Jessie's POV
Gosh! Did I look ridiculous in the choice my mother had selected for Iris as her wedding gown.
Iris had no fashion sense, but still, it was her wedding day!
"Does Iris know?" I whisper as the makeup artist brushes my face.
"Your father is still looking for her," my mother responds.
I sigh, disgruntled.
My mother's features soften. "I know you may hate us now, but dear, you are doing the right thing," she says as my father heads toward us.
I bite my tongue.
"You make a beautiful bride," she adds.
Grey and I had a wedding plan, and this is not how I envisioned my big day.
"Oliver is not aware. This is deception," I say.
She shakes her head in amusement.
"And you've deceived us in many, many ways. Let it be someone else for a change," she says.
My father halts in front of us, his eyes never meeting mine. "Are you ready?" he asks with a coldness that wasn't always there. I used to be his favorite.
I look at him and hesitate, wanting to say so much yet nothing at all. Maybe that door is locked, and we can never go back to how we used to be.
Minutes later, in an awkward walk with my arm looped through his, we're walking down the aisle as "Bless the Broken Road" by Rascal Flatts begins to play.
I set out on a narrow way many years ago
Hoping I would find true love along the broken road
But I got lost a time or two
Wiped my brow and kept pushing through
I couldn't see how every sign pointed straight to you...
The first verse sings, and I stare down at my feet as we walk. I recall when I told Grey that I was getting married; he scoffed and said, "How you intend to process our breakup is your business."
That every long-lost dream led me to where you are
Others who broke my heart, they were like northern stars
Pointing me on my way into your loving arms
This much I know is true
That God blessed the broken road
That led me straight to you...
I catch a glimpse of my father through my veil; his disapproving glare is evident.
It was a random song choice from my favorites. I silently pray that the song will extend its embrace a bit longer, afraid of what will happen when Oliver lifts the veil.
I lift my head and see Oliver waiting with so much anticipation. Oh boy, the disappointment that awaits him...
We get closer and closer.
Now, we're at the altar. What was I thinking? Why did I agree to this madness?
"We're sorry and hope you take care of her," my father says as he hands me over to Oliver.
Oliver just stares at my figure, trying to decipher something.
As the ceremony begins, his gaze remains fixed on me. It's as if he senses something is off.
When we get to the vows, I attempt to mimic Iris's voice, but I struggle; my throat feels strained. My breakup led to late-night ice cream binges, cold juices, and falling asleep uncovered on the couch.
"You may kiss the bride," the priest says, and my heart stops when Oliver extends his arms and starts to unveil me.
My world is spinning.
His eyes shoot up when he sees my face.
"Jessie!" he mutters, confused.
"Jessie!" he repeats, and the audience falls silent.
His gaze remains fixed on me.
He mumbles something inaudible and starts to walk away. There's an awkward buzz of shock among the audience.
I'm left at the altar alone. What do I do? My fingers curl into the fabric of the gown, trying to hold myself together amidst the heat of embarrassment.
I see Layla walk up to me with my mother. "I want to get out of here," I say.
My mother, the actress she is, begins to convince the crowd that nothing is out of the ordinary. The groom was just blown away by the bride's beauty, and the ceremony will continue as planned.
"Calm down, dear; it's just a misunderstanding that your father is going to clear," she says as Layla wraps her arm around me for support.
"We can get out of here," Layla reminds me.
The prospect of her words dances in my mind, and before we can execute the plan, I see Oliver return with my father.
He doesn't look happy.
He stands in front of me as Layla and my mother head back to their seats, and silence grows as we all wait for his next move.
"Let's get this over with," he mutters to the priest, avoiding looking at me, and hands him a paper. The priest looks confused, filled with questions, but honors his order.
I wonder what kind of talk he had with my father.
"Do you take Jessica to be your lawfully wedded wife?" the priest asks; the previous vows had Iris's name.
Oliver finally turns to me. "I do," he says, certain.
The priest asks the same of me.
"I..." I look around the audience and back at Oliver. "I... I do," I answer nervously.
"You may kiss the bride," he says, and I stand still, waiting for Oliver's move. He steps forward, and I close my eyes. Instead, I feel his cold lips on my cheek, and the audience gasps. This must be the most scandalous wedding ever.
I open my eyes as he steps back. His eyes are cold toward me. No matter how many times I made him angry while working for him, I've never seen him look at me with such disdain.
I haven't seen Oliver since the reception started. He hasn't said a word to me. Despite his polite demeanor toward the guests as they extend their congratulations, his gaze remains cold.
"You're quite something," Gina says. I turn to her, and she's dressed in a tiny white dress.
"Not now, Gina," I reply, scanning the room.
"He doesn't love you, and he never will," she says, sipping her red wine.
I brush off her comment. "Have you seen Oliver?" I ask.
"All that time working for him was just a ruse to get close to him," she says, shaking her head.
"You should sit down before you embarrass yourself," I advise her and continue searching for Oliver.
"I can't find him," Layla says when she spots me.
My parents are keeping a close watch, displeased that I'm not with my husband. Husband! The irony would be comical if it weren't so tragic.
I decide to head inside the house. It's enormous, and I get a headache just thinking about where he might be. I can't ask around; the wedding has already been filled with drama, and I don't want to add more gossip.
I take the spiral stairs and climb them carefully.
"Oliver!" I call out.
Silence.
I follow the music to a room with the door half-open.
I slowly push the door and peek inside. He's seated on the bed, engrossed in a book. I can tell he senses my presence but doesn't acknowledge me.
"Why did it have to be you?" I'm not sure if it's a question or a statement. "Do you have any idea what you just signed up for?" he asks.
I remain silent.
My eyes wander around the room and notice the pills beside him. He follows my gaze and quickly hides them from my prying eyes.
"Why are you here?" he asks. I'm unsure if he means why I'm in this room or why I'm at his wedding.
"They're calling for us," I inform him.
He closes the worn-out, coverless book, places it on the bed, and sighs.
"I'm coming," he says calmly.
I turn to walk away, but he calls my name again, "We may be married in the eyes of the public, but I'm not married to you." The disdain in his tone is immense.