The Wedding
NATE
I stand at the altar next to Ollie, trying to focus on anything but the fact that she's here. Somewhere in this venue and it’s the closest I’ve been to her in two years.
Two years. That’s how long it’s been since I left for rehab. Two years since Jake died and I've seen her face, heard her voice, been in the same room as her.
My hands won't stop shaking, so I clasp them in front of me and hope it looks intentional. Ollie's fidgeting with his cufflinks—nervous energy he's been radiating all morning—and I clap him on the shoulder.
"You good?"
He nods, swallows hard. "Yeah. You?"
I lie. "Yeah."
The music starts and everyone stands.
The bridesmaids start their procession down the aisle—Mia’s cousins first, then Camilla, all of them beaming—and I keep my eyes fixed on a point just above the guests' heads.
Because I know she's next and I don't know if I'm ready. I don't know if you can ever be ready to see someone who still owns parts of you that you haven't figured out how to take back.
My heart is hammering so hard I can feel it in my throat. My palms are sweating. My chest feels tight, like someone's wrapped a band around my ribs and is slowly tightening it.
I tell myself to look to just get it over with.
The music swells, and I hear the collective intake of breath that means Mia's appeared. Everyone's looking back now, watching her walk down the aisle in that way people do at weddings—smiling, crying, witnessing.
But I still don't look up. Because if I look up, I'll see her. And if I see her, everything I've spent two years trying to rebuild might just collapse.
My fingers dig into my palms.
Just breathe. Just get through this.
Then that instinct that's always existed between us, the one that makes me aware of exactly where she is in any room, like some internal compass that only points to her, kicks in.
And I know—I know—she's looking at me.
I lift my head.
And there she is.
The world doesn't slow down. It doesn't blur at the edges or fade to black and white like in movies.
It just stops.
Completely stops.
She's already looking at me. Eyes locked on mine like she's been waiting for me to look up, like she knew the exact moment I would.
And fuck, she's stunning.
Not in the polished, untouchable way that makes someone beautiful from a distance. In the way that makes it hard to breathe. In the way that reminds me exactly why I've spent two years trying—and failing—to stop loving her.
Her dress is soft green and it moves around her like water. Her hair is swept back loosely, a few strands escaping to frame her face.
No heavy makeup, just her.
Just Leni.
Just the girl I've loved for as long as I can remember, looking at me like no time has passed at all.
Like two years is nothing and we're still us.
But we’re not.
I remember to breathe but still can’t seem to look away. Neither can she.
The entire church is watching Mia glide down the aisle—this beautiful, perfect moment they'll remember forever—and Nora and I are locked in our own moment that exists outside of time, outside of this wedding, outside of everything except the space between us that feels simultaneously like two feet and two thousand miles.
Her lips part slightly, like she's about to say something. Or maybe she's just as winded as I am. I want to say something. Want to mouth hi or you look beautiful or I've missed you so much I can barely stand it.
But I don't.
I just look at her.
And she looks at me.
And the world keeps turning even though it feels like it shouldn't.
Mia reaches the altar, and Nora has to turn away.
She takes her place on the other side, facing me across this small space that might as well be an ocean.
The officiant starts the ceremony. He’s talking—something about love and commitment and choosing each other every day—but I couldn't tell you a single word of it.
All I can focus on is her. The way she's holding her bouquet too tightly, knuckles white against the stems. The way she keeps glancing at me when she thinks I'm not looking. The way her chest rises and falls just a little too quickly, like she's trying to steady her breathing and failing.
Every time our eyes meet, it's the same jolt. The same sense of knowing.
The kind that says: I know you. I've always known you. I will always know you.
She bites her bottom lip—nervous habit I remember from a thousand moments before—and I have to look away before I do something stupid like forget where I am and why I can't just walk over there and kiss her.
Ollie's saying his vows now.
His voice is steady and full of the kind of certainty I've never had about anything except her. Mia's crying—happy tears, the kind that makes everyone else start tear up too.
I should be present for this. Should be here for my best friend on the most important day of his life. But I keep stealing glances at his sister and she keeps stealing them right back.
"Best man, the rings?"
The words snap me out of it.
I blink. Look at the officiant, at Ollie, who's giving me a look that's half amused, half concerned.
Right. The rings.
I reach into my pocket, fingers fumbling slightly before I find them. Hand them over with what I hope is a smile that doesn't betray the fact that I've been completely lost for the last ten minutes.
Ollie takes them and the ceremony continues. The rings are exchanged and life long promises are made.
"I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride."
Everyone cheers as Ollie pulls Mia in and kisses her like he's been waiting his entire life for this moment.
And he has.
They both have.
I'm clapping along with everyone else, genuinely happy for them, when I feel it again. I look up and Nora's already looking at me.
And there's this moment—
This moment where everything else falls away. The cheering, the music starting up again, the guests getting to their feet. It all just disappears.
And it's just us.
Looking at each other across this altar, across two years of silence and distance and all the things we never said.
And I swear I can feel it.
Every lifetime we've found each other. Every version of us that has existed across time and space and circumstance. Every iteration where we've looked at each other exactly like this and known—just known—that we're supposed to be together.
That we're inevitable.
But in this lifetime, in this moment, it's different. Because this time it's not just recognition.
It's grief.
For all the time we've lost. For all the chances we've missed. For all the ways we've hurt each other and ourselves trying to do the right thing.
Her eyes are bright with unshed tears and I want to say something. I want to cross this space between us and tell her everything I've been holding for two years.
But I can’t. Not when I'm still trying to figure out how to be a person who deserves her.
Mia and Ollie are walking back down the aisle, and we have to follow.
Nora turns away first and I let her.
Because that's what I do, it’s what I’ve always done.
I let her go, even when every part of me is screaming to hold on.
The Eden Country Club is decorated exactly how Mia wanted—string lights woven through the trees outside, tables draped in white linen, flowers everywhere.
I make my way through the cocktail hour on autopilot. Shaking hands and smiling when people tell me I did a good job up there. All while scanning the room without meaning to, looking for her without wanting to find her.
Nick appears at my elbow with a glass of sparkling water.
"You okay?"
"Yeah."
He doesn't look convinced. "You sure about that?"
"I'm fine."
"Nate—"
"I'm fine," I repeat, and take the glass just to have something to do with my hands.
He studies me for a moment, then nods slowly.
"She's by the bar. In case you were wondering."
"I wasn't."
Except I was.
"Right." Nick claps me on the shoulder. "Well, if you need anything—"
"I know. Thanks."
He leaves me there, and I tell myself I'm not going to look. That I'm going to finish this drink, congratulate Ollie one more time, and then leave early without making this weird.
I last about thirty seconds.
Then I look.
And immediately wish I hadn't. She's standing by the bar near the terrace doors, backlit by the setting sun streaming through the windows. The light catches in her hair, turns her dress into something that shimmers when she moves.
My hands grip the glass harder when I realise she isn't alone.
A man stands beside her. Tall, clean-cut, posture easy, smile relaxed. He looks like he belongs in this setting—polished, confident, the kind of man who fits into a wedding without trying. His hand rests on the small of her back. Casually, possessively, comfortably.
Like he has every right to touch her that way. Like she wants him to.
My stomach drops.
The name comes to me through fragments of conversation I've overheard throughout the day: Liam.
The guy she works with in London. I mean it makes perfect sense that they ended up together.
And it fucking burns.
She turns, laughing at something he said, and our eyes meet across the room. The noise of the reception fades into something distant and dull. Her expression shifts before she can stop it—surprise first, then something sharper, something older.
Hurt. Recognition. Longing, maybe. Or just memory dressed up as something it's not. She hesitates, like she's deciding whether to walk away or walk toward me.
Then she chooses forward.
Each step she takes feels heavier than the last, not because of tension or anger, but because of the weight of everything that's not been said between us.
My heart doesn't race, it just sinks. As if it knows what's coming. As if it's been preparing for this moment for two years.
"Nate."
My name still sounds like home in her voice. Still carries all the summers we spent together, all the almosts and maybes that never became anything real.
"Nora." My voice comes out steadier than I feel.
"You look—" She pauses, choosing her words carefully. "Well."
"You look beautiful."