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I wipe my sweaty hands on my dress, eyes darting through the guests. Come on. They have to be here somewhere. They wouldn’t miss my wedding day… would they?
Please.
“Signorina Edmunds, what are you doing up here?” The wedding planner, Ricarda, hurries over, her perfectly manicured nails digging into my arm. “It’s bad luck for the groom to see you before the ceremony.”
Perhaps bad luck is exactly what I need.
She hustles me down the winding staircase, and I crane my neck for one last glimpse of the crowded reception hall before she shoves me into the bridal suite.
“Your uncle would be furious if he knew you were wandering about.” She sits me down. “No more disappearing, understand?”
“Yes.”
The makeup artist appears by my side with a brush and chatters, caking layer after layer of products on my face until I’m more like a porcelain doll than myself.
Who is she? Surely not me—the real me has dark shadows under her eyes, chapped lips, and a pale face.
I fidget with the embroidery on my gown, the corset cinching my waist tight. The makeup artist layers on more powder, and I resist the urge to claw at my face. This isn’t like the magical experience girls dream about their whole lives. Is it?
It’s suffocating.
“You look beautiful, dear,” the makeup artist says. “Your groom is a lucky man.”
“Yes.” At least one of us is. “So lucky.”
Ever since this became real, Jason and I can barely hold a real conversation. I tried. I tried to love him, but it didn’t work. And now I’m stuck, all to make my uncle happy. I mean, maybe my uncle is right, and Jason will make me happy one day, will make me love him one day, and will make me forget the man I still love.
How can I miss someone so much who used and then broke me in the worst possible way?
Uncle Marc was right about him. So, Uncle Marc has to be right about Jason.
It just… needs more time.
I can barely breathe. Is this how Elizabeth would feel on her wedding day? Trapped in a marriage she doesn’t want?
In those historical novels, there’s always a dramatic moment during the ceremony where the dashing hero bursts in and declares his love,saving the heroine from a loveless union. The priest would ask if anyone objects, and he’d stride forward, eyes smoldering with passion…
A pang goes through me, imagining Sebastian throwing open those chapel doors. He’d look devastating in a tailored suit, his blonde hair tousled, green eyes blazing and finding mine. “I object,” he’d say in that deep, commanding voice. “I’m in love with the bride.”
My pulse quickens at the mere fantasy. Fan-fucking-tastic. I’m such a fool.
This isn’t one of my novels. Sebastian isn’t a hero—he’s the villain who shattered my heart and left me to pick up the pieces.
He’s not going to burst in and save me. No one is. This is real life, not some romantic fairy tale. I’m marrying Jason, and that’s that.
And that’s that…
The makeup artist dusts a final layer of powder on my nose, oblivious to my inner turmoil. “There. You look perfect, honey. Like a princess.”
I want to laugh. Or cry. Or maybe both. “Thank you.”
I’m going to walk down that aisle, say my vows, and start my new life.
No more looking back. No more what-ifs and if-onlys. This is my reality now.
My gaze darts back to the open window, the sunlight and laughter from outside taunting me. If only I could get outside, breathe the fresh air, see my real friends, see… him.
I know I shouldn’t, but some masochistic part of me wants it. Hopes he—