he made an effort.
And someone with fashion sense picked out his suit for him.
His dark blue eyes almost dazzled even her.
Beside Wulf, Dieter watched her approach.
He wore a designer suit like Wulf’s and was just as tall, which was very,verytall. If anything, Dieter’s shoulders were broader, contrasting his narrow waist, and his hair a more golden blond. His gray eyes followed her, and his smile became more real as their eyes met.
For just a moment, Flicka’s old daydreams rose in her mind.
Just a few years ago, she used to dream about walking down a church aisle, wearing a white dress, toward Dieter Schwarz.
Because nothing else in the world could make Flicka happy just then, she let herself believe that the last two years had fallen away. She and Dieter were still living together in their cozy apartment in Kensington Palace, but somewhere, Dieter had stopped guarding her and begun escorting her to dances. They’d danced together all these years—at balls, at charity cotillions, and out on dates—and Dieter had stopped lookingaroundher and begun lookingather.
Dieter was lookingatFlicka now, his gray eyes turning smoky and warm, and his smile was gentle.
She wished the last two years of her life had been like that, and that now she was walking down the aisle to marry him.
Instead, she had made the biggest mistake of her life.
And that list included some significant mistakes in high school.
At the top of the aisle, Flicka veered left and stood near the altar, waiting for Lizzy and Rae.
Georgie Johnson had never arrived. Flicka had suggested to Rae that maybe Georgie would make it to the reception, but Georgie hadn’t answered her phone when Flicka tried to reach her.
Flicka worried about Georgie, but she smiled at the congregation and at tiny, blond Lizzy, who was stepping down the aisle in her white bridesmaid’s dress and holding her bouquet of white flowers.
Flicka dreamed about a life with Dieter that had never existed, letting the gauzy happiness of the fantasy carry her through the ceremony. She thought that they must have hired someone else for security because Dieter needed to be with her. Maybe Luca Wyss. Flicka liked him. He laughed at her jokes.
Old memories drifted through her head, memories of all the times that he had touched her.
The moments when he caged her hands over her head as he kissed her, his tongue tangling with hers.
The times when he had held her in his arms while he made love to her, his strong body moving over her, and he stared into her eyes as if the whole world had disappeared.
The evenings they sat on the couch, watching television together, and then he carried her to his bed and brought her down, pressing her onto him, holding her hips as he thrust up into her.
The way his muscles flowed under his skin when she stroked him.
The nights when she lay in his arms, warm, as he breathed slowly in his sleep.
Rae joined them at the altar, and she and Wulfram looked at each other like they were gazing into one another’s souls. He reached for Rae’s hand, and they faced the priest together.
When Flicka had married Pierre, she had been too busy being perfect to feel anything, which had probably been for the best.
