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1
Vivian
I can do this. I’m doing the right thing.
Why didn’t I think of bringing a bouquet? I take a step forward to walk up the aisle alone.
My heart leaps up into my throat. My fingers tremble. I lock them together in front of me and take a deep breath. Then another. The organist strikes up the opening chords of "Here Comes the Bride."
There. That takes the decision out of my hands. I take a step forward, then another, fixing my sightless eyes straight ahead. The crowd hushes. I walk down the aisle. Sweat trails down my back. My knees tremble, but I manage to stay upright. Keep moving. Don’t stop. You want to marry him. You do. Why am I trying to convince myself? A little too late to turn back, isn’t it? A shiver runs up my spine.
The fine hairs on the nape of my neck tighten. Beneath the scent of incense in the church are notes of woodsmoke and pine, and something evocative that reminds me of a forest I visited once when I was a young girl. I look to the side, and I meet the gaze of a man I’ve never seen before.
Those blue eyes are like sheets of ice. Thick, jet-black hair cut in a military style crew cut shows the shape of his skull and lends him a severe appearance. Threads of silver at his temples only add to his distinguished look. His jaw is square, his cheekbones sharp enough to cut diamonds.
That beautiful throat is corded with tendons, while his shoulders are broad enough to fill my line of sight.
Then there’s his hooked nose, and that thin upper lip, which adds to the impression of his spartan nature… As for that plush lower lip—I swallow— it would be perfect to bite down on.
Whoa, what am I thinking?
His lips firm, thinning out that upper lip further. I drag my gaze back to his; to find he’s scowling at me. The expression on his face is angry and confused, and yet, there's so much naked need. My nipples tighten, and my toes curl. My steps slow. It feels like I’m walking through quicksand.
What is this fluttering sensation in my belly? This shivering that grips me. This hesitation which churns my belly. Who is this guy? Why have I never felt like this before? Why is this stranger having such an impact on me?
Fighting my instincts, I walk past him.
As I pass my father, he wipes a tear from his face. My own threaten, but I don’t give in. I stifle the ball of emotion that clogs my throat.
Keep moving.
I force myself to look forward and come to a halt opposite the priest who’s going to marry us. Only problem?
What does it say about me that I didn’t notice my bridegroom was missing until I reached the altar? I was too focused on gathering my wits, then on putting one foot in front of the other. And when I saw that scowling guy, all other thoughts flew out of my head.
I turn to the groomsman, who I recognize as my bridegroom’s friend, Stan. "Where’s Felix?" I ask.
"Err…" Stan’s Adam’s apple bobs. "Err... I… He…" He shakes his head, sweat beading his upper lip. Why does he look like he’s going to puke?
Behind me, murmurs arise from the crowd. Then my father calls out, “Is everything all right, Vivi?”
I hold up my hand, and the conversations quiet down. I narrow my gaze on Stan. "What’s wrong? Is Felix okay? Did something happen to him?"
"Err… He… Uh…He sent me this message." Stan thrusts his phone under my nose.
Felix: Tell Vivian I’m sorry. I can’t go through with it
He dumped me. What the—! My bridegroom didn’t have the courtesy to tell me to my face that he was breaking up with me?
Heat flushes my cheeks. Embarrassment squeezes my chest, and I hunch my shoulders. Yet, my heart… My heart stays steady. And my brain whispers… Thank God.
A giddy sense of relief infiltrates my blood stream. My bridegroom stood me up, and while I am upset and angry, I also feel like I managed to avoid the gallows. What does that say about me? Was I about to commit the biggest mistake of my life? And did my bridegroom save me by not turning up for our wedding?
He did me a solid. Except, he dumped me in front of a church full of people, including my father. That sense of mortification tightens into a lump in my throat and spreads to my chest. My stomach heaves. Bile boils up my throat. I swallow down the acidic taste coating my tongue and draw in a breath, then another.
Someone in the crowd loudly asks, “Is the wedding off?”
He's greeted by a chorus of shushing and admonishments and what seems to be a thousand voices raised in conversation.
