Chapter 46 To True Love Wedding Rehearsal (The Next Day) I stood near the back, a bouquet of ivory silk roses in my hands. The officiant clapped his hands. “Alright, from the top. Bridesmaids and groomsmen—pair up.” Dean was up front, grinning just wide enough, not too much— glancing in my direction ever so often. A subtle reminder of his illicit proposal. His best man, Henry, was beside him. Like the obedient dog he was. And there in front, sitting beside my dad like he owned the place, was Roman. He wasn’t part of the wedding. He wasn’t even supposed to be here in the first place. But somehow, his dark suit blended into the picture, making him look like he belonged. Like he was actually the main event. He met my eye, the corner of his mouth lifting up in a smile. Then he gave a little nod. I smiled back— unable to contain my excitement and looked ahead, focusing on not tripping in front of so many people. My feet moved on autopilot as I took my place. The music, romantic and faint, came from the speakers. We began the slow walk down the aisle, the click of heels and shuffle of polished shoes echoing in the open space. The air smelled faintly of roses and lemon oil, freshly buffed pews shining under the vaulted ceiling. “My goodness.” the officiant said, gesturing toward the aisle. “Bridesmaids, groomsmen, fix your lines. Pair up. This time, try to keep the spacing even. Think… graceful. Not a race.” Laughter rippled through the group, breaking some of the stiffness. In the front pew, parents and close family members watched with varying expressions—some misty-eyed, some checking their phones. When I reached the front, I stole another glance toward Roman. He was still watching me like he was memorizing every move, every shift of fabric, every breath I took. My body was increasingly aware of his stare. He mouthed something. ‘You look beautiful.’ Then proceeded to take a picture of me from where he sat. I smiled, posing a little.There was a look of pride on his face when my mom leaned in from the right to see the photo. I blushed furiously like a teenager. I was dressed in a simple cream colored, off-shoulder tight dress that ended a little above my knee. But with the way Roman was looking at me… It was as if he could see right through my clothes. The rehearsal blurred. The officiant’s voice became background noise. Alyssa laughed at something Mom said. Someone’s phone went off in the audience. A groomsman missed his cue. But none of it mattered. My awareness was anchored to the man in the front row. His eyes trailed down my body slowly. From my face. To my neck. To my chest. To my lips. Just an intense assessment. Like he owned every right to do so. I only snapped out of the trance when the officiant called me up. Chloe now stood at the top of the aisle, bouquet in hand, not the elaborate one she’d carry the day after tomorrow, but a simple cluster of ivory roses bound with ribbon. Her dress tonight wasn’t the wedding gown either—just a flowing white sundress. Her fiancé waited at the altar, hands clasped in front of him, his posture betraying both nervousness and anticipation. I drifted back to yesterday at the barbecue. It's strange she still insisted on me being her maid of honour even after she publicly declared herself my enemy. After a run-through of the vows and a mock exchange of rings—two simple silver bands borrowed for the moment—it was now time for the informal part of the evening. The rehearsal dinner. The atmosphere shifted instantly. High heels slipped off, jackets were shrugged away, and conversations swelled to a cheerful hum. The restaurant was the kind of place that didn’t need to announce its exclusivity—every gleaming surface, every measured note of soft jazz spilling from the hidden speakers spoke for it. Tables were set with precision—white linen that felt like silk beneath your fingertips, heavy silver cutlery aligned perfectly beside bone china plates rimmed with delicate gold. Waiters in black waistcoats and white gloves glided between tables like a well-rehearsed dance, carrying silver trays of champagne flutes and wine glasses. The servers moved in with the first course—tiny porcelain bowls of lobster bisque, steam curling upward in fragrant spirals. The scent in the air was now a heady mixture of seared filet mignon, fresh herbs, and the faint sweetness of vanilla bean from the dessert station at the far end. In between courses, the best man rose to deliver his speech, Henry. I knew him as one of Dean's sidekicks from college. And oddly enough, I recognised that shirt he wore underneath as being a hand-me-down from Dean. He rose with his champagne glass, grinning like he’d just been handed a mic at a roast instead of a rehearsal dinner. “Well,” he began, drawing out the word so long that half the guests were already shifting uncomfortably. “I’ve known Dean a long time. And in that time, I’ve seen him make some… interesting choices.” Dean appeared tense. Eyes shooting daggers at Henry. It was as if he knew something we didn't. Yet. A few polite chuckles bubbled around the table. He nodded, playing to his imaginary audience. I rolled my eyes, focusing on the crystal chandeliers above. Henry and I never got along. Not even back then. “But the thing about Dean,” Henry continued, tilting his glass in Dean’s direction, “is that he’s a man who likes to… explore his options before settling down.” There were some scattered, uneasy laughs. My stomach twisted. Roman’s jaw locked so tight you could hear his teeth grinding. His gaze was murderous. Henry’s eyes flicked to me for just a moment before returning to Dean. “Case in point—our groom here didn’t just meet the love of his life out of the blue. Oh no, he took the scenic route. But one thing I commend him for is sticking to one family.” The room went silent so fast I could hear the soft fizz of champagne in my glass. My hand turned cold instantly. My cheeks burned hot, my pulse in my ears. From afar, I could see Dean’s hand twitch against the tablecloth. Henry smiled wider, clearly relishing the attention. “And I mean, who could blame him? Savannah’s a gorgeous woman. Hot. Curvy. Smart. Feisty.” He swirled the champagne in his glass. “But… sometimes you’ve gotta take a few test drives before you find the car you really want to buy, am I right?” The guests murmured, clearly confused. Another groomsman walked up the stage and whispered in his ear. Clearly telling him to get off the stage. “Okay. I’ll keep this short now,” he said. “Dean’s a lucky guy. Not many men can say they dated two sisters and still got invited to the wedding.” He drank from his glass. “So today's in honour of you, Dean. For finally choosing the right sister.” Dean’s entire posture stiffened. He turned slowly in my direction. Roman looked like he was a second away from getting on that stage and leaving in handcuffs. He clenched his fists until they turned white. Chloe was smiling. Brightly. Even raising her left hand happily, brandishing her engagement ring like it was prize money. Her friends gushed, camera flashes went off. All around us, guests were exchanging glances. Some awkward, some curious, all whispering in the way you could feel without hearing. I didn’t move. I didn’t even breathe. But across the table, Roman’s eyes were locked on mine, dark and unreadable, like he was cataloging every flicker of my reaction for later. Henry, sensing nothing, raised his glass higher. Ready to make the toast. “To true love, no matter how many stops you make on the way there.”