When I step out, the air shifts.
People turn to look at me. Guests I’ve never met, smiling kindly.
No one’s whispering. No one’s laughing.
They’re just… watching.
Like I belong here.
Like I’m not the punchline.
Like I’m… beautiful. Wanted. Seen.
I take my first step onto the aisle runner, heart thudding. Eyes turn, polite smiles blooming along the rows. Someone gives me a little nod of approval. Another whispers something to their neighbour and gestures at my bouquet, probably surprised I haven’t dropped it or used it as a weapon.
And then I see him.
Standing at the top of the aisle in his full tux, back straight, hands clasped, jaw tight.
But his eyes…
Locked on me.
Not blinking. Not moving. Just watching.
Something flickers across his face, surprise, or maybe awe, and his mouth falls slightly open.
He looks like he’s been sucker-punched by my existence.
And honestly?
That’ll do.
Until I notice the boutonnière pinned to his lapel.
Wait.
He’s standingnextto Ben.
Oh my God.
Tyler’s the best man?
Literally every single person in this wedding party knew this and not one of them thought to mention it?
Perfect. Great. Love that for me.
My steps steady. My chin lifts. That smug little warmth spreads across my chest like someone’s lit a sparkler inside me.
That’s right, my lord. Your jester cleans up alright.
I scan the crowd, faces blurring slightly from nerves and sheer sunlight, and then I see Bitch Queen Helen.
Two rows back. Perfect posture, perfect hair, perfect glare.
Her mouth is set, unmoving. Her eyes? Locked not on me, but on Tyler.
Watching him.
