Struggling to breathe, I plucked a rose from the bouquet, and my eyes landed over Ollie’s poetry. “It’s our love story.”
Jake handed me a note, and a tear escaped from the corner of my eye as I opened it.
Mia,
I know what you’re thinking, but no … it’s not our love story …
With blurry vision, I let out a small chuckle.
This is everything I’ve written since the day I met you. You give me so much love and life, my heart could never be big enough to contain it. So, I bleed onto paper, call it crimson love. Call it poetic. But it’s not our love story, because my love for you never ends. You and I, we’ve been rooted since the beginning of time and continue to soar past the moon and sun, the two very beings you watch every morning during those small sacred moments in hopes of becoming as alluring. What you may not understand, is that you have so much light and beauty already living inside you, you bring galaxies to their knees and stars dim with envy.
You are my sunrise, love.
I’m telling you this now because I’m afraid I’ll have no words the next time I see you. I’ve spent these last few months filling every promise I’d made to you so that way, as I write the following words, you have the belief they’re not empty. I promise always to be the man worthy of every second spent in your presence. To be worthy of your smiles, triumphs, kisses, and yes, even tears. Thank you for making the dreamer in me never want to sleep again …
Evermore,
Ollie
I released a long breath through trembling lips, unable to hold on any longer. I had to see him. It had been a little over twelve hours, and Jake placed rules my heart couldn’t take.
“No, no, no … Stop!” Jake insisted, holding out his arms to the sides. “Mia Rose, you willnotruin this for me!” Pulling my hands over my face, I wiped the tears as Jake growled, pulling tissue after tissue from a box. “I knew it. As soon as I saw that letter, I bloody knew it …” he continued to mutter as he blotted the tissue under my eyes. “There, and no more happy tears. You’ll see the man in an hour. Then you can cry all the fuck you want.”
A little over an hour later, Jake and I stood in front of the floor-length mirror attached behind the closet door in the hotel room as his fingers kept touching my hair.
“Jake, he’s waiting,” I whined, bouncing over the carpet barefoot. “It’s fine. I’m fine.”
The dress was a mix between bohemian and beachy, with lace detail down to the floor. What took Jake over an hour on my hair could’ve taken me ten minutes, my locks framing my face in semi-natural waves. The makeup, however, was impressive. I’d never known how to use the tools, and Jake applied heavy eyes with bronze cheekbones and rose-pink lips. My freckles still shining through the light blush.
“One last thing,” Jake disappeared as I admired his work, “ah, here it is.” He appeared behind me and fitted a flower crown over my head. “Absolute perfection.”
“I don’t even know what to say.” Shocked could never cover it, I was gobsmacked. “I never thought I’d ever look like this, or even be standing here in a white dress. I’m getting married. This psychopath is getting married,” I spun around, “I don’t deserve this, Zeke. I don’t deserve him. This is too much,” I rambled, freak-out mode setting in.
Jake crossed his arms, smiling.
“Why are you smiling? What’s so funny?”
Both of his palms landed on my shoulders. “You just called me Zeke.”
I shook my head. “No, I didn’t.”
“Yeah, you did.”
My fingers grabbed my temples, massaging circles as I paced the room. “I’m officially losing it.”
“Mia, listen to me. You calling me Zeke means you feel him. He’s here, ready to watch you marry Oliver fucking Masters. Do you really want to disappoint Zeke?”
“You think so? He’s here?”
“Of course, he’s here. He’s the one walking you down the aisle.”
Mia was late, but it could be because of Jake. Liam kept reminding me of that every five minutes in hopes of lifting the nerves off my shoulders, but it didn’t help. Memories from six months ago, waiting outside the gates of Dolor for her to meet me, wouldn’t leave. The memories only tormented me.
The three of us stood beside the Rock of Gibraltar over the white sand, the ocean as our witness. There were no chairs, no music, no family—only Liam, Christy, and me, waiting for Mia and Jake to arrive. Christy was the lady marrying us, with short blonde hair, wearing a conservative pink dress. She wasn’t a local, and I only knew this because I couldn’t stop asking her questions about herself to take my mind off the time. Christy got married in this exact spot four years ago and never left Gibraltar. “This is the same spot John Lennon got married,” she informed me, standing under an arch beneath the evening sun.
“Oh, yeah?” I knew this,God, I already knew, but my head was in another place … Wherever Mia was at the moment.
Where are you, love?
