Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 97369 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 389(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97369 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 389(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
That tiny brush of his flesh against mine sends an unbearable pain straight to my heart, and I gasp a silent, shaky breath.
Judah holds out his arm to me. “You okay?”
Swallowing, I nod and take his arm.
“Love your hair. It makes you look older,” he says while we wait to be ushered to our seats.
Older.
I don’t want to look older. I want to look like Milo’s Indie girl.
We’re seated in the second row. Minutes later, Pauline is seated in front of us. And all too soon … Milo and his groomsmen enter through a door close to the altar. They stand with their backs to the guests while the bridesmaids make their way down the aisle.
Then the guests stand, and a string quartet plays the processional. Fletcher walks Jolene down the aisle. He kisses her cheek over her veiled face and hands her off to Milo, who turns to see her for the first time today.
He smiles. It’s a pained smile, which should comfort me, but it doesn’t. Milo’s happiness is my happiness. His misery is my misery. Does he feel the same? Can he feel my heart coming apart one chamber at a time? Does he find it as hard to breathe as I do?
We’re seated, and I don’t feel anything. I don’t hear anything. Everything’s numb. I imagine it’s what death feels like when there’s not enough life left inside to feel anymore.
The minister speaks.
Someone sings.
Candles are lit.
Another song.
A prayer.
Vows.
Exchanging rings.
“You may kiss your bride.”
I bow my head. I can’t watch it.
Not when they kiss. Not when the string quartet plays the recessional, and they walk down the aisle as man and wife.
“Here,” Judah whispers.
I glance at his hand nudging mine. He’s holding a tissue. My gaze lifts to his.
He nods toward me. “Thought you’d want to wipe your tears before your makeup gets smeared.”
My fingers touch my wet cheek. Swallowing the lump in my throat, I say, “Thank you.”
Everyone waits outside the church with baskets of rose petals for the newlyweds to emerge. Butterflies await in cages to be released. And an old white Rolls-Royce convertible in mint condition awaits the mister and misses. Nobody has beckoned me to do personal attendant duties, so I embrace my demotion to an ordinary wedding guest. Maybe this means I can leave early.
The crowd erupts into cheers, and as much as I don’t want to look up, I do it on instinct. Jolene and Milo descend the stairs in a flurry of rose petals and butterflies.
She’s a beautiful bride, almost ethereal in all white, and he’s the most handsome groom anyone could imagine.
And I’m the million-dollar orphan.
I turn. “I … I” My head shakes. “I can’t. I have t-to … go.” Every heart has a limit, and he is mine.
“Where are you going?” Judah asks. “Are you okay?”
Okay? I will never be okay.
Pushing and shoving, I worm my way through the crowd. I can’t breathe. I just … can’t … breathe.
“Where are you going, darlin’.” Fletcher’s hand grabs my arm, and he squeezes until it hurts.
“Please just let me go.”
He pulls me to stand beside him, right next to the Rolls-Royce. Front and center to watch Jolene and Milo climb into the back.
After Jolene and her long train are tucked into the far seat, Milo starts to step in after her, glancing up at the last second and locking gazes with me.
If I blink, my world will fall apart into big fat tears at his feet.
You have me.
For how long?
For as long as you need.
Forever?
Today is the end of forever.
Milo breaks first, dropping his gaze before climbing the rest of the way into the back of the car.
“Where’s your date, Indiana?”
I jerk my arm out of Fletcher’s grip and turn toward him. “I fucking hate you.” My chin tips up.
His jaw clenches. On any other day, his hand would meet my face. But not today, not in front of friends and family. I want to say a million other things to him, but those four words work for now.
Before he can make a threat or utter one word, I retrace my steps back to Judah while the Rolls-Royce pulls away from the curb.
“Take me home,” I say to Judah.
“Wait. What about the reception?”
“I’m not going to the reception.” I head toward the parking lot, having no clue where he parked since I rode to the church in the limo.
“Indiana, shouldn’t we go for a little—”
“Take me home,” I erupt, an explosion of emotion, and instantly cover my mouth with a cupped hand while the tears burst from my eyes. I’m no longer numb.
I feel everything.
And it’s too much.
“Indie …” Judah says softly when I turn toward him.
“T-take me h-home … p-please.”
He hugs me. “Okay,” he whispers. “I’ll take you home.”
22
PENANCE
MILO
Years ago, I learned to shut off my emotions, put on a brave face, and do what needs to be done. I’ve been stripped of such luxuries as free speech and free will in exchange for someone else’s version of freedom.