Chapter Two
Dean
This is the big day, and it couldn’t be more perfect.
The weather’s cooperating—no small achievement given that it’s July in DC—and our close friends and family (mostly Ella’s) are all here in the hotel garden to celebrate this momentous occasion with us.
Max, my college roommate and best friend, is by my side, ready to hand over the ring when the officiant asks for it. Well, he’s not quite ready, ready. In fact, if anything, he’ll only do it grudgingly.
Granted, I never should have described this as a modern-day marriage of convenience. That soured him instantly. But it’s the term Ella used as she pitched the idea of getting married, so when it was time to share the news with Max, the words just rolled off my tongue before I had a chance to consider how he’d react to them. He’s a true-blue romantic; a relationship founded on mutual respect and compatible goals would never get his blessing, not unless love factored into it as well.
He leans over and nudges me with his shoulder.
I dip my head to listen. “What’s up?”
“It’s not too late to change your mind,” he says, speaking out of the side of his mouth. “Just say the word, and I’ll create a diversion while you jump over the hedges on your right. There’s a clear path to the parking lot. I can hand you the keys to my car now.”
I close a fist over my mouth and laugh into it. “Stop, you asshole. You’re the worst best man ever. And this wedding is going to happen, whether you like it or not.”
“Don’t like it,” he says matter-of-factly. “Just so we’re clear.”
“I’m aware.”
Max has always been a supportive friend, but that doesn’t mean he won’t give me shit when he disagrees with my decisions. This is our way, and I wouldn’t change it for the world. Nor will I change my mind about marrying Ella.
As I wait for the ceremony to begin, I conduct a mental survey of my life plan, genuinely pleased with the progress I’ve made.
Step One: Pay off my student loans.
Status: Completed. Finally.
Step Two: Purchase a home.
Status: Did that last year. Not outright, but it’s a start.
Step Three: Find a suitable partner and form a power couple.
Ella is an information security analyst and wants to open her own firm. Her ambition rivals mine.
Status: To be completed. Minutes from now.
Step Four: Make partner at Olney & Henderson LLP before the age of thirty.
Status: In progress. But since I’m turning thirty in November, I don’t have much time left.
Step Five: Start a family.
Status: To be determined.
Now, if I could get my mother to settle in one place, I’d be golden. But since I don’t set unattainable goals, that one gets slotted in the wishful-thinking corner of my brain. She’s here today, with a new boyfriend I met during the rehearsal dinner. Considering I once wondered if she’d make the wedding at all, I’m counting her appearance as a minor victory.
A string quartet begins to play Pachelbel’s “Canon in D” (Ella’s choice), and the rest of our small wedding party joins Max and me on the steps of the flower-adorned gazebo. Ella’s older sister, Sarah, is a sweet woman who’s welcomed me into the family without hesitation. Tyler, Ella’s childhood friend, is another story, however. The man wears his resting smirk face proudly, and he’s navigated all the events leading up to the wedding as though he doesn’t give a damn about any of them. Why Ella begged me to make him a groomsman is a mystery I have no interest in solving.
The guests rise, and the woman who came into my life just six months ago appears with her dad at the wrought iron entry to the garden and takes a delicate step onto the white aisle runner. As she walks forward, she briefly gazes up at her father, a stoic man who’s hard to read. He doesn’t smile at his daughter, but their arms are hooked together, and his hand covers hers.
Ella glides in front of me and takes a fortifying breath. I give her a reassuring nod; mouth, You look beautiful; and take my place beside her. Our officiant, a friend of Ella’s dad, welcomes the guests as I recite my vows in my head; we wrote our own, and I want to be sure not to say too much or too little.
As we agreed, Ella goes first.
“Thank you,” she says, meeting my gaze. “For coming into my life when I needed you the most. For giving me hope for the future. For helping me let go of . . . the past. For bringing out the very best in me.”
She looks so damned earnest as she says all this, which makes me feel especially shitty for noticing how often she uses the word me. We may not be in love, but I want this to be a solid partnership. It’s a small matter, Dean. Not everyone’s a wordsmith. Focus on the big picture: You’ve finally found someone who’s on the same page as you are about almost everything, from the importance of your respective careers to where and when you’ll settle in the burbs. She doesn’t expect you to love her, and she doesn’t want you to lie about it either. She’s a damn unicorn, so don’t fuck this up.
“I promise from this day forward to be your wife. To support your dreams. To grow with you and beside you.”
Okay, that’s . . . better. And now it’s my turn.
“Ella, from the moment we shared a ride in the backseat of a random Toyota Camry, I knew you’d make an impact on my life. And the minute I discovered you could kick my ass in basketball, I decided we were meant to be.”
That part draws a few laughs, almost exclusively from my side of the aisle.
“But seriously, everything between us is easy, and that speaks volumes. I like that you ask for space and give it just as freely. I like that you know who you are, where you want to go, and how you’re going to get there. You impress me on so many levels. Your drive fuels mine. But more than anything, I love the possibilities of what we can accomplish together. The promise of our future. I want to do this only once, and I vow to do everything in my power to never make you question the choice you made today.”
Ella’s eyes are glistening, and she appears choked up by my words. She takes in a small breath and tilts her head, her gaze searching the area behind me. After a few seconds, her face falls, then she draws back and returns my stare.
She’s nervous, of course. This is a major milestone in our relationship. Maybe the pressure of helping to plan this wedding has taken a toll on her. I’ve done what I thought was my fair share, but who’s to say I shouldn’t have done more?
The officiant turns to our guests. “Dean and Ella would like their friends and family to take part in their special day by answering this question: Do you support this couple as they embark on the next part of their journey?”
The guests respond enthusiastically, albeit clumsily, some simply stating, “Yes,” and others proclaiming, “We do.” Good-natured laughter follows, then a lone voice cuts through the chuckles and chatter and says, “I don’t.”
A few people gasp. Others straighten in their seats as if the ceremony just got interesting. I search for the source of the commotion, my gaze eventually landing on the woman I met in the hallway fifteen minutes ago: Lina’s cousin Solange.
She emerges from her spot near a tall hedge bordering the garden and looks at me with regret in her eyes.
I croak out a few words, which is a miracle in itself since I’m fucking dumbfounded. “What the hell’s going on?”
She ignores my question and directs her own to my bride instead: “Ella, this is one of the most important decisions of your life. It’s not just about you. This affects Dean too. Are you sure you want to go through with this?”
Hold up. This woman, who I didn’t even know an hour ago, is trying to stop my wedding?
What. The. Fuck?