Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 84829 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 424(@200wpm)___ 339(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84829 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 424(@200wpm)___ 339(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
“Scott,” I called out, slowing to a full stop while he marched ahead without any regard. I actually thought he’d forgotten about me. “Scott,” I reiterated louder, and a few men playing at a black jack table turned to watch us. Stopping, he turned and stared blankly. His animosity was a palpable thing.
“I’ll see you later…” When he didn’t speak and didn’t break eye contact, I continued. “I have some stuff to do.”
Like buy a dress. Getting married hadn’t been at the top of my to-do list this weekend. I hadn’t packed a dress suitable for a wedding.
“We meet at the Graceland Wedding Chapel at nine. Don’t be late.” With that, he turned and headed for the elevators, leaving behind a bunch of unanswered questions and one soon-to-be wife who stood there contemplating whether I would live to regret this decision as early as tomorrow.
Where the fuck is he?
The screen on my phone read 9:30. No texts. No missed calls. Standing at the altar, I smiled nervously at Elvis, the man who was supposed to be officiating my wedding. Supposed to be being the operative words––meaning if Scott hadn’t already fled the country, subsequently jilting me.
This was not how I saw my wedding day going. I’d stopped overindulging in fantasies of happily ever after when I came to terms with the fact that I was never going to find Josh. After thousands of dollars spent, I was no closer to knowing where he’d gone than I was six years ago when I’d hired an ex-NYPD detective to look for him. But I’d done it. I’d sucked it up and accepted it. And with the help of copious amounts of Ben and Jerry’s and Grey Goose, I pulled myself out of a deep dark hole and let him go. Still…every girl has a dream she keeps tucked away in the back of her mind of what that day will be like and this was not it.
“Five more minutes and we’ll call it quits,” I told him through a tight smile. I’d been hoping for ’50s Elvis and got ’70s Elvis instead. Just my luck. He wore a gold pleather suit and the black dye he used in his hair had begun to drip down his temple, riding a bead of sweat.
“Whatever you want, sweetheart,” Elvis said in a cringey bad Elvis impersonation. “I get paid either way.”
Groovy. Jilted and I’m the one paying for it.
I glanced at my phone again. 9:35. Scott had bailed. It was official.
The disappointment hit me hard. The thought of returning to my empty apartment made my chest ache. And then there was Frank to consider. I hated to let him down. As I rearranged the layers of transparent ivory silk chiffon billowing around my legs, I worried over how to explain to him that I’d failed––not a conversation I was looking forward to having.
The Stella McCartney dress would go to waste. Walking past the boutiques in Aria, I’d seen it in the store window, and it had stopped me in my tracks. The high ruffled neckline made my skin glow and the length hit below the knees, which covered up the scars. I’d gotten caught up in the moment and dropped three grand on it––something I’d never done before––because in all likelihood this was going to be my one and only wedding. It had been silly to get excited about a dress, but it felt good to want something again when I seldom did.
“To want is to sin, Sydney. And we aren’t going to stand idly by and let the devil take you the same way it took your mother and father. This is for your own good.”
I can still recall my grandfather’s voice as if I’d heard it yesterday and not seventeen years ago for the last time. For years, I honestly believed he’d beaten “the want” out of me. Until I met Josh. With his easy smiles and long yearning stares, it was easy to want something––or someone again.
I glanced around, the chapel growing shabbier by the minute, the stem of the bouquet in my hand soggy, the blue food coloring on the cheap carnations staining my palm. I wanted to cry. Probably because every time I dared to be optimistic about anything reality strangled that inclination in its crib.
A loud bang signaled that someone had walked in. My head jerked up just as the bright red double doors fell shut. A tall lone figure stood before them. Actually, rewind, “stood” is a major exaggeration, swayed is more like it. He stumbled forward and grabbed the back of the pew for support. His hair was mussed, his suit wrinkled. There was no question what he’d been up to for the past three hours.
The music started immediately. Can’t Help Falling in Love by none other than Elvis. My heart sank when he started to approach, slowly coming down the red carpet in an unsteady gait. Was I the first bride to stand at an altar waiting for a reluctant groom to drunkenly walk down the aisle? Probably not. And yet I was devastated, nonetheless. I argued with myself that I had no right. This was a business arrangement after all. We’d made no promises to each other. We’d both made promises to a third party––Frank. So why was I upset? With each wobbly step Scott took, the answer revealed itself.