“It’s time,” Roxy says softly as The Wedding March starts. “Ready?”
Ready? No chance in hell. My anxiety is through the roof, my heart is hammering in my chest like a Dubstep concert, and I feel like I’m sweating this damn gown through. I’m far from ready. But I have no choice. “Let’s go.”
The doors open, and for a moment, I feel stalled. Dread is a force field, keeping me from taking the first step through the doorway. I feel myself start to lean back, ready to run, but Roxy gives me a gentle push and we walk into the room.
As the sound system plays, we begin our slow walk down the aisle. The room is filled with almost as much family as yesterday. Familiar faces are all around, cousins and family friends. All those damn eyes staring at me above wide smiles. Fraud! they seem to scream. I tear my eyes away from them, staring straight ahead. My legs feel weak, and I’m glad Roxy’s walking me down. I think I’d stumble otherwise.
Even in my frazzled state, I see how beautiful the place is. They even put more decorations up than Mom had and changed the theme. Instead of being a sort of airy elegance, it’s almost totally over the top. There’s finery everywhere, gilt-edged curtains and bunting all around the hall. There are flowers all over. I don’t even want to know just how many flower shops John emptied out on this. They even redid the altar, making it sparkle and shine even more than before.
It’s a wedding chapel worthy of a Disney movie. It’s a room that a real Princess would walk down the aisle in. Except it’s not fucking real.
I blink to clear my vision, and my breath catches in my throat when I see Oliver. He’s waiting up ahead at the altar. Standing by himself except for the priest, he’s the perfect groom. He’s wearing a tailed waistcoat, his hair slicked and styled just right, his hands in front of him respectfully. Every inch of him screams poise and strength, and he’s fucking gorgeous. But my heart does a weird twist, and with each step, the blackness that’s threatened to overwhelm me all day grows.
I should’ve known someone like him was too good to be true. I should’ve known that getting involved too deeply would end in heartbreak.
I should have . . . and now it’s too late.
By the time we reach the altar, I’m a mess. My breathing is ragged and I’m trying to do my best to control my arms from shaking. Roxy even has to help me up the first step before she lets go and peels off to take her seat.
Oliver’s eyes are on mine, but they are carefully neutral, his emotions hidden behind a mask. I can't read what he’s thinking.
The priest clears his throat and begins. “Dearly beloved . . .”
Just like yesterday, I lose track of what he’s saying. I hear noise, music once, but mostly just noise. Instead, I think about my misery.
It’s not going to end today. What, is Oliver going to go on a fake honeymoon with me, pose so we can Photoshop ourselves on the beach in Cabo? When is enough, enough?
“If you’d face each other,” the minister says quietly, and I’m jerked back to reality as Oliver takes my hand and turns toward me. Through my veil, I look at him again, his face a mask, the joy on his face not reaching his eyes. “Oliver Steele, do you take this woman to be your . . .”
I don’t hear anything, I stare at Oliver as he listens, and I see a glimmer of something in his eyes when the minister finishes. It’s pain. Still, he nods before clearing his throat. “I do.”
“And Mindy Isabella Price, do you take this man to be your . . .”
I open my mouth to say I do, but the words die on my lips. There’s so much pain in Oliver’s eyes. I’m ruining this, not just for myself and not just for my family, even if they don’t know it, but for him too.
I tear my eyes away from Oliver to look around the chapel. Beside me, I can see Roxy in tears, hungrily awaiting my answer. I see Mom staring at me, her face shining with so much emotion and pride. Beside her are Aunt Rita, Grandma, and cousin Layla. Behind them are John, Uncle Charles, and everyone else, all of them waiting for these two simple words. The heavy weight of guilt becomes almost unbearable.
I'm a liar. A big fucking liar.
The priest clears his throat again as the silence stretches on. I look back at Oliver, and something inside me breaks. No more of this, no more lies. “Oliver . . . I’m sorry.”
I throw off my veil as I hike my dress and jump off the altar, stumbling on the thick carpet for a moment. There’s an audible gasp in the audience as I book it for the back doors, and I hear a sharp wail of dismay from someone—I think it’s Roxy.
Suddenly, Mom grabs my arm, trying to pull me to her. She pulls me around, and I see confusion and pain in her eyes now, too. Everywhere I look, there’s pain. “Mindy, stop! What are you doing?”