Page 204 of Wait for Him

My eyes dart to Rose before I can stop them.

She's wiping tears from her face.

"Lord, hear our prayer."

I have no idea what came before that. I can't even track my own fucking wedding because now I'm staring at Rose wondering why she's crying.

The ring bearer sneezes and nearly drops the pillow. "Bless you, my child," the priest says, somehow managing to keep the whole thing moving.

Rian doesn't.

Her eyes have settled on the pillow.

I follow her gaze to her nephew, four years old and taking his job very seriously, standing there in his tiny suit with the rings balanced carefully in front of him. Then Rian reaches down and lifts one of them from the cushion.

The priest stops talking mid-sentence as Rian stares at the ring in her palm for a long moment before looking up at me with an unreadable expression. Her face is just…empty. No sadness, no anger, no…anything.

She takes my hand, opens my fingers, and presses the ring into my palm.

"This ring doesn't belong to me, Marcus." Her voice is low, angled away from the microphone so only I can hear it. "I don't think you even realize what ring you chose, but I can't do this anymore."

I pull back to search her eyes because my brain is refusing to put the words together in the order she said them.

"What?"

"We can't do this, Marcus. I'm sorry, but I can't marry you."

This time she's loud enough that the guests hear her, and a murmur moves through the cathedral.

Rian closes her eyes for half a second, then turns to face three hundred people with her spine straight and her chin level and delivers the most composed public execution I've ever witnessed.

"I'm so incredibly sorry, everyone. There won't be a wedding today. Those of you who'd like to stay, please enjoy the reception and the incredible food catered by our very own celebrity chef, Samson Monroe of Noctra. The music from The Nighthawks will be amazing. Thank you all for coming."

I almost laugh.

Not because anything about this is funny, but because only Rian Fields could cancel her own wedding in front of three hundred people and still remember to plug the caterer and the band.

Then she walks out through the side door, and her friends and family move with her, closing ranks behind her before anyone can ask a question.

The cathedral erupts into a low roar. Bennet says my name. Joe says something from behind me. The priest is trying to get my attention. None of it gets through because I'm staring at the ring sitting in my open hand.

Her wedding band. The one I designed specifically for her.

Custom gold, engraved all the way around with winding vines of fucking roses. I turn it slowly between my fingers.

No. Goddamnit, Marcus.

I sat in that jeweler's back room and looked through dozens of designs for Rian's ring. I rejected plain gold. Rejected diamonds. Rejected geometric patterns, ivy, leaves, every other option they put in front of me. Then I looked at this one, roses curling around a band meant for another woman's finger, and pointed at it.

That’s the one. That’s her ring.

I chose roses for Rian.

I don't think you even realize what you chose.

Fuck. I do now.

***