C2 2

I’ve been blaming my nerves on worries about wedding logistics—the weather, the caterer, the flowers. But now that it’s here and everything’s in order, I can’t blame this hitch in my belly on anything but the words Marcus may or may not have whispered into the phone.

Why didn’t I tell him what I heard? Why didn’t I demand an explanation?

“You okay?” Martha asks. “You look a little green around the gills.”

I loosen my grip on my bouquet. I’m going to crush the stems if I hold them any tighter. “I’m fine, Martha.” Too late, I realize she’s talking to Veronica, not me. And she’s right. My sister looks ill. Come to think of it, she wasn’t feeling well earlier this week either. I’ve been so preoccupied with my own anxieties that I didn’t consider she might be coming down with something.

“Must’ve eaten some bad catfish last night,” Veronica says.

I frown as I study her face. It’s like staring in the mirror. She has the same light brown hair, pert nose, and heart-shaped face. But today she’s pale under the blush Marcus’s cousin Raina applied. “Did you go out drinking with the boys?”

Marcus and his cousins hit the bars last night, and I know they invited the bridesmaids who are of legal age—and those close enough to pass. I didn’t get any such invitation, though, being Marcus’s “good girl” and all that. Who else did Marcus spend last night with?

“I can’t stop thinking about you.”

The pinch in my stomach grows tighter.

Everyone says, Trust your intuition, but I think maybe I was born without one of those. There’s no other explanation for my romantic history.

“I stayed in,” Veronica said.

“If she’d been drinking with us, she would have puked up the catfish by now,” Kate, the oldest cousin, says. “Jesus protects those who protect themselves.” She pops a couple of Tylenol into her mouth and takes a big slug from her water bottle. “Does anyone know how many shots of tequila I took?”

Martha tsks.

Marcus’s brother ends his song, and his aunt begins to play “Canon in D,” which everyone told me was quintessential wedding music. For some reason, it’s always made me think of funerals, but I agreed to include it in the processional because I didn’t want Marcus’s family to think I was a diva.

“Ready or not,” Kate says, smirking at me.

“Course she’s ready,” Martha says. “She’s marrying my Marcus. Half the girls in town would cut out their own eyes for this chance.”

That’s a disturbing image. The pinch in my stomach has morphed into a gnawing ache. Maybe I’m not nervous at all. Veronica’s sick. Maybe I’m coming down with whatever she has.

The girls pull mirrors from their purses and reapply their lipstick.

I thought my wedding day would be different. I thought I’d be more excited than scared. Maybe we should’ve waited. Maybe what Veronica said is true, and eight months isn’t enough to go from dating to married.

But Marcus said, “When you know, you know,” and I’ve been dreaming of this day since I was five. More, I’ve been dreaming of what comes after—making a home, making a family—and I’ve never been good at waiting for what I want.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Martha asks my sister.

“I’m fine,” Veronica says. She doesn’t sound fine.

“It’s probably nerves about that new job,” Kate says. “Who moves to a new state the day of her sister’s wedding?”

“Today?” I stare at my sister, who’s studying the ground as if she’s seriously contemplating lying down. “You’re leaving right after the reception?” I knew Veronica took a job in Michigan, but I assumed she’d be leaving sometime next week.

She lifts her eyes to meet mine and shakes her head. “I’ll have to leave the reception early to catch my flight.”

I stare at her. “It’s my wedding day,” I whisper helplessly. How could she have plans to leave in the middle of everything and not even tell me?

“Why aren’t you driving if you’re moving there?” Kate asks. “Don’t you need your car?”

Raina snorts. “You think that pile of junk would make it to Michigan? Anyway, they’re giving her a car at that fancy new job.”

I scowl at my bridesmaids. I don’t care how she’s getting there. I care that she’s leaving in the middle of my wedding day.

“I’m sorry.” Veronica covers her mouth, closes her eyes, and lets out a long, slow stream of air.

“She’s already anxious, Nicole,” Martha says. She always did like my twin more than me—her and everyone else. “Don’t make her feel worse.”

“Do you need to lie down?” I ask Veronica. We might not have that psychic twin link, but I’m not some bridezilla who’s going to make a sick girl walk down the aisle. Even if said sick girl is my twin and should be by my side on the most important day of my life.

Martha pulls a handkerchief from her purse, pours water onto it, and blots the back of Veronica’s neck. “You’ll feel better once we get out there. Just need fresh air, is all.”

Veronica steps away from Martha’s blotting. “I’m fine. It’s fine.” She looks at me. “I’m so sorry.”

I shake my head. “It’s not your fault.”

The music changes.

“That’s my cue,” Martha says. She kisses me on the cheek. “You look beautiful.”

“Thanks,” I say. But I don’t feel beautiful. I feel like every doubt and insecurity is written on my face. Like I’m going to walk down the aisle and everyone’s going to see Marcus’s “I can’t stop thinking about you” scrolling across my forehead like a teleprompter.

His mother slips through the front of the tent and starts her graceful trek down the aisle to take her seat in the front row. The bridesmaids follow, one by one, and I peek through the flaps and spot Marcus at the altar, handsome as ever. He’s tall and slim, with rough hands and a secret romantic side. His best friend whispers something to him, and his dimple makes an appearance as his chest shakes with a repressed chuckle. His brown eyes crinkle in the corners. Sweet Lord, he’s gorgeous.

And maybe a cheater. Possibly. Probably.

The flower girls take their turn down the aisle to a chorus of “aww,” and then it’s my turn, and Marcus’s father, Dean, appears to escort me down the aisle. I take his arm and meet Marcus’s eyes. His chest rises and falls, and he shakes his head in awe.

Now I feel beautiful.

Was I really worried? Did I really believe that Marcus, my Marcus, could do something so terrible?