But the moment those doors opened and the entire congregation turned to stare at me, my eyes found Tyler, and everything I’d suppressed that morning and afternoon flooded me with a vengeance, nearly knocking me to my knees.
My feet were glued to the floor where I stood, and if time had slowed before, it was at a complete standstill now. I couldn’t hear the soft harp playing, or feel the breeze rolling in from the ocean. I couldn’t taste anything but bitter, unrelenting truth on my tongue, and all I could see was the man I knew I’d never be truly free of.
Somehow, I managed to take that first step, and then the next, and though I knew I should smile and look around at everyone gathered in the chairs around the aisle, I could only look at Tyler.
And he could only look at me.
The way the sun was slowly sinking cast a golden glow over his chestnut hair, which was styled and neat, parted on the side and swept over in an effortless way. The breeze blew gently through the strands, but didn’t disturb them, and his eyes were ablaze as he watched me walk toward him. I noted his freshly shaved jaw, the way it ticked and flexed the closer I came, the thick muscles of his neck straining against each swallow, and each shallow breath that found his chest.
I’d seen Tyler in pajamas, and in swim trunks, and in his business suit and in his casual shorts and crew shirts. I’d seen him dressed up for a night on the town and even in a tuxedo for his senior prom and my own, too.
But I’d never seen Tyler Wagner, scarred from pain and longing, standing in a tux next to his sister’s future husband with so much written in his sad eyes as they watched me walking toward him. I’d never felt the heat of his gaze so fiercely, like a flame held just centimeters from my skin, hot enough to make me wriggle and squirm for fear of being burned, but far enough away to not actually mark me.
How was it so heartbreaking to look at him, and yet so intoxicating, too? How was there still hope and want and longing simmering deep in my belly as I watched him, when all the signs pointed to us being nothing but toxic for each other?
How could we ever be together?
How could we ever be apart?
I paused at the end of the aisle, watching him for a long moment with all those questions whirling in my mind before I finally turned to take my place on the opposite side. I caught a brief, stiff breath of clean air, and then all eyes were on the doors I’d just walked through, on the bride and father who walked through those doors, arm in arm.
The congregation gasped in unison, standing as she and Robert walked slowly down the aisle. Oliver choked on a quiet sob, pinching the bridge of his nose as emotion overcame him. I smiled a little when Tyler squeezed his shoulder, and Oliver’s gaze found his bride again, the brightest smile washing over his face.
Their love poured out over the beach and across everyone on it. It was impossible, in that moment, not to feel it in the same all-encompassing way that they did.
When Robert told the officiant it was he and Amanda who gave Morgan to the groom, kissing her cheek and passing her hand to Oliver’s, everyone sat, and the ceremony began.
It was beautiful.
It was emotional.
It was perfect.
And after they shared their first kiss as husband and wife, they walked down the aisle together, and Tyler held out his arm for mine to walk us right behind them, as rehearsed.
But it was the first time we had touched since the night we’d had each other fully, and we both sipped a short, burning breath when my arm slipped through his. I squeezed the muscles hidden by his tuxedo jacket, mostly so I didn’t fall, but also because I couldn’t help but revel in their strength, in his warmth, in his scent, like teakwood and turquoise waters. He held his arm steady, but I didn’t miss the shakiness of his next breath.
We held our gazes forward, somehow managing to smile and nod to everyone as we passed, but for me, that moment stretched on into infinity. I wondered if Tyler wanted to hold onto me, too, or if he was just desperate to get this over with so he could never touch me again.
As soon as we were behind the shutter doors, he answered my question — releasing me without so much as a glance or a second thought. Moments later, Azra was in his arms, and he kissed her cheek as she smiled and wrapped her arms around his waist.
I felt that kiss like an ice pick to the heart.
And it stayed there the rest of the night.
The reception was held immediately following the ceremony under a tent set up on the beach. It might as well have been a grand ballroom, for how the wedding planner had transformed it. Soft fairy lights were strung from end to end, working with the various sizes of candles on each table — some floating, some stable — to give the night a beautiful, magical glow. The centerpieces were simple, elegant lilacs and clematis arrangements that brought the colors of the wedding into the evening. It was all warm and cozy and filled with love, the distant sound of the waves on the beach adding to the ambience of the band as they played soft and slow jazz.
Everyone was eating, but I’d found myself unable to get more than a bite or two of my bread down. My stomach was in a fit of knots after the ceremony, and when the wedding planner handed me the microphone for my speech, it only somersaulted, tying itself up even more.
The band nodded when the planner gave them the cue to stop after the next song, and then I was standing at the center of the dance floor with that mic in my hand, laughing internally at the irony of it. I loved to talk. Putting a microphone in front of me usually brought me to life. Hell, I had a podcast that I’d made a career out of because I loved talking so much.
But I didn’t know how I’d make it through this speech still breathing.
A few people gently clicked their silverware against their glasses at the end of the song, cueing a kiss from the newlyweds before all eyes were on me.
I did my best not to look at the one pair of eyes I felt the most.
“Good evening, everyone,” I said, smiling, and it almost felt like another version of myself stepping in to grab the mic and take over. I stood straight and confidently, cracking a joke to open the speech before I launched into my version of the story of how Morgan and Oliver met, talking about the long, late night phone calls I’d received from Morgan gushing about the new guy she’d met on the Cape.
The girl speaking in the center of that dance floor seemed a million miles away from the one inside my heart.
“She told me when she left that trip that she was going to marry Oliver,” I told the room, joining the wave of smiles that spread at the words. “And I realize this was only a few days after they met, and any other normal friend would have taken that as a joke. But I know Morgan maybe better than anyone, and if there’s one thing I know about her, it’s that she follows her gut instincts, and once she’s made up her mind, there’s no changing it.”
A few echoes of hear, hear rang out.
“Truthfully, I don’t think the poor sucker had a choice once she said it out loud.”
Everyone chuckled at that, and Morgan leaned into Oliver, who wrapped his arm around her shoulder and pressed a kiss to her temple.
I took a deep breath, smiling at the couple and wrapping both hands around the microphone. “All jokes aside, I don’t think it takes more than just a fleeting glance at these two to see how deeply their love for each other runs. And it isn’t the kind of love we see in the fairy tales or the movies or hear about in our favorite songs.” I shook my head. “Their love is the real kind — the raw, unfiltered, honest and true kind of love that makes your chest hurt a little when you see it up close, because it’s just so damn beautiful, it takes your breath away.”