Prologue
What I hadn’t taken into account when Grant suggested the whole cruise-wedding combo was that while I was standing here in my white wedding dress, veil fluttering in the breeze, bouquet of fake blue roses in my hands, waiting for him to get his slow butt off the ship, all the other cruise-goers would be staring at me as they disembarked. I was used to being behind the scenes at weddings, ordering people around, making sure the ceremony went flawlessly. The spotlight wasn’t for me, especially when most of the onlookers were wearing floral-print casual wear and staring at me like I was an area attraction instead of an anxious bride.
My nerves were dancing all over the place and my stomach had relocated to my throat. I hadn’t realized how serious and final it was going to seem, these last moments before the I dos. Not that I wasn’t ready—I totally was. I loved Grant with my heart and soul, and I’d been waiting for this day my whole life. The day when I married the man of my dreams. Originally the setting hadn’t been Jamaica, but now that I could see the white sandy beaches and peer into the clear blue water, it was so perfect that goose bumps broke out across my skin.
Our wedding is going to be so beautiful.
And as soon as the preacher performed the marriage, we’d start our honeymoon, complete with stops to the Cayman Islands and Cozumel, Mexico. The first two days on the ship had been nothing short of amazing, and I knew the rest of the trip—when we were finally married—would be even more so.
Still, I couldn’t help but wish Jillian were here. When Grant and I first started discussing the wedding cruise as a possibility, I’d asked my best friend about coming with us—I wanted her to be my bridesmaid. She said that as much as she’d love to be with me on my special day, she thought it’d be awkward to be the third wheel on a seven-day cruise. I saw her point, but right now, I was thinking it couldn’t be more awkward than standing here all alone in a wedding dress.
I tapped the bouquet against my palm. Blue wouldn’t have been my original color choice, but I was multitasking. The flowers used to be a centerpiece in my apartment, so they were my something old and something blue. When your baggage is limited and your dress takes up an entire suitcase, you take shortcuts where you can.
I glanced at my watch again. “What’s taking him so long?” I muttered to myself. The preacher was going to be waiting on us. The photographer should be with the preacher, too. It was a package deal I’d negotiated over the phone. Not meeting the people in real life beforehand made me a bit twitchy, but everyone I’d spoken to had been super friendly, and even better, their reviews were stellar. Everything was going to go smoothly—I’d triple-checked my triple checks.
And yet I could feel my blood pressure steadily climbing, anxiety seeping in. I was entering bride freak-out mode, the one I referred to as Code Fuchsia, because that’s a shit’s-about-to- get-real color. If I didn’t get it together, everything would quickly spiral out of control. I closed my eyes and pictured myself opposite me, what I’d say to a bride in this situation.
It only took a moment to find it, something I’d told countless brides who were waiting for their grooms. I’d give them a reassuring smile and say, “You know how guys are. Throw a few extra buttons on a shirt and it becomes impossible to put on.” And it was true. I’d seen guy after guy stare at a tux like it was the Rubik’s Cube of clothing. Girls had to deal with strapless bras and corseted backs and buttons and ribbons and tiny eyelets that would make you go blind if you stared at them for too long. But hand a cummerbund and a bow tie to a guy and he just blinked at them, mouth hanging open.
I took a deep breath of ocean-scented air and held it in until my heart rate returned to normal, and I was more Tangerine than Fuchsia. And even though the disembarking passengers still made me want to yell, “Why don’t you take a picture? It’ll last longer!” it also made me realize just how many people there were. Of course it was taking Grant forever. It’s not like he’d shove old people and kids out of the way to get to me.
Maybe I should’ve just let him dress in cargo shorts and flip-flops like he’d wanted. But I’d gone along with the let’s-get- married-on-a-cruise idea—let go of all my old wedding plans and embraced the impulsivity. I still wanted the fancy white dress and to see Grant in a tux, though. I had a right to ask for those things, didn’t I?
Of course I did, although suddenly not letting him see me in the dress until we were outside seemed silly. Stupid tradition. It wasn’t like it’d even count, because he’d still see me before the ceremony. I’d simply wanted it to be out in the sunshine, where the light would catch the intricate beading of the bodice, instead of a tiny, dark cabin where moving meant whacking a knee or elbow on something.
I shifted my weight from my right foot to my left, and the heel of my rhinestone-and-pearl-encrusted pump sank in the ground, most likely getting coated in dirt.
It’ll all be okay once he gets here. Then these silly little details won’t matter. In fact, they’d be a great story to tell our friends and family, and our future kids when they asked about our wedding day.
For fifteen minutes I did a pretty good job of convincing myself everything was awesome. Totally on track. Not a big deal in the grand scheme of things. I didn’t let the doubtful voice in the back of my head take over.
But then the rush of people coming off the ship slowed to a trickle, only the occasional couple or family here and there.
My breaths came faster and faster, my entire body started shaking, and the world around me blurred. “He changed his mind,” I whispered. “He doesn’t want to marry me.” As quietly as the words came out, they smothered the air around me and echoed in my head. He doesn’t want me.
This wasn’t happening.
Couldn’t be happening.
I fought the urge to fall to the ground in my dress and cry. I told myself that there was still time. No reason to freak out. Grant loved me. He wouldn’t do this to me.
I decided that I’d give him five more minutes.
Five more minutes until we had a very awkward boat ride home.
