A cold, anxious shiver runs down the length of my body, but I’m not anxious because I think he wants that. He’s telling me that because he thinks I might want it. And…I’m anxious because of how the prospect of it makes me feel.
“I don’t want that,” I say breathlessly.
Zeth nods, though I can see the flicker of dark amusement in his eyes. “Come on, angry girl. We have a ride waiting for us downstairs.”
Our ride is Michael, of course. And our car is a sleek, black limo. Neither of them caves and tells me where we’re going as we glide silently through the city. I still haven’t guessed, not even when we pull up outside yet another church.
Zeth helps me out of the car, a small smile playing over the corners of his mouth. He looks so entertained by my confusion.
“What are we doing here?” I can hear music inside—the sound of violins and cellos, and the music of many voices all talking at once. Tea light candles light the path up to the church entrance, and small fairy lights have been wrapped around the branches of the trees in the courtyard. It’s stunning.
Zeth looks slightly bashful as he reaches into his pocket and produces a square of dirty, battered card. There’s blood splattered on the back of it, and the corner is torn, but I instantly realize what it is: the invitation to Suresh’s wedding. He told me…Zeth told me weeks ago he would take me. I’d forgotten all about it. So much has happened in between now and then. So much to change and shape us. Zeth unfolds the invitation and holds it out to me.
“I thought they were getting married in a hotel. In the morning?” I whisper.
“The bride’s very Christian parents were delayed,” Zeth explains. “They pushed back the time and changed the location on account how scandalous not getting married in a church was, apparently.”
I look back up at the church, struggling to cope with the sheer rightness of the moment. “I can’t believe it.”
“I was hoping you’d still want me to be your date?” Zeth says softly.
My eyes are stinging. I can’t believe, in amongst all the fighting, running, violence and pain, he remembered this. “I would love for you to be my date.”
I can’t believe this man. I can’t believe how much I love him. I can’t believe how lost I would be without him in my life. I would definitely have been safer these past few months, but in retrospect, it seems as though Zeth was right. This has all been blood and roses—pain and heartache, but also bittersweet and beautiful, too. There are plenty of things I’d change, losing Lacey being one of them, but I’d still have him. I’d still have this, and this is perfect.
“Want to go inside?” he asks.
I nod, yes. “I definitely want to go inside.”
The ceremony is wonderful. The inside of the church is decked out in a million tiny white flowers, decorating the pews and the aisle. Rebecca, Suresh’s bride, is radiant in a sea of white lace and silk, the same tiny white flowers tied into her hair. I’m surrounded by faces I know from the hospital—Oliver’s sitting at the front of the church with a date, a slim blonde woman with a knockout smile. He notices us halfway through the ceremony and gives me a hesitant smile. Once the vows are over, the whole church full of people walk down the street, not caring about the cold or the wind that ruins their hair. Zeth links his arm through mine and we walk with the rest of the crowd, surrounded by laughter and smiling faces.
“Sloane! Oh my god, Sloane.” A hand lands on my shoulder. The next thing I know, I’m being pulled into a rough hug. Suresh, beaming from ear to ear, squeezes me tightly, then holds me at arm’s length so he can look at me. “I’m so glad you’re here,” he tells me. “Now everything’s perfect.” He plants a wet kiss on my forehead, and Rebecca, suddenly at his side, laughs brightly.
“Yes, so glad you came,” she tells me, kissing my cheek.
“Thank you. You look beautiful.”
“And I see you used your plus one,” Suresh says. “You must be the guy Sloane’s fucking.” He holds out his hand to Zeth. All the blood rushes from my face. I cover my mouth with my hands, remembering what Suresh had said back in the hospital canteen the day he reminded me about his wedding—that I couldn’t just bring a friend. It had to be someone I was fucking. When I peek at Zeth, he’s shaking Suresh’s hand, not even remotely fazed.
“Yep. I’m that guy,” he says. “Zeth. Pleasure to meet you.”
“You too, man. Zeth? Cool name.” He slaps Zeth on the arm, and then the bride and groom move on through the crowd, smiling and hugging more people as they go.