Flowing fabric draped from wooden arches, billowing gently in the afternoon breeze.
Bohemian and romantic and absolutely perfect.
Rows of white chairs line a makeshift aisle scattered with rose petals.
And at the end of that aisle?—
Gunnar.
My heart stops, just stops.
He's wearing a dark suit—fitted, elegant, perfect.
His cut over it, because of course.
His hair is styled but still a little messy, like he ran his hands through it too many times.
His jaw is tight.
His eyes are fixed on me, and they're wet.
Vail was right.
He's already crying.
Hasn't even seen me in the dress yet—I'm still hidden behind the corner of the building—and he's already falling apart.
The music starts.
A soft, acoustic version of a song that means something to us.
Something we danced to once, years ago, at a club party when we were just friends.
When I didn't know yet that he loved me.
When he didn't know yet that I'd ever love him back.
"Ready?" Dad asks.
"Ready."
We step around the corner into view and Gunnar completely loses it.
His hand comes up to cover his mouth.
His shoulders shake.
Hakon, standing beside him as best man, claps him on the back.
Says something that makes Ulf snicker.
But Gunnar doesn't look at them.
Doesn't look at anyone except me.
I start walking.
One step at a time.
