Chapter 6
LIZ
The bathroom door closes behind me, and I lock it with shaking hands before the first sob breaks free.
Stupid. So stupid.
I caught the bouquet and ran to him like this was real, like we were actually engaged, like that kiss meant what I wanted it to mean, and I let myself believe.
But it's not real.
None of this is real.
Tomorrow, we go home, end the fake engagement, and go back to being friends, and I have to pretend my heart isn't shattered into pieces so small I'll never find them all.
We had sex. It didn't mean anything else for him. Even worse if it was only pity-sex.
I slide down the door until I'm sitting on the cold marble tile, the bouquet falls from my hand.
The flowers scatter across the floor, petals crushed from how hard I was gripping them.
My mascara runs down my cheeks in black streaks, and I press my hands to my chest because it feels like my ribs might crack from the pressure building there.
The mirror shows me everything I don't want to see—purple bridesmaid dress wrinkled from dancing, hair falling out of the clip Dean fixed this morning, my face blotchy red and completely destroyed. I look like someone who's been lying to herself.
Because that's what I've been doing. Lying.
Telling myself I could handle this weekend, could pretend to be his fiancée and walk away unscathed. Telling myself the kisses didn't matter, the touches were just for show.
I can't lie anymore, not even to myself, because I knew this would happen, knew from the moment he dropped to one knee with his grandmother's ring that I was going to fall apart when it ended.
But I didn't expect it to hurt this much, didn't expect that catching a bouquet would make me imagine a future where Dean actually wants to marry me, where we have a real wedding, where I could be more than just his best friend.
Oh God. I can't do this anymore.
Three knocks on the door.
"Liz."
My body goes still. I stop crying mid-sob, hand flying to my mouth. "I'm f-fine. Just … just give me a minute."
"You're not fine. I saw your face before you ran. Let me in."
His voice is rough through the door. I can't let him see me like this. Can't let him know what's really wrong because what's wrong is him, and I can't tell him that without destroying everything. "I just need a second. Go back to the reception."
"I'm not leaving. Not until I know you're okay. Please, Liz. Let me in."
My hand hovers over the doorknob. I should send him away, but I've never been able to deny him anything, and the desperate note in his voice makes it impossible to start now.
I force myself to stand on unsteady legs and catch my reflection in the mirror one more time. Hopeless mess. He's going to take one look at me and know something's seriously wrong.
The lock clicks as I turn it. I step back as the door opens, and Dean closes and locks it behind him before I can change my mind.
He goes completely still when he sees my face.
His jaw clenches, hands curling into fists at his sides, eyes scanning my face.
"Who—" He stops himself, tries again. "Did someone say something to you? Was it Maura? Because I swear to God—"
"No. It's not. Nobody said anything."
"Then what's wrong?" He steps closer, and I back up until I hit the marble sink. "Liz, talk to me. Please."
"I can't."
"You can tell me anything. You know that."
"Not this."
"Especially this." His voice is rough, urgent, and he's close enough now that I can smell his cologne, that familiar scent that makes it harder to think. "Whatever it is, whatever's making you cry like this, I need to know. Let me help."
My hands grip the sink edge behind me for support.
He's looking at me with such genuine concern, such desperate need to fix whatever's wrong.
I want to laugh because he IS what's breaking my heart—has been breaking it for years every time he smiled at me like a friend instead of something more, every time he told me about a date with someone else, every time he touched me this weekend and made me hope for things I can't have.
"You can't fix this."
"Why not?"
"Because you're—"
"I'm what?"
I shake my head and back up as far as I can go. The bathroom feels smaller, the air thinner, nowhere to escape. "You want to know what's wrong? Fine. You want to know?"
"Yeah, I do."
I take a breath that doesn't fill my lungs and say the words that will ruin everything. "I'm in love with you. There, I said it."
Dean's face is unreadable, and I can't tell what he's thinking. My heart pounds so hard I can feel it in my throat, and I can't look away from his face even though I'm terrified of what I'll see there. His mouth hangs open, his eyes wide and fixed on me.
"I've been in love with you for years. Since college. Since I realized you've been paying attention, you noticed things I never told you, and I just … I knew. Right then. Over time, my feelings only grew deeper and more intense."
I take a shaky breath, trying to steady myself but failing completely.
"Every guy I dated after that was just ... me trying to get over you. Trying to convince myself that I could feel that way about someone else. But I couldn't. Nobody else came close. Nobody else was you."
My voice breaks, words tumble over each other faster now.
"And this weekend … God, this weekend has been the best and worst thing that's ever happened to me because I got to pretend you were mine, got to touch you and kiss you a-and have you, and it felt so real even though I knew it wasn't. Even though I said it was 'just once to get it out of our systems', even though everyone kept telling me you were just being nice, just playing a part. "
I'm crying now, words spilling out like a dam burst.
"But I can't. I can't go back to just friends after this. I can't sit across from you and talk about the weather like I don't know what you taste like, like I haven't had you inside me, like I'm not completely in love with you and have been for years."
A sob escapes, and I press my hand over my mouth.
"So yeah. That's what's wrong. I'm in love with my best friend, and he's been fake-engaged to me all weekend, and tomorrow it ends, and I go back to pretending I'm fine being just friends when really I'm … I'm—"
I can't finish. I'm crying too hard, arms wrapped around myself because I've just destroyed the most important relationship in my life, and there's no taking it back.
The quiet stretches thin and fragile, and I want to die, want to disappear, want to take back every word except I can't. He's just standing there staring at me. Fuck. I've ruined everything, lost him completely.
My vision blurs with tears, and my legs barely support my weight. I wait for him to tell me gently that he loves me as a friend, that I've misread everything, that this is awkward now. Maybe even make a joke or two. Defuse the tension.
Instead, he takes a step closer.
Then another.
"Liz." He hooks a finger under my chin and tilts my face up to his. "Liz, look at me."
I shake my head. I can't do it. I'm too scared of what I'll see.
"Please."
I force myself to meet his eyes, bracing for impact, every muscle tense and preparing for heartbreak.
"I need you to hear this, Liz. When you said 'just once to get it out of our systems'? I lied. It didn't work. Hasn't worked. Won't ever work."
Wait. What?
"I've been in love with you since sophomore year of college.
That study session when you fell asleep on my shoulder and drooled on my Statistics textbook.
You woke up so embarrassed, and I just knew I was completely screwed because you were my best friend, and I'd rather die than lose that, lose you, so I never said anything. "
The world tilts. I can't breathe. My mouth opens, but no words come out.
"Every woman I've dated since then was just for show.
Some of them aren't even real. Sad to admit, I know.
You ruined me for everyone else. I've always been yours.
Always will be. And when I proposed with my grandmother's ring, I meant it.
Meant every word. Been in love with you for so long I don't remember what it's like to not love you. "
Dean's hands tremble.
"So if you think you're alone in this, if you think you're the only one who can't go back to being just friends, you're wrong. I can't either. Don't want to. Never wanted to. I want … I want you. Not fake. Not for show. Not just once. I want you forever."
He loves me. Dean loves me. Has loved me. For years. The same years I've loved him. We've both been hiding the exact same thing and—
My legs give out, but he catches me, his hands on my arms, holding me up.
"Dean, w-what … y-you love me?"
"Yes. So much."
"For years?"
"Since sophomore year."
"That's … that's when I started falling for you, too."
"I know. We're idiots."
I'm laughing and crying at the same time. "Complete idiots."
"Should've told you at that study session."
"Should've told you when you brought me snacks."
"Should've told you every single day since."
I bring my hands up to frame his face. "We're telling each other now. That's what matters."
"Yeah. Now and every day after."
I don't know who moves first, but suddenly we're kissing, and it's nothing like all the other kisses.
All those years of waiting and yearning are poured into one kiss.
"This is real," I say.
"Yeah."
"You really love me."
"So much."
"Me too. I love you too."
"Say it again."
"I love you."
"Again."
"I love you, Dean."
"I love you, Liz." He brushes his lips across my jaw. "And I'm going to spend the rest of my life making sure you never doubt it. Or forget it."
"Okay, I'll hold you onto that."
"You're so beautiful," he says between kisses. "But you shouldn't cry in this dress, makes you actually look like a sad eggplant."
"I hate you."
"No, you don't."
"No, I don't."
Dean kisses me again, slower this time but no less toe-curling.
"I love you," he says, breathless.
"You said that about fifty times in the last ten minutes."
"Making up for lost time." He kisses my forehead. "And I'm going to say it every day for the rest of our lives."
"Promise?"
"Promise."
My head is on his shoulder, hand over his heart, and his arms are around me, holding tight. His hand plays with my fingers, touching his grandmother's ring. The ring that I'm still wearing.
"This engagement. The one with my grandmother's ring."
"Yeah?"
"It's not fake anymore, okay? At least not for me. Never was, really, but—"
I look up at him. "Not fake for me either."
"The wedding too?"
"Eventually. When we're ready. When it's ours and not—"
"Not your sister's circus."
"Exactly."
"I'm going to marry you, Liz."
"And I'm going to let you."
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