Chapter 5
DEAN
Last night, Liz walked away from me in that bathroom without looking back.
I'm getting dressed for Maura's wedding—suit pants, white shirt, fighting with the damn cufflinks my grandmother left me alongside that ring Liz is wearing—and all I can think about is how Liz said: "See you at the wedding tomorrow." So casual, and it drives me crazy.
Today's the wedding.
After today, this ends.
Fuck.
The fake engagement, the kissing, the touching, all of it goes back to being just friends, and I'm running out of time to tell her that nothing about this feels fake to me.
A cufflink slips through my fingers for the third time. I catch it before it hits the marble floor, cursing under my breath. My hands are steadier when I'm flying a commercial airliner through turbulence than they are right now, trying to get dressed for my best friend's sister's wedding.
I should tell her.
Today. Before this ends.
Tell her I've been in love with her since college, that every woman I've dated was just me trying to get over her, that "just once" was never going to be enough because she's been it for me from the beginning.
But what if she doesn't feel the same?
What if bathroom sex was just sex to her?
What if I tell her and lose the friendship too?
My phone vibrates on the nightstand. Relief floods through me when I see her name on the screen.
Liz: SOS. This dress. I can't.
Me: On my way.
Walking down the hallway toward her room, I'm caught between hope and terror.
Maybe she wants to talk about yesterday.
Maybe she regrets everything. Maybe she's going to end this before the wedding even happens.
Maybe I'm overthinking everything because I've been in love with her for so long, I can't see straight anymore.
She opens the door, and my breath catches in my throat.
Liz is in that purple bridesmaid dress, and while it still isn't the most flattering, she is so fucking gorgeous it makes my chest constrict. I always get this feeling whenever I see her, as though I'm laying eyes on her for the first time.
"Hey, Liz. What's wrong?" Trying to act casual after everything is so fucking hard.
"I really, really look like an eggplant. An angry, purple eggplant going to a funeral."
"A very attractive eggplant."
"That doesn't help."
"You want me to lie?"
"Yes, please. Enthusiastically. Just to make me feel better because I don't want to cry as I walk down that aisle."
"Fine. You look like the most beautiful eggplant at the farmers' market. The kind people fight over. The organic, locally-sourced, worth-the-premium-price eggplant. The one they use at Michelin-starred restaurants."
She fights a smile and loses. "I hate you so much."
"No, you don't."
"No, I don't. Can you just ... fix my hair? I can't get the clip thing to work. Maura won't let me borrow a member of her glam team. My hair's so short, there's not much I can work with."
"I'm a pilot, not a hairstylist."
"Please?"
God, I am so gone for her. She can ask me to walk on coal, and I'd do so with a smile. She turns around, presenting me with the back of her head and a silver hair clip that's hanging half-attached to a section.
I don't even know what the hell I'm supposed to do, so I just try not to make it look like it's about to fall off.
Half an hour later, the ceremony starts with a string quartet playing something classical while guests stand for Maura's entrance. Meanwhile, I can't take my eyes off Liz.
She's standing on Maura's side, holding a bouquet of white roses, wearing that purple dress, and looking more beautiful than any bride I've ever seen.
Every bride I'll ever see, probably, because the only wedding I want to be at is ours.
That's never happening because I'm too much of a coward to tell her the truth.
Maura and Ted exchange vows. Something about love, commitment, and forever.
Standard wedding stuff that I'm barely registering because Liz is looking down at her bouquet.
I can see the exact moment she gets emotional—her throat bobs, eyes go bright, and that little breath she takes when she's trying not to cry.
Is she thinking about us?
About how this could be us, if I just—
Ah, fuck. Stop being delusional, you moron.
Maybe she's just emotional because weddings are emotional, and I'm an idiot for thinking it has anything to do with me.
The officiant pronounces them husband and wife. Liz looks up and catches my eye, and something flickers between us, pulling at something tender inside me. The moment comes and goes so quickly, I might have just imagined it.
Guests applaud, rising from their seats, and I lose sight of her in the shuffle toward cocktail hour.
The reception is what one would expect from Maura—flashy, loud, and an absolute eyesore … for me at least.
Maura materializes beside me with a champagne in hand. "Dean, can we talk?"
"Congratulations on the wedding."
"Thanks. Look, I just want to say ... you don't have to keep pretending. The engagement. The relationship. I know Liz roped you into this to save face, but the wedding's over. You can drop the act now."
Without taking my eyes off Liz—she's across the terrace talking to a bridesmaid—I let out a deep sigh.
"This is your wedding day, Maura. Give it a rest. Shouldn't you focus on yourself, Ted, and your marriage?
" I cast her a sideways look. "She's all you think about, isn't she?
Because this obsession with your sister is getting old.
And probably unhealthy. Today's supposed to be the happiest day of your life, but here you are trying to sabotage something good in hers. "
Maura's mouth opens. Closes. Opens again.
Nothing comes out. But I do see her eyes moisten.
I walk away before she finds her voice or tears flow, whichever happens first.
I'm done letting her tear Liz down or pretending her cruelty is just "how she is" or protecting Maura's feelings at Liz's expense.
Liz is my best friend. The woman I love. And I should have said something years ago.
"All right, all the single ladies to the dance floor! Time for the bouquet toss!"
The other bridesmaids pull Liz, laughing and pushing her toward the center of the dance floor, where maybe fifteen single women cluster together, jostling for position.
I move to the sidelines with the other guests, watching as Maura turns her back to the crowd and raises the bouquet over her head.
"Ready, ladies?"
Liz isn't even trying to catch it. She's standing near the back, arms at her sides, clearly letting the others have their shot.
Maura hurls the bouquet over her shoulder. It arcs through the air in what feels like slow motion, spinning end over end toward the crowd of reaching hands.
The bouquet falls directly into Liz's hands.
Holy sh—
She looks down at the flowers in her hands, and then her eyes find mine across the dance floor.
Liz smiles.
Not the polite smile. Not the performance smile.
That smile. The real one. The one that lights up her whole face and makes my heart feel too small to contain everything I feel for her.
That breathtaking smile I am so fucking in love with.
She runs to me—holding the bouquet, laughing—and throws her arms around my neck. I catch her automatically.
"I caught it," she says against my shoulder, breathless and giddy.
"I saw." My arms are around her waist, holding her close.
"Your turn is next, I guess." She pulls back enough to look at me, and there's something in her eyes—something bright and hopeful and terrifying.
"Sure, no pressure."
She leans in for a kiss, and I meet her halfway.
The kiss starts soft—her lips on mine, gentle pressure, familiar territory we've mapped a couple of times this weekend.
But then it shifts and deepens.
She molds her mouth to mine, and I kiss her back the same way. Pour everything I can't say into it. Every year of wanting her, every moment of pretending, every desperate hope that maybe she feels this too.
When we break apart, her gaze mirrors mine.
And for one perfect moment, I think, This is it. This is when I tell her.
Just as I'm about to open my mouth, something passes across her face, and the moment shatters.
Her smile falters. Just for a second. Just long enough for me to notice.
"I need to—" She steps back, out of my arms, still holding the bouquet. "Bathroom. I need to go to the bathroom."
"Liz—"
"I'll be right back. I just—" She's already moving, backing away, that smile completely gone now and replaced with something that looks too much like panic. "I'll be right back."
She turns and walks away.
Fast. Too fast.
I watch her disappear into the crowd, and every instinct I have screams at me to follow her, to ask what's wrong, to tell her everything before I lose my nerve or she builds walls I can't scale.
But my feet won't move.
And she's gone.
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