Chapter 3
three
. . .
Lux
Now
My shoes wear down the carpet with my constant pacing.
Back and forth. Back and forth.
My pulse races, and my heart feels like it’s being torn in two. There isn’t a single doubt in my mind, I want a life with Olivia.
I want now and forever, and whatever lies ahead after that.
But I don’t want it at the expense of the life she would lose.
Her relationship with her dad.
Her relationship with her religion.
Her relationship with herself.
Growing up, I knew I liked girls before I even knew how to name the feeling. And I didn’t have a family that cared about me enough for my sexuality to be a problem. But I did have Olivia, Ben, and Samara when she was alive.
It didn’t matter that I was part of their world for so long, or that they were the closest thing I had to parents; my sexuality was welcomed into their lives without judgment, because I wasn’t their daughter.
However, any and all religious and cultural expectations still sat heavily on Olivia’s shoulders, because she was.
It also felt like a separate part of my life that only Olivia had a front row seat to, anyway. I lived on my own and had never been in a relationship long enough to introduce anyone to my pseudo-family. As far as they were concerned, I was a lesbian by name and not nature.
Maybe it wasn’t ideal, but it worked for me in a way I knew wouldn’t work for Olivia.
“Hey.” A voice, followed by a knock on the door, startles me. “Are you ready?”
Olivia’s cousin, Julie, peeks through the door, looking at me expectantly. “James and his groomsmen have arrived. We need to get down the aisle before James and Olivia walk in together.”
That’s right, I think to myself, an Orthodox ceremony requires that the bride and groom walk down the aisle together while bridesmaids and groomsmen wait for them at the front of the church.
Inhaling, I run my hands along my olive-green dress and meet Julie’s gaze. “Let’s go.”
We both step out of the bridal suite and walk outside to the adjoining church. There, at the bottom of the stairs, is the complete bridal party, James included, but Ben and Olivia are nowhere in sight. I know what I have to do, and while every part of me protests it, I ignore it all.
I shove my love for her down, as deep as it would go, and ensure my face is giving more “dutiful best friend” than “heartbroken lover.”
“Lux,” James’s best man, Thomas, and my partner for the formalities, greets me. “Looking beautiful as always.”
“Well, one of us had to take one for the team,” I joke.
“When are you going to let me take you out?” he asks, and not for the first time.
Caught up in my own head, his question niggles at my subconscious, the small thread I can feel unraveling at not being my authentic self in public, and making excuses for it.
I’m certain James knows of my sexuality—Olivia wouldn’t have hidden that from him—but the fact that he hadn’t passed that information onto his best friend bothers me.
It’s not the time or the place, but I find that the words leave my mouth anyway. “You know I only date girls, Thomas. Quit while you’re ahead.”
His mouth drops open, and the surprise shouldn’t feel like a kick to the stomach, but it does. He should know this about me. James and Olivia have been together for years, and Thomas and I are not strangers.
But why wasn’t I the one to tell him from the beginning? Why didn’t I speak my truth the moment he began flirting with me or the first time he asked me out?
Had I been protecting Olivia or myself?
“Okay, everybody,” Julie announces, ceasing the conversation between Thomas and me. “The priest is ready for us to go inside and start the ceremony.”
There are six of us in total, all walking down the aisle, couple after couple, and taking our places for the ceremony.
The church is beautiful, rich in history and tradition, with thick velvet robes draped before the altar and icons of saints, hand-painted on every wall of the building.
It isn’t my first time in an Orthodox church, but each time it is just as intimidating as it is beautiful.
A group of deacons stands to the side of the church and begins singing a hymn to start the ceremony.
The priest walks down the aisle, dressed in a white robe with gold embroidery down the sleeves and across the chest. A kalimavkion rests atop his head, the same intricate design decorating the headpiece.
The priest stands in the middle of the bridal party, prayer book in hand, glancing down the aisle expectantly.
All I want to do is keep my gaze trained on my feet and shrink away from this whole event. My skin prickles with indecision, fight-or-flight kicking in. The singing voices rise, and I know it’s time.
I inhale deeply, preparing myself for the unavoidable heartache. Slowly, I raise my head and find Olivia staring straight at me.
Her arm is linked with James’s while he smiles proudly, ready to start his life with her. But the look on her face says everything I need to know.
She isn’t going through with this.
With or without me, she’s calling off the wedding.
Pushing her shoulders back, I watch as her chest rises and falls with determination. She is fearless, always has been, consequences be damned. It’s why I don’t deserve her, and why I want her anyway.