1

Evangeline

I can do this. I’m doing the right thing. Why didn’t I think of bringing flowers? I take a step forward to walk up the aisle alone. My heart jumps into my throat. My fingers shake. I clasp them together in front of me and take a deep breath. Then another. The organist begins to play "Here Comes the Bride."

There. That makes the decision for me. I take another step forward, then another, staring straight ahead with my eyes closed. The crowd quiets down. I walk down the aisle. Sweat runs down my back. My knees shake, but I manage to stay upright. Keep moving. Don’t stop. You want to marry him. You do. Why am I convincing myself? It’s too late to turn back now, isn’t it? A chill runs down my spine.

Under the smell of incense in the church, there are hints of woodsmoke and pine, and something nostalgic that reminds me of a forest I visited as a child. I glance to the side and meet the eyes of a man I’ve never seen before.

His eyes are icy blue. His thick, jet-black hair is cut short in a military style, accentuating his sharp features. Silver streaks at his temples give him a distinguished look. His jaw is square, his cheekbones sharp. His throat is strong, and his shoulders fill my view.

Then there’s his nose, and that thin upper lip, which adds to his stern appearance… And that lower lip—I gulp—looks tempting to bite down on.

Whoa, what am I thinking?

His lips tighten, thinning that upper lip further. I force myself to look away, only to find he’s scowling at me. His expression is angry and confused, yet there’s an unmistakable intensity. My body reacts—my nipples tighten, my toes curl. My steps slow. It feels like I’m walking through quicksand.

What’s this fluttering feeling in my stomach? This shiver that grips me. This uncertainty that knots my stomach. Who is this man? Why have I never felt like this before? Why is he affecting me like this?

Against my instincts, I walk past him.

As I pass my father, he wipes a tear from his face. I fight back my own emotions. Keep moving.

I force myself to look ahead and stop in front of the priest who will marry us. But there's a big problem.

What does it say about me that I didn’t notice my groom was missing until I got to the altar? I was so focused on getting myself together, then just on walking up there. And when I saw that scowling guy, all my other thoughts flew out of my head.

I turn to the groomsman, who I recognize as Lawrence’s friend, Stan. "Where’s Lawrence?" I ask.

"Um…" Stan’s throat moves as he swallows. "Um... He… He…" He shakes his head, sweat beading on his upper lip. Why does he look like he’s about to throw up?

Behind me, people start murmuring in the crowd. Then my dad calls out, “Is everything okay, Eva?”

I hold up my hand and the conversations quiet down. I narrow my eyes at Stan. "What’s going on? Is Lawrence okay? Did something happen to him?"

"He… Um… He sent me this message." Stan thrusts his phone in front of me.

Lawrence: Tell Evangeline I’m sorry. I can’t go through with it.

He dumped me. What the—! My groom didn’t even have the decency to tell me in person that he was breaking up with me?

Heat rushes to my cheeks. Embarrassment squeezes my chest and I hunch my shoulders. But strangely, my heart… My heart remains steady. And my mind whispers… Thank goodness.

A strange feeling of relief spreads through me. My groom stood me up, and while I’m upset and angry, I also feel like I dodged a bullet. What does that say about me? Was I about to make the biggest mistake of my life? And did my groom save me by not showing up for our wedding?

He did me a favor. Except, he broke up with me in front of a church full of people, including my dad. That sense of embarrassment tightens into a lump in my throat and spreads to my chest. My stomach churns. Bitterness rises in my throat. I swallow hard, trying to push down the sour taste in my mouth, and take a deep breath, then another.

Someone in the crowd loudly asks, “Is the wedding off?”

They’re met with a chorus of shushes and hushed voices and what sounds like a thousand conversations.

The dress, which had felt perfect before, now feels too tight on my body. I want to slip away and not be at the center of this chaotic situation anymore, but my legs won’t move.

“I’m really sorry, Evangeline,” Stan whispers.

His sympathy makes me start crying. Tears spill from my eyes, and I wipe them away. Why am I crying? It’s silly. Why do I feel like I’ve been abandoned at the altar? Because you were.

But I didn’t love Lawrence, and I’m relieved he didn’t show up. So why do I feel so miserable? I should leave and hide somewhere, pretend this humiliating moment didn’t happen, but… No, I can’t move my feet.

I lower my chin and stare at the floor until someone steps in front of me. The person has big feet, judging by their polished black formal shoes, and wears well-tailored pants that hug strong thighs. There’s also a noticeable bulge there, which catches my attention—strange, considering I’ve just been ditched by my groom, whom I didn’t even want to marry in the first place.

Suddenly, I realize the murmuring around me has stopped. Silence fills the air. My heart races, and I feel a shiver down my spine. As I inhale, I catch the scent of woodsmoke, pine, and wide open spaces. Even before I lift my gaze, I know it’s him. His chest is broad, blocking out everything else when I finally look up to meet his silver-blue eyes. It’s almost not surprising; I knew I would see him again after our eyes met earlier. There was a connection that almost made me hesitate, but I brushed it off and continued toward my absent groom out of a sense of duty.

It had to be like this, as if it was meant to be. A feeling of destiny settles over me. When the stranger leans in and lifts my veil, I don’t pull away or protest. There’s a gasp from the crowd, but I pay it no mind. I’m captivated by this mysterious man who something inside me recognizes.

It’s him. Him. Him. My blood hums with excitement. Electricity pulses through me. He’s the reason Lawrence didn’t feel right. He’s the reason I knew marrying Lawrence was a mistake. I never expected to meet him, not in this lifetime. That’s why I almost married Lawrence. Thank goodness he backed out.

I must be showing my thoughts on my face because I see a flicker of recognition in his eyes. His jaw tightens. He seems to make a decision, lowering his hand and then dropping to one knee.

My eyes widen. My pulse quickens. What is he doing? No way. He can’t be.

He looks up again, locking his gaze with mine. I see the question in his eyes and I know my answer before he growls, "Marry me."

Another gasp ripples through the gathering, subsiding into silence. The blood throbs in my temples, and my heart feels as though it could burst at any moment. I'm on the edge, almost disappearing into thin air—poof—gone without a trace. No one would notice my presence or judge me. No one would know how close I came to saying yes to marrying him in the church, simply because I'm so drawn to him.

I part my lips to utter my agreement, but instead, what emerges is, "It’s often impossible to hum while holding your nose."

The man blinks slowly in response.

"Most people also find it impossible to lick their own elbow," I acknowledge with a nod, though I wince inwardly. His stare, as if I'm spouting nonsense to mask my nerves, mirrors the reactions of many who've witnessed my quirky attempts at deflection.

As I start to turn away, his stern expression falters slightly. "Is that true?"

Could he be on the brink of a smile? What if I could genuinely make him laugh?

"It’s physically impossible for pigs to look up into the sky," I offer, stealing a glance at him from beneath lowered lashes.

A corner of his mouth twitches upward, his eyes alight with amusement. Yes! I suppress the urge to pump my fist in triumph.

"But you must understand, I can’t say yes to you…" Despite the temptation, resorting to trivial facts bought me a moment's reprieve. Now I realize even considering marriage to him is irrational. I don't truly know him, and he's significantly older than me. He's not the knight in shining armor I'd hoped would rescue me from this predicament.

"Why?" His gaze intensifies. "Why can’t you say yes?" The silver in his eyes glints, everything else fading away as my senses focus solely on him—his features, his presence.

It's a valid question. Why can't I marry him, despite every impulse urging me to do so? My instincts tell me to follow what feels right for me, regardless of societal expectations.

I clear my throat. "Firstly, I hardly know you."

"We can change that," he asserts confidently.

I gape at him, then begin to laugh. “You can’t be serious,” I say between gasping breaths.

“I never joke,” he says with such vehemence, I know for a fact, he’s telling the truth. I want to say something about how he could do with some laughs in his life, but who am I to say anything when my entire life has turned into the stuff of party conversations?

My own laughter dies. I stare at him, and he peruses my features with an intensity I’ve never been subjected to before. An intensity which turns my nipples into pinpoints of desire, and causes my belly to flutter, and my pussy to clench in on itself.

How am I so drawn to him? I should be crushed my bridegroom did a runner. Instead, all I can think of is how much I want this stranger. This is wrong, no matter which way I look at it. Something of my resolve must reflect on my face for he nods, then straightens to stand back up.

Again, I tilt my head upward to meet his gaze. Again, I'm struck by his towering height, his broad, solid, and reliable presence. He exudes trustworthiness. He's not the type who would abandon me at the altar or end things with a text message to his best man.

My scalp feels tingly. It's like all the air in the room has been sucked away. The voices around us fade into the background. I want to look away from him, but I can't. I feel confused, like I'm watching everything from a distance. Is this like an out-of-body experience?

"This is real. I'm here. You're here too. And you're going to marry me," he says firmly.

I shake my head, about to reply, when—

There's a noise from the entrance, and then Lawrence comes rushing up the aisle toward us. "Wait! I'm here."

My jaw drops. Lawrence? What is he doing here?

A gasp ripples through the crowd. I glimpse my father, his eyes filled with concern.

Lawrence skids to a halt, chest heaving, sweat trickling down his temple. He blurts out, "I’m sorry, Evangeline. Sorry about that message. But I’m here now." He moves closer, but I throw up my hands.

"Don’t come near me!" I cry.

"Evangeline—" He swallows hard. "Please, just listen."

I clench my fists tightly. Anger surges through me like a raging storm. "No. You don’t get to talk to me now. Not after ending things at the altar. And through a text message to your friend? You have the nerve to show up and apologize?"

Tears well up in my eyes. My heart feels like it's about to burst out of my chest, my ears pounding with blood, drowning out my own voice.

"Why did you come back?" I confront Lawrence. "What right do you have to be here and ask me anything? Haven’t you hurt me enough?"

"It’s not like that, Eva—" Lawrence tries to step forward.