The Seven Pieces of a Feuilleton

Chapter 22

She was marrying Finn Cavendish.

It was no longer a question. She, Brenda Walsh, was divorcing Dylan McKay and marrying one of London's finest, a man whom she had so publicly chosen on a beach in front of her closest friends.

She was content in her decision; truly she was. Finn would be a terrific husband to her and father to their children. She would never need to doubt him. She and Dylan had far too much heartbreak to rebuild their marriage. She would get a fresh slate with Finn.

So why did the breath escape from her lungs when Dylan poised his pen over the papers and scrawled out his signature on each required line? She had gotten exactly what she wanted, hadn't she? She had achieved the reason she had come to LA to begin with and she could now wed Finn without Dylan's continued interference.

Yet, she felt a pull, a yearning, to stay with Dylan in his home, to take him to hers, to start their marriage over again.

It was too late, Brenda thought. She had chosen. He had signed. It was over. They were over. Their story had become just that: a story that would transition into a dusty novel on a shelf.

She hadn't expected the Brit's immense shock when she stood in front of him and the American and told the Brit that she had picked him.

She hated that word: pick, like picking at a scab. She supposed getting a divorce from the man one had initially planned forever with was indeed reminiscent of picking at a scab.

There was one silver lining: she no longer felt the need to hate him, or to hate Kelly.

All of her hatred was aimed at one individual and one individual alone.

"So, I guess this is it," Brenda said quietly, watching Dylan scrawl the final "y" to his name on the last sheet of paper.

"Would seem so," he said, straightening the packet and handing it over to her with shaky hands.

Brenda glanced at her suitcase sitting by the door, then at Finn.

"Finn, do you mind giving us a minute?" she asked in a gentle tone, smiling softly at her husband-to-be.

"No, go ahead." Finn smiled kindly. "It's been one hell of an interesting journey, McKay," he added, extending a hand.

"Take care of her," Dylan forced out, shaking Finn's hand. "She's kind of important to me, you know?"

"I know," Finn laughed. "She invokes that emotion in people."

"And please don't take her on any more airborne journeys outside of a plane, however much she'll pretend she's fine with it."

"I won't," Finn assured. He walked over to the suitcase and rolled it towards the door. "I'll be outside, Brenda."

Left alone with Dylan, an avalanche seemed to explode in her chest.

"Will we see you at the wedding?" she squeaked.

"I don't think so, Brenda," he sighed. "You can send an invite so I know you haven't forgotten me, but I can't sit there and watch you marry him, no matter how nice of a guy he is or how much I want you to be happy."

Brenda had won their bet and could force Dylan to attend her wedding per the terms of their agreement, but she no longer wanted to inflict upon him that kind of torture. She would certainly be unable to attend his own wedding in the future, if he bothered to send an invitation.

"Don't be ridiculous," Brenda smiled. "I could never forget you. You're a huge part of my life story, Dyl."

"Feeling's mutual, Bren. Offer's still on the table to stay your friend."