I fumble with the clasp, fingers trembling. As soon as the charm lays against my collarbone, the sag in my dress’s neckline makes more sense. It’s like the necklace had always belonged there. Elijah moves into line with the rest of the guys right as the photographer calls, “Everyone, places!”
I can’t help looking at Elijah, who is so handsome as he quietly takes his spot. As much as I hate to admit it, this morning would have been a disaster without him. The photographer kneels in front of the bridal party, holding up the camera while plastering on a fake smile. “Everyone, smile.”
Oddly, I do.
After the morning I’ve had, I shouldn’t feel happy, but I find a smile inside me. When no one is looking, my gaze floats to Elijah, and I find myself smiling at him.
Good thing he isn’t looking!
ten
Elijah
“Find your aisle partners.” The wedding planner waves us into a lineup at the back of the church. “We are starting the prelude music in two minutes.”
Adjusting the cuff of my shirt, not because it’s out of place, but because it keeps my hands busy, I stand by myself and wait for her.
The sanctuary doors creak open. There she is, standing in her bridesmaid’s dress like we hadn’t just survived total chaos to reach this moment. A few flyaways of her dark hair curl near her temple. If anything, they make her look more genuine. Her cheeks are flushed, and her lipstick isn’t her normal shade. It’s a tad uneven, like she applied it while running in circles. But after the morning we had, it’s totally understandable.
Either way, she’s breathtaking.
Even when she is stubborn about staying mad at me.
Especially when she’s stubborn.
“Ready?” I hold out my arm as she steps toward me. She makes a face like she’s about to vomit but eventually threads her arm through mine. It’s warm and tense but having her beside me again shoots a spiral of electricity through me.
“Don’t talk to me,” she says without looking my way.
I give her a low grin. “But you can talk to me.”
She huffs, lips pressed tight.
Leaning close, I almost touch my lips to her ear. “You look beautiful.”
Her gaze flickers toward me for a second before her cheeks pinken even more.
It’s our turn to walk down the aisle. Her shoulder brushes mine with every stiff step. She may be set on stonewalling me, but walking down the aisle together—even if it isn’t ouraisle—makes my chest ache in places I didn’t know were scarred. My heart throbs in my throat, and no matter how many times I swallow, nothing helps.
At the front, we part ways. The pastor opens the ceremony. I struggle to follow, but I zone out to what is happening. At some point he speaks of marriage, of promises, patience, and forgiveness.
My chest can’t handle the pressure. I cave, leaning forward just enough to see her sitting at the other end of the pew.
She’s looking straight ahead.
Unfazed.
I guess I can’t blame her.
Even though she walked away, I didn’t exactly hop on a plane after her.
I could have.
I should have.
But I was so confused. Everyone had an opinion, and the advice was conflicting. I didn’t know who to trust. The truth is, I shouldn’t have trusted anyone. I should have listened tomy heart. The pastor’s voice blurs into the background: Love is patient. Love is kind.
I know the verse.
