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Serena
“Ican’t do this,” Gabriel says, his voice echoing off the walls of the ballroom.
If everyone’s attention wasn’t on us already, it definitely is now.
I stare at my fiance from across the altar, but he refuses to meet my eye, instead looking slightly over my shoulder. Not that I blame him. If I was announcing I’m not marrying someone in front of four hundred plus people, I wouldn’t want to look them in the eye either.
“You can’t?” the minister whispers, clearly at a loss on how to proceed.
“No.” Gabriel turns his head slightly, finally looking at me, the resoluteness in his gaze easing something within me. After all that heartache, all that worry that was making me literally sick to my stomach, I’m… free.
Now don’t get me wrong, Gabriel Bishop seems like a nice enough guy, but I barely know him. He’s not the reason I agreed to this business deal of a marriage to begin with.
His brother is.
My gaze cuts away from my fiance’s face to the man standing behind him. The best man. His brother.
Archer Bishop.
Two years older than me and the star of my teenage fantasies back when we both attended Redmond Prep a decade ago, time has been kind to him, only growing more handsome with age in that way men do. Dark hair brushed back neatly off his face. Strong jaw accentuating full lips. Piercing blue eyes… suddenly turned on me.
Oh God, everyone’s looking, aren’t they? I glance out into the crowd, immediately regretting my decision as I realize people are no longer staring just because I’m the bride, but pointing too. Whispering to each other, eyes filled with pity. For me. The girl who’s getting dumped at the altar.
The relief from earlier at Gabriel’s announcement twists in my stomach, dragging me down, my arms prickling with dozens of invisible pins and needles as a disquieting wave washes over me.
My hands twist together and I wish I still had my bouquet to hide the way they’re trembling. The way my knees are barely holding me up. The way my back seems to hunch forward instinctively.
“He can’t marry her… because I’m in love with her.”
My gaze flies up to meet Archer’s, steady on mine, an embarrassingly loud gasp escaping me. Did I hear him right? Or am I in some kind of mental state of shock dreaming up a fantasy scenario to get me through the next few minutes?
But as he switches places with his brother, the minister backtracking through the script, it doesn’t seem like a dream as he repeats the vows, his deep, “I do,” sending a rush of warmth through me, scattering the anxiety away.
I stand in a daze, barely hearing the words I’m repeating myself, unable to process exactly what’s happening right now. Am I really marrying this man? And it turns out he… loves me?
He reaches into his breast pocket, pulling out two wedding bands, and motions for me to take the larger one. I blink rapidly, my brain taking a moment to catch up, and I carefully accept it from him, my only thought that this was originally meant for Gabriel. Will it even fit him?
“These rings are a symbol of your union. An unending journey you are about to embark on together,” the minister says as Archer slips the band over my left ring finger, his hand warm and steady where it briefly touches mine.
I nearly drop his ring with how badly my hands are shaking, and have to pause and regroup before I manage to get it on him.
He doesn’t seem to judge me for my nervousness, silent as the minister continues speaking, and I’m almost calm until we’re pronounced as husband and wife, those infamousyou may now kiss the bridewords making my stomach rise once again.
My hands grip the skirt of my dress at my sides, guilt momentarily flooding me as I realize I’ve torn the intricate beading. But I can’t worry about that now because the man I’ve dreamt about for the last decade is bending down to kiss me.
This is it. The moment I’ve been waiting for. If I could speak to my younger self, I’d tell teenage Serena not to give up hope. It’ll happen someday.
But a chaste peck on the lips is all I receive for my years of anticipation. I swear I’ve gotten more tongue action from dogs at the animal shelter than that.
It’s probably just because we’re in front of all these people. Archer is a reserved guy. And it would be tacky to get hot and heavy when I was literally supposed to marry his brother five minutes ago. That has to be it.
The recessional starts and the wedding planner, Mackenzie, thankfully has the presence of mind to give me my bouquet, my brain still in a fog as Archer holds his arm out to me and I loop my hand through the crook of his elbow, the fabric of his navy suit luxuriously soft.
The growing buzz of excitement around us surges in volume as we walk down the aisle, until I can barely hear myself think. The only thing I’m able to focus on is that steady chant in my head.He loves me. He loves me. He loves me.
Me. Serena Montague. I honestly wasn’t sure he knew I existed. But maybe all this pining for him in secret was mutual after all. He certainly did a good job hiding it. Even I didn’t know.
I’m on cloud nine as we’re whisked away by the photographer to take pictures together, his body close to mine, a subtle spice emanating from him that must be his cologne. I inhale, drunk on his presence, on the knowledge that this man is myhusband.