Somebody Else's Sky (Something in the Way #2)(93)

I, on the other hand, had only one thought.

Mine.

The air buzzed, charged with murmured excitement, even in the vastness surrounding us. Water and sky swallowed the horizon. If I'd ever imagined this moment, Tiffany about to walk down the aisle, I would've thought it'd be pure chaos. Knowing how she thought the world revolved around her, and this being the biggest event of her life to date, it would seem inevitable.

That was why her calmness unnerved me. Sarah fixed the train of Tiffany's strapless dress on the grass while Mom hugged her tightly, rubbing her bare shoulders. Surely, as the Maid of Honor, there was something I should've been doing, too, but I couldn't bring myself to move. Nobody was yelling or crying or putting out fires. All I heard was blood rushing through my ears.

In a few minutes, it would all be over. Everything. The last couple years of my life erased with a simple "I do." There were bows tied to aisle chairs and petals on the ground. Somebody had spent the time to do that-peel flowers just so Tiffany could walk on them.

Gary shook Manning's hand, and Manning smiled so widely, it knocked the wind out of me. It wasn't just breathtaking-it was genuine.

The violinists began to play, and the bridal party took their places. My dad kissed Tiffany on the cheek before whispering in her ear. Her eyes lit up as he pulled her into a hug. Mom held a tissue to one corner of her eye and then the other. They were happy. I wasn't. I could still change that . . . if I decided their happiness was worth my own.

I didn't know the right answer. All I knew was my love for Manning. He watched my mom, then Gary head down the aisle, followed by the bridesmaids. I just watched him at the head of it all, hoping for a spared glance in my direction. And suddenly, it was my turn to go, to walk down the aisle to him, but not the way I'd dreamed about.

"Lake," Dad said from behind me after too long had passed. "Go."

I looked back at him and at Tiffany, their arms looped together, and remembered the night months ago on the beach when I'd told Manning I could walk away from them for him. He'd said something about my dad in the heat of the moment that hadn't registered for me until weeks later.

"Why the hell do you think he's happy about this wedding?"

I'd turned it over and over in my brain until the pieces finally came together. Dad had hurried this wedding along because he knew that wherever Manning went, I'd follow. Even if it meant leaving my family behind. Even if it meant dropping out of USC. The one way, the only way, I'd never be allowed to love Manning was as Tiffany's husband. The betrayal cut deep, but I'd kept the hurt inside and a smile on my face to make it through all of this.



       
         
       
        

I took a step, and my heel sank into the grass. I wiggled it out and brought my foot back. "I can't do it," I whispered.

"That's what the stones are for." Tiffany gently pushed me forward. "Use the path. Go ahead."

As if it was easy. As if I wasn't walking toward the most horrific thing I could imagine. I couldn't do it. Tears flooded my eyes as the spikes of my heels dug into soft ground. The guests, turned in their seats, started to murmur. All eyes except Manning's were on me, and the music played on, beautiful, haunting. Despite my protests, my hair had been swept off my bare shoulders, putting my heartbreak on display for everyone to watch like a movie.

I started down the aisle. At rehearsal, I'd been reminded over and over to keep the pace of the music. Time slowed with me, an eerie tranquility coming over me the way I imagined it felt giving in to drowning. Corbin smiled at me, his arm over the back of his mom's chair. Val sat by him, stoic, and I knew her heart beat as hard as mine.

I looked forward again, silently urging Manning to raise his head and look at me. We'd communicated so much that way, glances here and there, our own language. Walking toward him like a bride made my hands sweat around my bouquet. I scraped my thumbnail down a stem, wishing for the prick of a thorn to distract from the pain in my chest. Manning must've been sweating, too, because he wiped his brow, then his hairline, but even as I approached the front and took my spot, he still hadn't looked. Maybe because he knew what he'd see if he did . . . my delicate birdy heart, ripped right down the middle by a great bear.

Through all this, I'd never doubted that he belonged to me. Never wondered if he loved me. He didn't have to say it for me to know it was true. For over two months, I'd done as I was told, smiling through the pain, making plans to start USC next week. But in that moment, overwhelmed by Manning's beauty, by the pain I knew he felt, too, I couldn't remember why I'd stepped back.