Jackson
I can barely hear anything over the pounding of my own heartbeat.
I've already sweat the flask back out through my pores, and I should be standing up here vibrating with joy at the prospect of marrying this woman.
Rian is the epitome of perfection. She looks like a goddamn angel standing in front of me, and all I can do is fight the urge to look at Rose in the fifth row.
"Marriage is one of life's greatest gifts. It is a partnership built on love, trust, patience, and commitment. Today, Marcus and Rian publicly declare the promises they have already made in their hearts."
Rian's face is stoic. For the last three weeks, ever since our fight, I've been trying to convince her this is real.
That I hurt her, that I understand what I did, that I'm going to become the man she deserves.
I will be that man. I'll move us to another state if I have to, another coast, anywhere far enough from Los Angeles that I can stop—
My eyes dart to Rose before I can stop them.
She's wiping tears from her face.
"Lord, hear our prayer."
I have no idea what came before that. I can't even track my own fucking wedding because now I'm staring at Rose wondering why she's crying.
The ring bearer sneezes and nearly drops the pillow. "Bless you, my child," the priest says, somehow managing to keep the whole thing moving.
Rian doesn't.
Her eyes have settled on the pillow.
I follow her gaze to her nephew, four years old and taking his job very seriously, standing there in his tiny suit with the rings balanced carefully in front of him. Then Rian reaches down and lifts one of them from the cushion.
The priest stops talking mid-sentence as Rian stares at the ring in her palm for a long moment before looking up at me with an unreadable expression. Her face is just…empty. No sadness, no anger, no…anything.
She takes my hand, opens my fingers, and presses the ring into my palm.
"This ring doesn't belong to me, Marcus." Her voice is low, angled away from the microphone so only I can hear it. "I don't think you even realize what ring you chose, but I can't do this anymore."
I pull back to search her eyes because my brain is refusing to put the words together in the order she said them.
"What?"
"We can't do this, Marcus. I'm sorry, but I can't marry you."
This time she's loud enough that the guests hear her, and a murmur moves through the cathedral.
Rian closes her eyes for half a second, then turns to face three hundred people with her spine straight and her chin level and delivers the most composed public execution I've ever witnessed.
"I'm so incredibly sorry, everyone. There won't be a wedding today. Those of you who'd like to stay, please enjoy the reception and the incredible food catered by our very own celebrity chef, Samson Monroe of Noctra. The music from The Nighthawks will be amazing. Thank you all for coming."
I almost laugh.
Not because anything about this is funny, but because only Rian Fields could cancel her own wedding in front of three hundred people and still remember to plug the caterer and the band.
Then she walks out through the side door, and her friends and family move with her, closing ranks behind her before anyone can ask a question.
The cathedral erupts into a low roar. Bennet says my name. Joe says something from behind me. The priest is trying to get my attention. None of it gets through because I'm staring at the ring sitting in my open hand.
Her wedding band. The one I designed specifically for her.
Custom gold, engraved all the way around with winding vines of fucking roses. I turn it slowly between my fingers.
No. Goddamnit, Marcus.
I sat in that jeweler's back room and looked through dozens of designs for Rian's ring.
I rejected plain gold. Rejected diamonds.
Rejected geometric patterns, ivy, leaves, every other option they put in front of me.
Then I looked at this one, roses curling around a band meant for another woman's finger, and pointed at it.
That’s the one. That’s her ring.
I chose roses for Rian.
I don't think you even realize what you chose.
Fuck. I do now.
***
"Could we have the room?" Rian asks her family as I step into the bride's room.
No one looks like they're planning to bury my body in the graveyard out back, so I have no idea what version of events she's given them.
Her mother gives me a look I can't quite read, her sister kisses Rian on the temple, and the rest file out quietly behind them.
The door closes, leaving the two of us alone for what may be the first honest conversation we've had since the night she proposed this whole thing.
"I'm sorry, Marcus. I know I said we'd just do the year."
"You don't need to apologize to me, Rian."
I cross the room and squat in front of her, taking both of her hands in mine. She's still wearing the dress. Hair perfect, makeup perfect, not a single visible sign that she just canceled her wedding in front of three hundred people.
"I'm so fucking sorry. I tried. I really did. I thought if I committed to this hard enough, if I stopped leaving myself an escape route and just gave us a real chance, then eventually..."
"You'd love me."
I look down at our hands. "Yeah."
"But you love someone else."
There's no accusation in it anymore. She reaches up and wipes a tear from my cheek that I hadn't even realized was there.
"I understand that now," she says. "And you're perfect on paper, which was the entire reason I picked you in the first place. I really do like you, Marcus. I could've been happy with you. I think part of me decided that should be enough, and then I got greedy."
"You weren't greedy."
"Oh, I absolutely was." Her mouth lifts slightly. "We had a perfectly good business arrangement. I got horny, caught feelings, and violated my own terms. Terrible contract management."
A laugh escapes me before I can stop it.
"There he is," she says softly.
She runs her hands down the lapels of my jacket, smoothing fabric that doesn't need smoothing.
"What happens now?" I ask. "The board, the agreement, all of it. Whatever you need me to do, I'll do it."
"I don't need anything, sweetheart. The board isn't removing me now.
We accomplished what we needed to accomplish before we ever made it to this ridiculous cathedral.
" She glances down at her dress. "I hate how things happened between us, but I knew from the beginning you were never giving me your whole heart.
Then somewhere along the way, the insecure little girl in me decided getting you to love me would mean I'd won. "
"Rian."
"I know." She gives me a tired smile. "Years of therapy waiting for me there. Very exciting."
I squeeze her hands. "You have no reason to be insecure. You're fucking incredible. And I'm sorry I ever made you feel like you were competing with Rose, because that wasn't fair to either of you."
"No, it wasn't." She pauses, studying me. "But for future reference, when you're trying to convince a woman you're over your ex, maybe don't engrave the ex's name in flower form around her wedding band."
I close my eyes.
"Jesus Christ."
"Yeah." She pats my cheek. "That was a particularly stupid one."
"I genuinely didn't realize."
"That's why I knew I couldn't marry you."
I look at her again.
She shrugs. "If you'd done it intentionally, I could've called you an asshole and married you anyway. The fact that you didn't even know was significantly worse."
Fuck.
I push a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "If my heart hadn't already belonged to someone else, Rian..."
"Don't." She smiles, and there's enough affection in it that I stop. "We don't need to give our failed wedding a participation trophy."
I laugh wetly and nod. "Fair."
She leans forward and kisses me softly. Nothing hungry in it this time, nothing to prove. Just goodbye.
When she pulls back, she pats my cheek again.
"You suck."
"I know I do."
"Good. I'd hate for this experience to teach you nothing." She leans in and kisses me again, then sits back and studies my face. "You'll go to her?"
I don't answer immediately.
"Marcus." She rolls her eyes. "For fuck's sake, don't make me cancel our wedding and manage your love life on the same day. I'm already over capacity."
I laugh and wipe a hand over my face. "Yeah. I'll go to her."
"Good. Life's too short, you know?" She looks down at herself and spreads the massive skirt with both hands.
"I'm going on our honeymoon. I paid for the damn thing, and there's a private villa with a pool and twenty-four-hour room service waiting for me.
I'm going to find a hot pool boy, drink things out of coconuts, and make several decisions my mother will strongly disapprove of. "
"That sounds healthy."
"Extremely. And when I get back, I'm selling the company."
That catches me. "You're what?"
"Selling it." She says it easily, but then lets out a long breath.
"I've spent my entire adult life trying to prove I could protect my father's legacy.
I outperformed him. Grew the portfolio. Fought off the board.
Nearly married a man I knew was in love with someone else because I thought having you standing beside me would finally make them believe I belonged in his chair.
" She shakes her head. "And you know what I realized while I was standing out there? "
"What?"
"My father left me long before he died, Marcus. I've been trying to impress a dead man who wasn't particularly impressed with me when he was alive."
I squeeze her hands.
"So fuck the chair. Fuck the board. Fuck the legacy." Her mouth curves into a smile. "I'm thirty-three, disgustingly wealthy, newly single, and I look phenomenal in a bikini. I'll figure out the rest when I get back."
I laugh, and this time she does too.
"You know what? I think that's the first decision either of us has made in this relationship that isn't completely fucking stupid."
"Agreed." She points toward the door. "Now go find your girl before I change my mind and make you reimburse me for the wedding."
"That sounds fair."
"It would bankrupt a smaller man."
"I’m going to miss you."
"Me too." She smiles. "Go."