She’ll be here.
Footsteps ring from nearby and heads turn in the direction of the sound. People begin to settle into place. More rustling, more murmurs. Anticipating the arrival of the bride. I notice Dario surreptitiously glance down at his wristwatch, and it makes my teeth grind. They’re not late yet. It’s all on track. Besides, it’s not unusual for the bridal party to run behind schedule.
But another five minutes later, my palms are sweating again.
She’ll be here, dammit.
She didn’t take my calls last night. Hasn’t replied to my messages. When I’d asked Dario if she’d said anything to Nikki, he’d been evasive. Said everything would work out fine. It’s not working out fine.
Where the fuck is she?
Fifteen minutes tick by and everyone is beginning to grow uncomfortable. I shift my feet, feeling like the world’s biggest ass as I stand here waiting, decked out like a chump in a chimp suit. When more footsteps clatter and Antoine’s strident voice rings out, there’s an audible sigh of relief. It might be from me.
But as we all look to the source of the sound, it’s not Andy who emerges.
Nikki is hovering at the top of the path that leads down the aisle. She’s clasping and unclasping her hands in front of the floral skirt of her bridesmaid’s dress.
“Shit,” Dario mutters under his breath, leaving my side to stride quickly toward her. But she’s not looking at him. Her eyes lock with mine. There’s anxiety there. Guilt. Pain…pain for me; I sense it. I walk down the aisle, meeting her halfway, ignoring the whispered comments around me. I stop and stare down into Nikki’s tormented features.
“I’m so sorry, Mateo…so, so sorry.” She shakes her head. “She’s not coming. Andy’s gone.”
