Chapter 8
CHAPTER
EIGHT
JULIE
I lie in the hotel bed and stare at the ceiling, unable to fall asleep. Jamie is in the other bed, snoring softly. My mother is in the room next door. Tomorrow morning, the hair and makeup team will arrive at nine. The photographer at ten. The ceremony is at one.
I’m getting married in a few hours. I should be excited. I should be happy. Thanks to Dean's gift, I feel anything but celebratory.
Instead, I feel like Rose in the freezing ocean next to a sinking Titanic, clinging to a goddamn door that sucks as a flotation device and wondering how the hell I ended up here.
I keep telling myself that it's just five years. They'll pass in a blink. Asher and I love each other. We do. This rough patch with his father, the wedding stress—it's temporary. Once we're married, once the pressure is off, things will go back to how they were.
I continue to tell myself this over and over until the sky starts to lighten outside the window and my body finally forces me to close my eyes and go to sleep.
When I wake up, Jamie is sitting on the edge of her bed with her phone. "Good morning, bride," she says cautiously.
She's absolutely picked up on the fact that I'm out of sorts, and she's concerned. I wish I could reassure her, but I'm a mess.
The hair and makeup team arrives exactly on time.
They're efficient, professional, and they transform me into someone I don't recognize.
My hair is swept up in an elaborate updo that was fortified with so much hairspray, I fear it may have eroded half the ozone layer.
My makeup is heavier than I've ever worn—contouring, false lashes, lips painted a shade of pink that looks expensive. Then comes the dress.
It takes three people to get me into it.
The ballgown is stunning, objectively. Layers of silk, a fitted bodice with intricate beading, and a train that stretches twelve feet behind me.
It's the kind of dress that belongs in a magazine spread.
But it's not my dream dress. Not even a little bit.
I look in the mirror and see a stranger.
A beautiful looking stranger in a beautiful dress, but a stranger nonetheless.
After they leave—after the photographer takes a thousand pictures of me standing by the window, sitting on the bed, holding my bouquet—Jamie and I are finally alone.
She's wearing her bridesmaid dress, a soft blush pink that suits her.
She looks at me for a long moment, then crosses the room and takes my hands.
"You look like you're about to run," she says quietly. "And if that's what you want, we can blow this crackerjack stand and be on our way."
I want to say yes. God, I want to say yes. I want to tell her about Dean's gift. About the trap. But I can't. Because he told me not to. And because the way he wrapped everything up means I literally have no choice. If I run, we lose everything in ninety days. I won't do that. Not to Jamie.
"I'm just nervous," I say instead.
Jamie squeezes my hands. "Cold feet are normal. Everyone gets them."
My feet aren't cold. They're blocks of ice. I can tell by the look on her face that I'm not reassuring her at all.
"Are you sure?" she asks. "Because I mean it, Jules. We can leave right now. I'll drive. We'll go anywhere you want."
Sadly, it's not an option. "I'm sure," I say, making sure to sound firmer this time.
I'm already trapped. There's no reason to stress my sister out. I'll tell her about the loan payoff at some point, but everything else... I have to hold that in.
Jamie studies my face. I can see her trying to decide whether to push. But finally, she nods. "Okay," she says. "Then let's get you married."
She hugs me, careful not to crush the dress, and I close my eyes and try to believe that everything is going to be fine.
The drive to the church happens in a blur.
I'm in the back of a white Rolls-Royce. Jamie sits beside me, holding my hand.
My mother is in the front passenger seat, silent, staring out the window.
She's wearing a pale blue dress that the wedding stylist selected for her.
She looks beautiful. Uncomfortable, but beautiful. Nobody speaks.
When we turn the corner and the church comes into view, my stomach drops.
The cathedral is festooned with thousands of white roses, orchids, hydrangeas, and baby's breath.
The florists must have worked all night.
Security personnel in dark suits with earpieces are stationed at the entrance because of the guests inside.
There are a few news trucks and a few photographers on the sidewalk taking photos. This feels like a spectacle.
"Jesus," Jamie whispers beside me.
The car pulls up to the curb and a valet opens the door.
Jamie steps out first, then turns to help me.
It takes both of us, my mother, and Evangelina, who appears from God knows where with two assistants, to maneuver my train out of the car without letting it drag on the pavement.
When it's finished, I glance over at my mom.
She's looking a little green around the gills.
"Mom?" I say.
She shakes her head quickly. "I'm fine. I just... a lot."
"It's okay," I say, even though it's not. "You don't have to do anything. Just walk in and sit down."
She nods, but she won't meet my eyes.
Evangelina taps my elbow to get my attention. She's wearing a headset and holding a clipboard, her expression all business.
"We're running two minutes behind schedule, but that's fine. Your mother will be escorted to her seat now. Jamie, when the music starts, you'll start down the aisle first ten seconds later. Julie will follow with Mr. Stevens."
My mother's head snaps up. "With Dean?"
"Yes," Evangelina says briskly. "Since her father isn't here and you've declined to walk Julie down the aisle, Mr. Stevens has graciously offered to give the bride away."
My mother's face goes pale. For a moment, I think she's going to say something.
Offer to do it herself. Step up. But she doesn't. She just nods and lets one of the ushers guide her toward the entrance.
I clutch my bouquet as I watch her go, feeling something cold and hollow settle in my chest. I wish she'd stayed.
Jamie squeezes my hand. "Jules?—"
"It's fine," I say quickly. "It's fine. Let's just get through this."
She doesn't look convinced, but she doesn't argue.
Evangelina ushers us into the lobby of the church where Dean is waiting. He's wearing a custom tuxedo, his hair perfectly styled, his expression calm and composed. When he sees me, he nods approvingly.
"You look lovely, Julie," he says.
"Thank you."
Evangelina adjusts my train one last time. Then she says something into her headset and opens the door to the sanctuary. A moment later, the processional begins.
Jamie gives me one last look like, Are you sure, and I nod. I'm very sure I have no fucking choice. She walks through the doors, and I'm left alone with Dean. He offers me his arm. I take it because I have to.
"Nervous?" he asks.
"Yes."
"That's normal." He glances at me, and for the first time since I've known him, his expression softens just a fraction.
"You know, Julie, I've watched you these past few months.
The way you've handled the wedding planning, the way you've supported Asher, the way you work at your business.
Even dealing with me. You're a remarkable young woman. "
I blink, startled. "I…Thank you."
"I assume today is hard for you because your father should be here," he says quietly. "He should be the one walking you down this aisle. And the fact that he's not—that's on him. Not you. You would have made any father proud."
My throat tightens. I don't know what to say. Dean has been cold, controlling, dismissive. He's trapped me financially, overridden every decision I've tried to make, and treated me like an accessory to his son's life. But in this moment, he said the one thing I didn't know I needed to hear.
"Thank you," I whisper.
He pats my hand. "Let's get you married to my idiot son."
Anddddd moment over. The doors open. The church is filled to capacity.
I spot some of my friends and neighbors, but mostly, it's all about Asher’s world.
I recognize the faces from Dean's company, Ancre, who have been at all of the pre-wedding events.
There are also politicians, tech moguls, people whose names I've seen in news stories. It feels like a circus.
At the front, standing beneath an arch of white flowers, is Asher.
His eyes find mine, then flick to Dean, then back.
His jaw tightens like he's holding something in.
He blinks rapidly, and I watch his shoulders drop like he's been holding them up until this exact second. Like he was scared I wouldn't show up.
If he only knew.
Dean and I start down the aisle. The music swells.
Every eye in the room is on us. I notice Ryan standing beside him as best man.
He's wearing a tuxedo, his hands clasped in front of him, his expression unreadable.
It's surreal to see him there—my former neighbor who turned out to be Asher's best friend.
For some reason, it helps to focus on him, so I do.
After a minute, I stop because I know I'm supposed to be looking at Asher.
We reach the altar. Dean places my hand in Asher's, then steps back. Asher's hand is clammy and his grip is almost too tight. But when I look up at him, he's smiling through tears.
"I'm so relieved this is really happening," he whispers.
I melt a little at that because it’s so sweet. "You're crying," I whisper back.
"I know." He laughs softly, wiping his eyes with his free hand.
The officiant begins speaking, but I barely hear him. I'm too focused on Asher. On the way he's looking at me like I'm the only person in the world. On the way his hand tightens around mine when the officiant asks if he takes me to be his wife.
"I do," Asher says, his voice steady and sure.
And when it's my turn, I say it too.
But my voice isn’t as steady or certain as Asher’s was.