POV Ella
The wedding march fills the air, and the chatter stops. I can smell the roses that line the aisle, their sweetness filling the air with false welcome.
My pulse roars as I walk the aisle, and butterflies batter my stomach. My face flushes under the veil, and I'm glad no one can see clearly under it. I'm curtained from the world—there, but always unseen.
I'm unsure how to feel as I steadily walk forward, my father's cane banging along, his vice-like grip biting into my wrist, as if to ensure I can't run away. I feel the gaze of the few guests pierce me as I walk past. My hands shiver slightly, and I squeeze the bouquet tighter, unwilling to expose my nervousness.
My mind drifts to the text Keith sent 3 days back.
Our wedding is on the upcoming Sunday at 11 a.m. Details have been emailed to you and the rest of your family. I trust you will show up on time.
He reached out—even if just on text—this feels like progress. On the other hand, I can tell he still isn't over me being his bride. That feels like a few steps backwards.
He stands dutifully at the altar—present, but so out of reach—attention focused intently on the side doors as they swing open and an old man hobbles in with a cane and an aide. The old man glances toward me, taking in my father as well, and satisfaction flashes across his face before being replaced by a somber frown. He must be the patriarch, I think—the conductor of this orchestra. He takes a seat at the entrance, and our march resumes.
Even my entrance as a bride has competition, I think, and a short, bitter laugh bursts through me.
My father's hand tightens on mine, and I wince. I decide it's best to retire my maudlin humor till after the ceremony.
Keith's attention is still on the new addition to our wedding party as my father extends my hand to his and steps away.
My hand floats there between us. One second. Then two. Humiliation stings my cheeks.
I start to lower my arm before he comes to, murmuring a sorry, and taking my hand in his. His hand is warm as he holds mine gently, and for a moment, I feel cherished. I don't want to let go.
I don't remember taking our vows, but I must've said the right words because no one comes to correct me.
"You may now kiss the bride," the minister intones.
I come back to myself with a jolt as Keith lifts my veil.
I still, as I finally look into his shuttered eyes. His movements are mechanical and jerky, his presence devoid of any energy—like he would rather be anywhere else.
He hesitates for a moment. Keith's gaze slides to the old man with silver eyes that match his, who graces him with a slow, approving nod. Keith drags a deep breath through his nose, like he is firming his resolve.
My heart rams in my chest, and I breathe in his scent—spicy sandalwood with hints of vanilla. It goes straight to my head, and I feel my breath ease a little. He leans in and brushes his lips against mine—a whisper of a touch. Disbelief and a startled electricity ricochet through me. I can't move my eyes from him as every part of me tingles with a delicious anticipation. I see his eyes widen, pupils dilated, before he looks away.
He isn't as unaffected by me as I thought he was. My lips lift off their own accord, feeling a lightness start in my chest. My shoulders straighten as the weight lifts, one I didn't even realize I was carrying. A small spark of hope ignites within me. Maybe, just maybe, things will work out...
He looks away to Eliana, a vision in pale pink, like the first blush of winter. She looks on with an inscrutable expression, a bloom untouched by time or emotion. Pain like I've never known cuts through me, ripping me to shreds. My knees give before I steady myself, completely forgotten at my husband's side.
My fragile hope shatters before it can bloom.
The thorn in my heart digs deeper, as I realize that I could tumble down the stairs of the altar, break my neck even, and Keith wouldn't blink, gaze fixed on Eliana like a thirsty man looks to water.
I feel myself shrinking before the world again, and my body fills with a crushing weight. I want to vanish, disappear into thin air; be anywhere but here as I watch my husband look forlornly at a woman other than me. I struggle to breathe as the silence stretches. A few polite claps sound, before they too fade away.
I stare at Keith as he stares at Eliana, and the grief I hold back all the time bursts forth. Tears fill my eyes, but I push them back with all the strength I can muster.
I will never let them see my pain. I won't let them trample my dignity any further if I can help it.
I try to straighten my back once more and adjust my face into something resembling indifference.
Maybe you should let go now, a tiny voice whispers in the back of my head. Your heart is already broken; how much more are you willing to endure before nothing remains?
Tears prick my eyes again, and my hands tighten on the bouquet. I take a deep breath and straighten my spine.
I won't give up. Not yet.
I will make the best of this situation, I promise myself.
I startle as his brothers whoop and holler belatedly in the front row—it feels out of place at a wedding like ours—but I choose to feel grateful.
To be welcomed with deafening silence would have hurt more.