One without Phoebe.
“Phoebe’s here!”Summer goes running off to greet her.Summer’s followed by Victoria, Jasmine, and even the bride herself.Dad makes a beeline to the entrance as well.
I can’t see much of anything.
Special K, Cal, and Finn come to stand on my other side.
“It’s all good,” I assure them.
“It better be,” Finn says.“No bloodshed on my wedding day—that’s the only thing I’ve ever asked for.”
We all turn to stare at him in disbelief.Finn clearly has no idea how untethered to reality he sounds.His lengthy lists of demands have kept us hopping for days.
“Well, hello there,” Special K says.
I follow his gaze and all the air empties from my lungs.
The Travises have dropped their outerwear with coat check and are coming in.Izzy is pushing Gil’s wheelchair along the accessible walkway that reaches all the way to the main reception floor.Ryder—I think I’ve identified him correctly—is carrying his dad’s oxygen tank.
Behind them is Phoebe.
She’s bookended by four brothers, two on either side.But I don’t see them.They’re just background noise.
I see only her.She’s all there is.
“Wow,” Declan whispers.
“Those are not nursing scrubs,” Cal adds.
My heart is pounding so hard that I worry it will dislodge the boutonniere pinned to my lapel.
“Let’s do this,” Finn says.
Unfortunately, my feet seem to be superglued to the parquet floor beneath me.
“You’re pathetic,” Cal says.
He’s right.I’m a shadow of my former self.
Phoebe’s eyes find mine, and the most stunning, perfect smile breaks out across her face.
I honestly don’t know what to look at first.
That fucking dress.
It’s red velvet, floor-length and strapless, and split up to her mid-thigh.It fits her like a tactical wetsuit.
This is definitely not a party-girl-in-a-limo dress.Phoebe is black tie and red carpet all the way.
Her hair.
It’s been blown out and shaped into loose, shiny waves swept to the side and draped over her right shoulder.She’s a femme fatal.A goddess.
Those four-inch stilettoes.
Fuck me.
“Breathe, dumbass,” Declan hisses.
