Page 90 of Only Be Mine

I reached for the garment bag at my feet and held it a little closer.

“Ready?” she asked.

I took a breath.

Not steady. Not calm.

Just enough.

“Yeah,” I said. “Let’s go.”

Chapter 32

Cate

Present

The church smelled like old wood and lemon cleaner. It was familiar, almost comforting in its predictability. Candles flickered along the aisle, already lit for a rehearsal that hadn’t started yet.

I scanned the room the moment we stepped inside, my eyes skipping over familiar faces until they found him.

Trevor stood near the altar with Jim, his shoulders tense, hands clasped in front of him like he was bracing for something. When our eyes met, relief flickered across his face so quickly it almost hurt to see.

I was late.

Again.

A ripple moved through the pews as Amy and I walked down the aisle - whispers, shifting bodies, the quiet release of held breath. Trevor didn’t wait. He kissed Amy’s cheek in passing, then reached for my hand and guided me back the way we’d come, the heavy church doors closing softly behind us.

The hallway was quiet, removed from everything. It smelled faintly of incense and varnish, the walls lined with framed wedding photos - smiling couples frozen in moments that promised permanence.

I expected him to be frustrated, a crack in his composure.

Instead, Trevor exhaled slowly and took both my hands, pressing a kiss to each one like he was grounding himself.

He looked exactly as he always did - immaculate. His dark brown hair was perfectly styled, not a strand out of place despite the day unraveling around us. His suit fit him perfectly, expensive without trying to be loud. Everything about him spoke of control and care, from the crisp line of his jacket to the weight of the watch at his wrist, its polished face catching the hallway light when he moved. He wore his wealth easily, confidently, as though it were simply another part of who he was.

Standing there, steady and composed, he felt solid in a way I desperately needed.

“You’ve been distant,” he said quietly.

“I’m fine,” I replied automatically.

He studied me, the way he always did when he thought I was lying. When he knew I was.

“You don’t have to be fine,” he said. “But I need to ask you something.”

My stomach tightened. The hallway felt narrower, the framed photos suddenly oppressive.

“Say it,” I said.

He didn’t rush.

“I can wait,” he said. “I have waited. And I will keep waiting if that’s what you need.” His voice faltered - just barely. “But I can’t be…” he hesitated. “I can’t be a replacement. I can’t spend the rest of my life wondering if you’re still listening for someone else to come home.”

The words settled between us, heavy and unavoidable.

There it was. The truth we’d been circling for years.