Chapter 55
“The Black Dog” - Taylor Swift
Maeve
The ceremony is simple and sweet, exactly what I would have pictured.
After the minister pronounces them husband and wife, Heath swings Walker backward for a long kiss that garners enthusiastic cheering from the crowd.
When he finally lifts her back up, Walker’s face is flushed with both embarrassment and pleasure.
They walk down the aisle hand in hand, and I don’t even bother tempering my smile. While I might not have been their biggest cheerleader when they first got back together, the past few years have proven just how good they are for each other.
I’m still grinning after them when I notice the wedding planner at the back of the crowd gesturing to me.
Blinking, it takes me a second to realize that Pierce is waiting to escort me down the aisle.
With my heart somewhere down near my toes, I step toward him, keeping my eyes averted from his, even though I can feel them boring into my skull.
He holds his elbow several inches from his body for me to take, and I rest my fingertips on the soft linen of his jacket. The heat of his arm seeps through the thin fabric, bleeding into my hand until I want to snatch it back.
At a nod from the wedding planner, we make our way down the narrow boardwalk that splits the semicircle of guests in half.
Pretend he’s someone else, I tell myself.
Heath’s cousin or some random guy I’ve never met before—literally anyone other than the man who currently holds my heart in his hands with no more care than a gum wrapper.
About halfway down the aisle, my heel catches on a wooden plank, pitching me forward. I don’t even have time to fear smashing my nose before Pierce’s strong hands are wrapping around my arms.
“God, what is it with you and nature?” he says quietly as he straightens me back up.
I don’t want to think about the sensations that course through my body at his touch. Even though he would have done the same thing for any woman he was escorting, my fucked-up heart is doing its damndest to convince me his instincts are heightened when it comes to me.
“You okay?” he murmurs as we once again begin our walk.
The sound of his voice, low and sultry, sends tremors through my bones. I give a shaky nod, not trusting my voice right now.
We make it to the back without another word or incident, and the second we’re past the last row of wedding guests, I drop his arm, not because I don’t want to go on touching him for the rest of the night, but because I don’t think I can handle one more display of rejection from him.
They say he who feels less holds the power, and I have never felt the truth of that statement more than in this moment.
* * *
The time between the ceremony and reception passes in a blur.
Heath and Walker greet their guests, and then we spend an hour having formal photos taken of the wedding party.
Fortunately, most of those are done with the bridesmaids on one side and the groomsmen on the other, meaning Pierce and I can continue pretending we are strangers who mean nothing to each other.
Every once in a while, it feels like his eyes are on me, but whenever I look up, his gaze is somewhere else, leaving me with the sickening knowledge that I’m just imagining things.
The second we’re released so the photographer can get shots of the bride and groom alone, I realize exactly how vivid my imagination has been.
The entire bridal party has congregated at the edge of the reception area, sipping cocktails and talking quietly as we wait on Heath and Walker. I’ve just accepted a French 75 from the bartender when a long-legged blond walks into our midst and throws her arms around Pierce.
If I’d been hit with a wrecking ball, it would have hurt less.
He greets her with a smile, his large hands settling themselves on her waist as if they belong there. And by all appearances, they do. She’s a carbon copy of all the other Ellas he’s dated. Her tiny little dress covers just enough of her ass to be considered acceptable.
Nausea starts a boycott in me, threatening to empty the contents of my already mostly empty stomach. I set my drink down on the bar before I spill it and shove my shaky hands into the folds of my dress.
Is this what it felt like when he saw me with Preston? Then again, he was so angry at me by that point that I probably meant nothing. There’s no way he experienced this searing pain. It feels like something has clawed its way into my ribcage and is pulling it apart piece by piece.
I’m still staring at them, because I’m a sucker for punishment (well, that and a shock victim), when Pierce lifts his eyes, causing his gaze to collide with mine. The contact causes a physical jolt to my system.
He drops his hands from the woman in his arms without breaking eye contact with me. There isn’t even the faintest hint of humor or goodwill in his face, but at least he isn’t glaring at me.
No longer able to stare at him, I turn away, grabbing my drink before leaving the garden.
I don’t pay any mind to where I’m going.
I just need to get away. How am I supposed to watch him fawn all over another woman all night?
It was bad enough seeing him flirt with Caroline, but at least she just happened to be there.
He invited this girl. And not just on a date—to his best friends’ wedding.
I wonder if he knows about Preston and me. It was in the tabloids, but Pierce wouldn’t be caught dead reading those. Even if he did, I doubt he’d care. He made it very clear I blew the only chance I had with him—a regret I’ll have to live with for the rest of my life.
My phone pings from the pocket of my gown, and I fish it out. Apparently I forgot to silence it before the wedding. There’s a text notification from my sister on my screen.
Viv: Have you spoken to Pierce yet?
Suddenly, I want nothing more than to talk to someone about this, and since Vivienne is the only one who knows the depths of my feelings for Pierce, she’s the perfect candidate.
The only problem is that she’s back home in Wesbourne, while I’m stuck in Italy for the weekend with Pierce and his sidepiece.
I settle for texting my sister back.
Me: No. He brought a date.
Viv: Fuckkkk
Having someone else acknowledge exactly how messed up this situation is only makes the gravity of it that much stronger. This is it. Pierce and I are officially over. He wouldn’t have brought a date if he didn’t want to send that message loud and clear.
Me: Yeah. It’s fine though. I’m going to drink a bunch of vodka and sleep most of tomorrow.
Viv: Sounds like a terrific plan.
Me: I know.
Viv: I was being sarcastic.
I find a small stone bench tucked between a few apple trees losing their leaves and take a seat. It feels cool, even through the fabric of my dress, and the temperature is only going to keep dropping tonight.
Viv: You should still talk to him.
Me: And say what exactly?
That I’m sorry? That I broke up with Preston and would he like to give us another shot? That—god forbid—I’m in love with him? All so he can throw it back in my face, then retreat back to someone who is my opposite in every way? No thanks.
Viv: The truth.
Me: He doesn’t want to hear it, trust me.
Viv: You have no way of knowing that unless you try it.
Me: Do you hate me?
Viv: Depends on the day.
Me: I can’t do it, Viv.
Viv: Of course you can. You’re the strongest person I know.
I might have been flattered by her statement under normal circumstances, but right now I only feel the weight of that assessment, and it does nothing to bolster my courage.
Me: And if he rejects me again?
Viv: He’s never actually rejected you before.
Me: Sure feels like it.
Viv: Feelings aren’t everything.
Me: How old are you again?
Viv: Just do it, Maeve. Channel your inner Nike.
Me: I’m going to pretend you didn’t just say that.
Viv: If that makes you feel better.
Me: The only thing that would make me feel better is five shots and an Audrey marathon.
Viv: Tell him and if he rejects you, I’ll fly out and watch all the Audrey movies with you that you want.
Me: You hate Audrey.
Viv: Turns out, today is a day I love you so…
Me: What about the vodka?
Viv: I have full faith in your ability to swipe a bottle from the bar.
I sigh and gaze out over the sea. The waves are rolling as the tide comes in, lapping against the cliffs below like they’re having a marital spat. Heath and Walker are probably done with photos by now, which means it’s time for the reception to start.
The ache in my chest hasn’t dulled since I slipped away.
If anything, it’s grown in size and intensity.
The thought of seeing Pierce again—of seeing them together—makes me confident the only thing passing my lips tonight will be alcohol.
Even thoughts of the oyster bar I was looking forward to make me want to hurl.
I don’t want to continue like this. Anything sounds better than walking around with a gaping hole in my chest. Even confessing my love and having him tell me there’s no chance for us must be better than not knowing.
At least then I’d be able to talk to him one last time, something the masochist in me can’t resist.
I type out another message to Viv, then watch for the bubbles to appear as she responds.
Me: I honestly don’t know what I’ll do if he says he wants nothing to do with me. He’s said it before and I deserve it, but that doesn’t make it any easier to hear.
Viv: Be honest. Tell him how you feel and that you’re sorry. His response is out of your control.
Sniffing, I wipe at tears I didn’t even know were falling.
Me: Okay.
Me: May want to get that plane ticket booked.
Viv: I’ll wait. ;)