I would’ve thought more on that if they’d been the only ones in the room.
My eyes went to him like a magnet. As soon as I locked with his, I knew he’d been staring at me the whole time. Though I’d known that the whole time. Which was why I’d made an extremely concerted effort to look anywhere but him.
Though my whole body repelled that idea. I needed to see him. Drink him up. Catalogue every change that had occurred in the year we hadn’t seen each other. Both marvel and despair at it.
But I couldn’t.
Because happy girls were the prettiest.
Heartbroken girls were not.
They were something sad and horrible and broken.
Lucy was not having sad and horrible and broken. Not on her wedding day that somehow still reeked of love and joy despite the lingering shadow of death.
It’d hurt.
It’d killed.
But I did it.
There was only so long I could do it for.
“Woo, congrats, you’re hitched!” I said in a faux cheerful voice, my eyes ripping away from Luke to see the lovebirds had detached.
Barely.
Their foreheads were touching and they weren’t even speaking. Just staring into each other’s eyes. It somehow didn’t make me want to puke. It made my heart swell in happiness for my friend that she got it, the ‘it’ that everyone wanted, pursued, even the ones who said they didn’t. Especially the ones who said they didn’t.
Me, for example.
So no, the moment did not make me want to puke with the saturated beauty and love of it all.
It did make me want to cry my fucking eyes out. Scream at Cupid for being such a prick to me that I’d love someone I’d never get to do that with.
I did neither of those things.
“Though the venue blows, and the lack of champagne is a bummer, it was a beautiful wedding,” I continued, still smiling bright. “I’m going to… go and just… go,” I said, unable to find an actual excuse.
Lucy frowned, but it didn’t really work. Someone who was that happy couldn’t physically frown. “You don’t have to,” she replied, glancing sideways at Luke, who I knew was still staring at me.
“No, babe, I totally do. It’s kind of the point to kick everyone out after the I dos so you can, you know, do the nasty.” I glimpsed at the priest. “Sorry, Padre.”
He smiled. “You’re quite all right.”
I winked at him, then gave Lucy and Keltan a smile. A real one. “I’m so very happy for you two,” I whispered.
Then I left.
I had to.
I expected to hear his footsteps chasing me down the hallway.
Dreaded it.
Hoped for it.
The footsteps never came.
One Month Later
“I’m in love.”
I sipped my wine, not even raising a brow at Polly’s dramatic proclamation. “Again?” I deadpanned.
She scowled as she sipped at her own wine, eyes dreamy. “This time he’s the one, Rosie. I know it. It’s different.”
I nodded. “I’m sure it is.” I did my best to sound genuine, but it was hard.
Polly, bless her heart, fell in love as often as I fell into trouble.
She was the ultimate romantic. Believed in the fairy tale. Which was funny, since both her sister and I had always been adamant that the fairy tale was a load of shit. The only thing true about all those tales was in Cinderella—the right shoes can change a girl’s life.
The wrong man can ruin it. Fuck, the right one will destroy it.
Polly had a lot of wrong men, yet somehow her life stayed intact. Well, her life was a hurricane, but it remained that way. As did her beautiful smile, unblemished by the bitch known as reality.
It should’ve annoyed me. On anyone else, it surely would have. But with Polly, it was different. I wanted to protect her delusion, not set her straight. I feared the day when she learned the hard way.
When some asshole showed her that.
Then I’d show him the sole of my size 9 Jimmy Choos.
“I know I’ve said this a few times before,” she said, draining her glass and pushing herself up.
I restrained my snort.
“But I think that every time before was leading up to this, you know?” she asked.
I nodded. I had no fucking clue what she was talking about.
But then my mind went to that moment with Heath last month, the intensity that saturated the room, not drowning out what was coming from Lucy and Keltan but operating on a different plane. Lucy hadn’t noticed because even though she had a stab wound and was wearing a hospital gown while getting hitched, she was on the love and rainbows and happiness plane.
You couldn’t taste the heartbreak and difficulty unless you were suffering from something similar.
It was safe to say I was.
So I noticed.
And I’d brought it up with Polly when she finally did get home late that night and I’d been on the sofa, watching Say Yes to the Dress and drinking martinis. In sweatpants, but also in full makeup because that stupid hopeful shred of me that hadn’t been killed—don’t ask me how—by the years before had thought that maybe Luke would turn up on his slightly tarnished white horse and save the proverbial day.