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The moment we arrive at the venue, I feel wildly out of place. Elegant suits, couture gowns, and champagne laughter swirl around us. Vanessa fits right in—5’8” of caramel-skinned perfection, her hazel eyes glowing under the lights, her red lipstick bold and flawless.
I stick close as she waits for her boss—or should I say, her boo.
We take our seats. The ceremony is stunning. Grand chandeliers glint overhead, and the city skyline sparkles through tall windows. White orchids hang from tall vases at the altar, and soft violin music plays under the hum of love and money.
Then the priest speaks. “Nathan Wolfe, do you take Anika Cameron to be your wife?”
He says yes. The crowd erupts.
“Anika Cameron, do you take Nathan Wolfe to be your husband?”
She says yes, and again, applause.
They kiss—and that’s when I notice her baby bump.
She gets to marry the father of her child. She gets her fairytale. Her happy ending. And the way he looks at her?
Only one man’s ever looked at me like that.
Touched me like that.
Made me feel…
I blink hard. Rub my belly. Try to swallow the ache rising in my throat.
Vanessa must notice. She gently rubs my hand.
God, I don’t know what I did to deserve a friend like her. And even though she set me up tonight, maybe she did it out of love. Maybe she knew Carter deserved the chance to speak.
She knows me too well. She must’ve seen something in him I couldn’t see through all the heartbreak.
I glance over at her, then smile and rest my head on her shoulder, just for a moment. A silent thank you. Just for being her.
When the ceremony ends, the couple walks back down the aisle and the crowd cheers them on. I’m crying and I don’t even know these people.
“Remind me to leave you at home next time, bestie,” Vanessa whispers, handing me a tissue.
At the reception, her date is already at our table. The moment he sees her, he stands, eyes glued to her like she hung the damn moon.
“Wow, Vanessa. You look stunning,” he says.
She blushes. Her whole caramel complexion deepens despite the makeup.
She introduces us, though we’ve met before. I play along, saving the sass for later, during our promised soak in her hot tub back in Staten Island after the wedding.
Hors d’oeuvres come out, and we mingle. I keep the others at our table entertained so Vanessa and her date can talk.
After dinner, the bride asks everyone to hit the dance floor. Most people go. Vanessa gives me the look.
I shoot her a death glare that says “you better dance, woman,” and she grins, slipping away with her man.
I stay seated. Content to blend into the background.
Until—
“Ivy.”
I freeze and turn to find him standing there.