The best man

Chapter 12

I stand in front of the mirror, adjusting the dress, smoothing it over my hips and shoulders. It's a perfect fit—elegant, timeless. For the first time in what feels like forever, I actually feel beautiful. The fabric shimmers with each movement, catching the light in just the right way. I give a small twirl, watching the skirt swirl around me. There's a brief moment where I smile at my reflection, feeling like maybe, just maybe, I could belong here in this moment.

But then, the thought of Ethan crashes into me, uninvited. I can almost picture him standing behind me, his soft smile, the way his eyes would have lit up if he saw me like this. He would've said something—he always had a way with words, always knew how to make me feel seen, feel cherished. For a second, I can almost hear his voice in my ear, whispering a compliment, teasing me for twirling in the dress like a little girl.

The sadness hits like a punch in the gut, and I have to close my eyes, forcing myself to breathe, to not let the tears spill over. Not now. I can't let myself fall apart now. I bite my lip, focusing on the present, reminding myself I'm here for Anne, for Shelly—this isn't about Ethan. This isn't about me.

A sharp knock on the door pulls me from my thoughts, snapping me back to reality. "Lily! Hurry up, the ceremony is about to start!" Shelly calls through the door, her voice full of urgency.

I shake off the lingering thoughts of Ethan, take one last look at myself in the mirror, and nod. I need to pull it together. I can do this. I won't let anything ruin today, not for Anne. She deserves a perfect wedding, even if it means standing beside someone like Conor.

As I walk down the hallway, the weight of everything presses down on me. The venue is beautiful—roses everywhere, soft hues of blush and ivory draping the walls, casting a warm, almost ethereal glow over the guests. Bridesmaids are gathered on one side, the groomsmen on the other. I take my place as the best man, standing across from Conor. My stomach churns the moment I see him.

Conor's right there, adjusting his suit jacket, back straight, posture confident. Not a single hint of remorse on his face. He doesn't even glance my way—just checks his cuffs, glances at the groomsmen, and avoids me completely. My chest tightens as I stand there, staring at him, waiting for even a flicker of acknowledgment, some sign that he feels anything about what happened between us. But there's nothing. No guilt, no hesitation in those eyes—of course not. He's acting as if I don't exist, like I'm just another face in the crowd.

All these years of so-called "friendship," all ruined by him keeping me around for comfort until he found someone he wanted to call his wife. He lied, told me things were over between them, kissed me, led me on, and now here we are—at his wedding. It baffles me how much I thought I knew him. But looking at him now, it's clear. Conor is nothing but a fraud.

It stings more than I care to admit. Seeing him like this—unaffected, indifferent—it twists the knife that's already been lodged in my heart for far too long. I remind myself to breathe, to focus on something, anything else. It will be over soon, I tell myself, just get through this.

The guests have all taken their seats, murmurs of excitement filling the air. The priest stands at the front, ready to begin, his solemn expression contrasting the joy in the room. And then, the soft strains of the violin start, the familiar notes of the wedding anthem filling the space, wrapping around everyone like a spell.

The doors at the back of the hall open, and there she is—Anne, walking down the aisle with her father. I can't help but stare. She's stunning, truly breathtaking. Her dress is delicate, lace trailing behind her like a veil of clouds. The smile on her face is so pure, so full of hope and love, it breaks my heart. Her eyes are bright, focused on Conor, completely unaware of the man standing at the end of the aisle.

She looks so happy. Blissfully unaware of the storm that's swirling just beneath the surface. And I'm standing here, knowing what I know, knowing what he's capable of, and it feels like I'm betraying her by staying silent. The guilt gnaws at me, but what can I say now? The ceremony is starting. People are watching.

My heart aches, not just for me but for Anne, for the future she doesn't even realize she's walking into.

As the violin plays on and Anne takes her steps closer, I feel my window to say something slipping away. I can't unfortunately. It's too late...