ONE SHOTS - Football ✔️

(3) Isco Alarcón

Rekindled

She looked down at the gold embossed invitation, feeling a heavy feeling enter her heart as she was reminded (not for the first time) of the happiness her ex-boyfriend had found. Dorien knew that she shouldn't have felt this way considering she had been the one to break it off with him. However, this jealousy was completely common.

She tucked the invitation into her bag, giving herself a once over in the mirror. Her hair was curled into a loose bun and the dress she wore complemented her skin tone. It would have been unfair for her to look like she was trying to upstage the bride so she settled for a more subtle approach. Her make up was minimal, there to enhance her natural features.

"Right Dorien," she began, giving herself a serious look, "as much as you may want to punch Sara's beautiful happy face, you are there to support your friend in the next stage of his life. Isco was never your ex. You are not jealous."

As she walked from the house, she looked as if she were about to face a difficult situation. That wasn't hard to believe. Her neighbours were often greeted by odd sights. Most noticeably had been the way her last boyfriend had serenaded her after she'd broken up with him. Dorien had thought that they only did that in the movies.

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Dorien smiled up at Isco from her position in the pews. He'd managed to seat her near the front, next to his mother who had embraced her on sight, pulling her into the seat beside her and gossiping about the less than grand dress Sara had got as her wedding gown.

"I must tell you dear, don't go expecting anything extravagant," whispered Mrs Alarcón. "The dress is so bland. Just a simple cut. I tried to get her to go with something a bit more grand but she refused. You wouldn't have done that, would you?"

Dorien bit back her reply, simply forcing out a smile. "I'm sure Sara looks beautiful nonetheless."

"Not as nice as you," beamed Mrs Alarcón. "Now, tell me, where did you get that dress?"

Before Dorien could reply, a hush fell over the pews and the familiar wedding march began to play. Like everyone seated around her, Dorien turned to watch the bride make her way down the aisle. She couldn't help but agree with what Isco's mother had said. The dress was a rather dismal affair.

From where she sat, she could clearly see the wide grin spread across Sara's face. It made her look beautiful and Dorien could feel her heart melt at the simplistic beauty of love. Well, at least till it was replaced by the jealousy that  seemed to live inside her.

Dorien was going to be honest. After that, she could barely pay attention to the wedding, only tuning in when she heard Isco begin to speak.

"No."

"What?" gasped Sara. Dorien turned to look at Mrs Alarcón, a questioning look on her face. She wasn't paying attention, looking at the about to be married couple with rapt attention written across her face.

"I can't, not with Dorien sitting down there acting like she doesn't love me," he explained, looking down at his hands. "I can't pretend I don't love her either. I'm sorry Sara, I can't marry you if I'm not 100% in this."

"But...but...but..."

Sara was at a loss for words. Dorien was too. She looked up at him, a questioning look on her face. He stepped down, reaching out to pull her from her seat. She then pulled him from the room, whirling to face him as soon as the door slammed shut.

"What the fuck were you thinking?" she almost yelled, reaching up as if to yank at her hair. "You can't do that to someone. You can't break someone's heart like that, Isco. I don't care what I want. Go back to her. Tell her your sorry. Marry the woman. Freaking move on."

"Dorien, calm down," he pleaded, grabbing her arms and pulling her against him. "You need to stop and listen to me. I don't love, Sara. I still love you."

"Why did you get engaged to her then?" asked Dorien, fighting against his grip.

"Because you had moved on and I thought I could too."

He tilted her head upwards, pressing his lips to hers in a gentle kiss that sent her heart beating a staccato.

"Now," he whispered, "how about we try this whole relationship thing again?"

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