Chapter 4

A week passed in the blink of an eye.

Today was Becky's wedding day. And it was the deadline I'd announced at that party.

At ten in the morning, at the frat house, Steven stood in front of the mirror, straightening his tie.

He was wearing a sharply tailored black suit, his hair groomed to perfection.

"Whoa, Steven, dressed like that—you going to crash a wedding and steal the bride?" his roommate whistled.

Steven adjusted his cufflink, a confident smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. "Going to offer someone a way out."

He pulled a fresh red velvet ring box from his drawer and slipped it into his pocket.

Inside: a two-carat diamond ring.

All week, he hadn't been able to reach me. Calls wouldn't connect. Texts wouldn't go through.

He'd driven by the off-campus apartment and found it completely cleared out.

But he wasn't worried in the slightest.

In his mind, this was all a grand scheme to force his hand into proposing.

"She said she'd be married within a week," Steven said with conviction, analyzing it for the guys. "Today's Becky's wedding. She's obviously planning to wait for me to show up there, then set up the perfect moment for me to propose."

"Women love that dramatic romantic stuff."

Steven clapped his roommate on the shoulder, eyes gleaming with self-assurance. "Let's go, boys. Time to witness Rachel's little 'proposal play.'"

The whole crew piled into cars and headed for Trinity Church on the outskirts of town.

Steven's mood was excellent the whole drive.

He pictured me in a bridesmaid dress, pacing nervously inside the church, waiting for him to walk through the door. The more he imagined it, the more his sense of control swelled.

He'd even rehearsed his opening line:

"Done throwing your fit? Here's the ring. Be good from now on, and stop giving Claire such a hard time."

Half an hour later, the cars pulled up on the lawn outside the church.

The sun was out, and the lawn was decorated with white roses and balloons.

Steven led his boys up the front steps with a confident stride.

But the moment he reached the guest book table, he stopped dead.

Two enormous floral signs stood side by side.

On the left: Welcome to the wedding of Becky & Daniel.

That one he'd expected.

But beside it, an identical sign, same elegant script, same gold leaf trim.

It read: Welcome to the wedding of Rachel & Aaron.

Steven's pupils contracted. The confident smile on his face froze solid.

"Rachel… and Aaron?" He stared at the name, something barely audible slipping into his voice.

Aaron?

The med school genius who'd topped every single class? The weirdo who was always cold, never showed up to anything?

"This can't be right." Steven snapped out of it with a dry laugh. "She's messing with me. That's all this is—some elaborate joke."

He strode up to the guest list table and announced to the best man manning it: "I'm Steven. Rachel's boyfriend. Let me through."

The best man glanced at the list, then looked up at Steven like he was watching a circus act.

"Sorry. Your name's not on the list."

"Are you blind? I'm Steven Carter!" Steven's voice climbed, drawing stares from nearby guests.

"I know exactly who you are, ex-boyfriend." The best man's smile was ice cold. "But your name's not on the list. The groom made it clear—this is their big day, and he doesn't want any trash ruining it. The whole fraternity got the same treatment. Please leave."

"Trash?!"

Steven's face drained of color. A cold, unfamiliar panic crawled up his spine like a snake.

"Get out of my way!" He shoved the best man aside and charged for the church's heavy oak doors.

"Steven, what the hell—!" His boys tried to hold him back, but missed.

His hand hit the door handle, his heart hammering against his ribs.

"Rachel, you'd better be joking…" he muttered through gritted teeth, and threw the door open.

BANG.

The heavy doors slammed against their stops, the sound filling the church.

Inside, the light was dim and reverent. The organ was playing the processional—the Wedding March in all its solemn glory.

Steven stood in the doorway, his eyes sweeping over the rows of guests, searching desperately for the far end of the aisle.

Then his feet locked to the floor, and every drop of blood in his body rushed to his head.

He saw me.

I wasn't wearing a bridesmaid dress.

I was wearing an ivory wedding gown, heavy and white, a veil trailing behind me on the floor.

Sunlight streamed through the stained-glass windows, catching me in a glow that looked like an impossible dream.

And I was walking down the aisle, my arm linked through another man's, step by step, toward the altar.

That man had a tall, straight back. He was leaning down slightly, murmuring something to me with a tenderness Steven had never once shown me.

It wasn't a joke.

It was my wedding.

And the groom was not him.