Then I said, “You can keep the flowers. You lost the bride.”
A sound moved through the crowd.
Half gasp.
Half sob.
My father stepped aside, not to let Caleb through, but to show him the exit.
Caleb stood there for one more second.
A man holding wedding flowers at a wedding that no longer belonged to him.
Then he turned and walked away.
This time, I did not watch until the end.
I turned back to Owen.
He looked at me with something I was afraid to name.
The officiant cleared her throat, crying.
“I’m not entirely sure what to do now.”
My mother laughed.
Then my father.
Then, somehow, everyone.
The tension cracked.
I wiped my face and looked at Owen.
“Do you still refuse to fake-marry me?”
“Yes.”
“Rude.”
“I’m consistent.”
“What exactly do you suggest?”
He glanced toward the guests.
Then back at me.
“I suggest you have the wedding you paid for.”
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