The dress is a strapless Carolina Herrera, with layers and layers of whisper-thin organza. It blows my budget and the “less is more” mantra out of the water, but like Eva said the day we bought it in downtown Denver, when you know, you know. There are five hundred guests waiting for me to get this show on the road. The twenty-three members of the bridal party are assembled outside the stone walkway that leads to the gazebo outside the Midnight Lodge, underneath the Rocky Mountains.
This is my fantasy.
At least, the one I’d been harboring up until today, when everything changed.
Eva smiles at me. “Ready to make your dreams come true?”
I stare at myself in the mirror. I look like Cinderella, if the wicked stepmother had just materialized at the castle on Cinderella’s wedding day and gunned down Prince Charming in cold blood. I’m also about three minutes away from losing the mimosa I’d polished off earlier at breakneck speed. I go to chew on my nails but then I remember Eva painted them, and the last thing I want is for him to see the chips.
He notices things like that. He’s an observer.
And I want to be perfect for him.
Him.
The wrong him.
Oh, god.
I go to chew on my lip, but I can’t do that because they’ve been lacquered with bubble-gum pink gloss, and he’d probably notice if I got it on my teeth, too. All my normal ways of freaking out are off limits. This is the day of my dreams, and I’m not supposed to be freaking out.
But I am. Oh, lordy, am I ever.
I’ve been waiting my whole life for this day.
This perfect day, where the sun is shining, the snow is melting, birds are singing, and the sky is the deepest blue I’ve ever seen.
But there’s a problem.
A problem in the form of a pretentious, bearded, six-foot-three wall of hot man flesh who stalks around hating the world and thinking he’s better than everyone in it.
My fiancé’s best friend. The best man, Miles Foster.
This is all his fault.
“You okay?” Eva asks.
“I am,” I insist, pushing the infernal veil out of my face for the thousandth time. “This dress is itchy as hell.”
I stand and pluck the dress up under my armpits, hoisting it over my boobs. I try to take a step but…too much fabric, in all directions. It’s a wonder I don’t drown in this sea. In this sea, or in this mess I’ve created for myself. I sit back down on the vanity stool and pout. “I’m stuck.”
In more ways than one.
She gathers handfuls of too much organza and helps me up, depositing the pile of fabric safely in my wake. I shuffle to the full-length mirror and glance at myself. I don’t look like a bride, or even a fairytale princess. I look like a prisoner who just got her death sentence.
“It’s too loose,” I whine. “I think I must’ve lost some boobage during my diet. What if the top of my dress falls down while I’m walking up the aisle?”
Eva smirks. “I’m sure Aaron’ll love the show.”
The thought makes the mimosa turn in my stomach. I always used to live for what Aaron thought. When I would look at something, be it a new movie coming out, or a sweater at the mall, or a new hair style, I’d think, Would Aaron like this? But I realize, as she says his name, that it doesn’t matter to me in the slightest what Aaron thinks. The only opinion I care about now is that of the man who will be standing precisely two feet left of my husband-to-be.
I am such an idiot.
In less than fifteen minutes, I will be marching down the stone steps outside the Midnight Lodge to a picturesque gazebo at the foot of the hills, on the arm of my father, who has socked his entire life’s savings into making this day picture perfect for his only daughter. I will take the hand of the man I’ve been attached at the hip to for five years, ever since I met him in a dank frat cellar when I was a wide-eyed little college freshman. I will join with this man, this man I’ve spent all of my adult life with, in holy matrimony, ’til death us do part.
I will become Mrs. Aaron Eberhart.
But I know I will be looking past my husband-to-be, to the man who, up until twelve hours ago, I thought I’d hated. Miles Foster.
And I will be wondering What if…
I wish finding a husband was as simple as finding a dress. When you know, you know.
I did know, or I thought I did. Up until twelve hours ago, I thought Aaron Eberhart was my true soul mate, the one I’d happily spend the rest of my life with. That’s when things took an unexpected turn.
Right now? I don’t even know my own name.
And I have a feeling I might have made a huge mistake.
“What’s wrong with you?”
I peer beyond my reflection, at Eva, who’s watching me suspiciously as I twist my engagement ring on my knuckle. “Um. Nothing.”
“Cold feet, I suspect.” Wrong. “Don’t worry, once the ceremony is over, you’ll feel so much better.”
I will? No. Not happening.
She straightens the little tiara on my head and spreads the organza waterfall of a veil over my shoulders. “Perfect. You’re a beautiful bride.”
Around me, the other bridesmaids and my mother gasp in awe. The photographer snaps pictures. I try to look happy. I don’t succeed.
I turn to Eva. She pats my hand but I grab it in a death grip before she can go. “I need to talk to you,” I grit out under my breath. “It’s important.”
She can tell from the tone of my voice, I mean business. She claps her hands. “Hey, everyone. Get out. Bride needs some alone time with her maid of honor.”
They all start to file out as Eva fingers my veil. She should’ve been in the army, with how well she can order people around. Even the photographers finally grant me some breathing room, thank goodness.
“So, what’s the deal?” she asks, scrutinizing my dress to make sure there aren’t any smudges on it.
“I think I’m making a mistake.”
Her eyes flip up to mine. She stares at me for almost ten seconds before she laughs. “Funny.”
“I’m not joking.”
Her face falls. “Holy shit. You’re not joking.” She fluffs my veil on my shoulders. “But don’t worry. It’s not a mistake. You’re fine. It’s cold feet, a perfectly normal part of being a bride. You’ll be—”
“I fucked Miles this morning. Is that normal?”
She drops my veil and nearly stumbles backwards. “You didn’t.”
“I did.”
Her mouth takes some time to form the O it eventually settles at. I can almost see her mind cycling through potential questions.
Eventually, it lands on: “How was it?” She cringes. “No, don’t answer that. I mean…how did that happen?”
I throw up my hands. “I don’t know! I mean, obviously I know. We were snowbound, and at first I detested him, and then I started liking him, and then he confessed to me that he’s been into me all this time. Ever since the first time we slept together. That’s why he’s never been with anyone else. Isn’t that kind of…sweet?”
“Wait…back up.” She’s leaning against the vanity for support because I think I could knock her over with a feather. “The first time?”
I nod. “Yeah. Actually, it was before I met Aaron. I slept with Miles first.”
Her jaw drops. “You little frat ho!” she screams.
I motion at her frantically to keep it down. My mom and all my family are right nearby.
She covers her mouth with her hands. “Whoops. And he told you he’s into you? What, like, in love with you? So he’s just be pining away for you for…what? Six years?”
I’m almost hyperventilating now, my heart a squished little thing in my chest. “Pretty much.”
She shakes her head. “Pardon me, but does he know what a fucking asshole move that is? He couldn’t have told you that six years ago? His time is up. You’re marrying his best friend today!”
“I’m pretty sure Aaron’s been cheating on me. All this time.”
She winces. “Really?”
“Yeah. At his bachelor party. A month ago. Every time I was out of town…”
She claps both hands over her mouth again, breathing hard. “Oh, fuck.”
This is the part where she’d offer me some stellar best-friend advice. I wait. And wait.
“Eva. A little advice, please?”
“Advice?” she repeats. “I can’t even…holy fuck.”
My shoulders slump. I know. This is awful. And the worst thing is, I did it to myself.
“All right. Here’s what I think. Two wrongs don’t make a right. You need to talk to Aaron and—”
“Aaron knows. He doesn’t care. He wants to marry me anyway. And he promised that he’d never cheat again.”
“God, Lia, are you sure? Can he really change?”
I look at her, confused.
She sighs. “You’ve been together five years. That has to be worth something. And love conquers all, right?”
I rest my head on my hands, the word love flashing me back to another place. Another time. Another man.
“But I don’t know what I feel for Miles. I might…actually…not hate him as much as I thought.”
“Seriously? Dahlia Marie Ripley! Have you forgotten that every time the two of you are together in the same room, you circle each other like sharks? You don’t just dislike him. You abhor him! Stick with that!”
“I know, I know. I’m so fucked up.”
“No. You’re not. You and Miles are simply combustible. You’ve got a really extreme case of cold feet and freaked out in a major way. But Aaron’s forgiven you. Just go and marry Aaron, Lia. That’s what you’ve always wanted. Isn’t it?”
Is it, really? Do I want the dream I’ve built up in my head, and am I missing out on what is truly real?
Eva tells me to go and marry Aaron. Because she doesn’t know everything about Miles. Not the truth, the whole of it. Nor does she know Miles the way I do.
My stomach is all knotted up. “I don’t know that I can do that. Miles is going to be right there beside Aaron when we’re saying our vows.”
She seems bewildered. “You mean that Aaron’s still going to have Miles stand up for him?”
“It appears so. Bros before hos, I guess.”
She laughs pitifully. “Oh, boy.”
“So what do I do? I can’t call the wedding off.”
I look at my best friend, praying that she has some sage advice. Or a fortune ball.
Or a pair of balls I can borrow, which I will need.
Eva clucks at the mention of calling off the wedding and rubs her hands together. “No, I mean. You’ve been planning for years. You can’t call it off, Lia.” She shakes her head, scowling. “Was it really that serious with Miles?” She seems even more confused now.
I gnaw on my lip.
How can I explain everything in a minute? It would take me days to go over everything said. Every past act I misinterpreted. Every intense emotion I feel for and with Miles.
Every way Miles gets to me, not all bad, not all good, but definitely some even better than good.
It would take me a whole lifetime to decipher Miles. I can’t even begin to explain to Eva now.
“Look, Miles really pushes your buttons, Lia. Just let that go,” Eva says, clearly blaming Miles for my malady because she thinks Mr. Hot & Surly is to blame. He is: but not in the way Eva thinks. “But I think you need to talk to Miles before you walk down the aisle. Tell him that it’s over, you made your decision nineteen months ago, and that you and Aaron are getting married. Tell him to leave you alone.”
And then I’ll give him a lap dance at the reception and shake my boobs in his face and make sure he forgets all about you,” she adds, checking herself in the mirror and hoisting up her boobs so her cleavage pops out of the aqua dress.
I let out a sad laugh. “Just don’t touch him.”
“Oh. Of course not. Apparently only you’re allowed to do that.”
I cover my face with my hands. Flashing back to the way he let me touch him. The way we… “Oh, god.” I shut my eyes, trying to shut Miles out. To get back to the present. The moment. My life back to where it was less than 24 hours ago. “You’re right. I need to talk to Miles. But how? He probably hasn’t even gotten off the mountain yet.”
She holds up a set of car keys. They’re mine.
“He’s here?” I say it with so much excitement that she gives me a disappointed look.
“Yeah. Just got here about twenty minutes ago. Don’t worry. I’ll make it happen. I want to see you happy, Lia. This is your day! Don’t let anything ruin this. Shut the fear aside and do what your heart tells you.”
I sigh and hold up my hand in oath. “Promise,” I say, not letting on that my heart is not happy right now and I don’t know exactly why. Because my groom cheated, again? Or because of the best man, the man I’ve pined for forever and who wants me back?
She checks her phone. “All right. We’ve got to get out there before the Midnight Lodge calls this whole wedding quits on you. Ready?”
My shoulders slump. “Do I look ready?”
Because I certainly don’t feel it.
She assesses me, squinting, then reaches into a box and hands me my bouquet of white gardenias. “Here. You wouldn’t be a bride without it.”
“Thanks,” I mutter.
I’ve attended so many weddings where I wished I could be the bride, at the very start of a beautiful love story. And now I’d rather be anyone else.
