Runaway Groom (I Do, I Don't 2)

Then he nods. “Let’s find out.”

The footage of Adam fades, replaced by Brooklyn looking every bit the part of the bride in a gorgeous white gown, her hair in an elaborate updo, studded with white pearls.

“Holy shit,” Marjorie breathes. “This is really happening.”

“Not necessarily,” Mom counters, gesturing for the popcorn bowl. “She’s first, which usually means a rejection. And remember what they said in the last episode: both women picked out wedding dresses, as they won’t know until the very last moment which one of them is the bride.” Then she gives me a wary look. “Sorry, Ellie.”

I take a gulp of wine, then another, as Brooklyn talks to the camera about how she’s fallen hopelessly in love with Gage and can only hope he loves her back.

She looks like a beautiful angel, and I can’t help but think how perfect she’d look on his arm at all the red-carpet events and sushi dinner date nights in West Hollywood. How beautiful their children will be.

“Nope, I can’t,” I say, fumbling for the remote I stashed.

Marjorie snatches it away, then grabs my hand and squeezes. “Therapy, remember?”

A second later, Gage appears and I lean forward, hugging my wineglass to my chest, eyes watering at the sight of him.

He walks toward Brooklyn, smiling as he stops in front of her on the secluded beach and presses a kiss to her cheek. “You look beautiful,” he says solemnly.

He looks beautiful. Handsome. He looks…oh God, he’s so good-looking. He’s wearing a tux, which I’ve never seen him do outside of his movies, his hair recently cut into photo-op perfection.

The camera zooms in on his face, and I scan anxiously for any sign of what he’s thinking, but I can’t read him. Damn actor skills.

Brooklyn apparently can’t either, because her smile wavers as he reaches out and takes her hand.

“Brooklyn…”

I sit perfectly still in a state of euphoria and disbelief as he lets her down with what has to be the world’s sweetest breakup speech. He tells her that she’s smart, and beautiful, and as good a person as he’s ever known, but that he can’t marry her—because he’s in love with somebody else.

Somewhere along the line, I realize I’m crying. And I’ll give Brooklyn credit—she handles it with a heck of a lot more grace than I’m exhibiting right now. Her eyes water with unshed tears, a beautiful heartbroken angel now.

There’s a cut to commercial break, and I slump back.

My mom gets up and comes back with a tissue box. I honk noisily. “So. Paisley.”

“Bitch,” Marjorie mutters. “She was your bestie.”

I swallow. “I told him. When I left, I told him to keep her around….”

“That’s what you whispered in his ear?

” Marjorie demands. “Social media totally thought it was something dirty. People have been taking bets.”

“Shhhhhhh, it’s back!” my mom says, gesturing frantically for the bowl of popcorn.

This is a good thing, I tell myself as I pass the popcorn from my best friend to my mother and then back again. It’s an excellent reminder that I dodged a bullet. It could have been my love life that’s making gossip fodder for millions of women across America. My heart that could have been broken in front of the entire country instead of my two best ladies.

This time it’s Paisley who comes into view, and I gasp, because she looks every bit as beautiful as Brooklyn. More so, because whereas Brooklyn looked angelic but guarded, Paisley’s joy is written all over her face.

She’s left her hair down, and it falls down her back in wild red curls. Her dress is a mermaid cut, showing off her impressive curves. Her smile is radiant.

“She looks like Ariel!” Marjorie says. “Except without the pesky fish feet.” Then she glances at me with a loyal expression. “Tacky, though. Very tacky.”

I roll my eyes, but still, I’m grateful when somehow I end up holding both of their hands as Gage comes on the screen once more.

I don’t think it’s my imagination that his smile seems a bit wider than it was when he greeted Brooklyn, as though he and Paisley are on some grand adventure together. And why shouldn’t it be? What’s a grand adventure if not the start of a marriage?

Too late I realize that if it had been me, if only I’d been brave, I could have been the one marrying him.