On Our Wedding, I Married His Rival

Chapter 2

He froze for a beat, then laughed—cold, certain. "Changing grooms? With who? What guy would take you? Everyone in this city knows you're mine. Though—if you can actually dig up somebody brave enough to marry you, hey, I'll play along."

The groomsmen traded looks behind him. Brandon took two steps after him. "Ethan, you're seriously leaving—"

"Hold it down. I'm coming right back." He got in the car, a thread of impatience in his voice. "Ten minutes. It's not a big deal."

The engine turned over, and he pulled out.

I stood there, veil lifting in the wind. The photographer hovered off to the side, camera in hand. Nobody said a word.

I looked down at my bare left ring finger and slowly let myself smile.

'Go, Ethan. Go to your girl. And this million-dollar wedding of the century—I'll happily take it off your hands.'

I gathered my skirt and walked into the cathedral.

Guests seated, officiant in place, organ already going. Everything was perfect.

Except the groom was missing.

Brandon hurried over, smile plastered on. "Hey—Ethan had something come up, he'll be right back, just sit tight."

Another groomsman, Jason, jumped in to smooth it over. "Right, right—Ethan always knows what he's doing. He'll be here for the big moment, any second."

"Exactly. He never drops the ball on the stuff that matters."

They kept it up, spinning "the groom bolted" like he'd just stepped out for a sandwich.

I glanced at the clock above the altar. Ten forty.

"Sure. I'll wait for him." I sent them off, calm.

Brandon visibly relaxed and rushed to get someone to bring me coffee.

I waited.

But who I was actually waiting for—that's none of their business.

This wedding had been hyped for three months. Just about every relative on his side had shown up. I swept my eyes across the room, taking it all in. The waterfall of white roses by the tall windows, the crystal strands dripping from the vaulted ceiling. Even the font on the place cards—he'd had a designer make it custom.

Ethan did everything to the absolute limit. The way he'd chased me. The way he'd planned this wedding. He'd made it the talk of the city, every woman's dream day.

And apparently his cheating ran on the same setting. No room to negotiate. No explanation.

In his head, spoiling someone and wrecking them never once contradicted each other. And me—all I ever got was the option to accept.

In the dressing room, my maid of honor Vera—who'd flown in just for this—was fixing my train, furious for me.

"Is Wendy out of her mind? She can't breathe unless she's taking something of yours?" She dropped into a chair, tugging at her bridesmaid dress. "And Ethan—what a piece of work." Her voice burned on my behalf. "When you two were planning this thing, he'd turn the whole city upside down just to get your bouquet right. You try on the dress, and his eyes fill up before yours do. I was so jealous I picked a fight with my own useless boyfriend." She went quiet. "Who could've guessed he'd pull this."

I said nothing, scrolling on my phone.

Wendy had just posted a story. The photo: a man's shirt and a woman's lingerie thrown across the floor.

Someone said ten minutes. Half an hour later he's still not out of bed.

She'd tagged the location—a hotel downtown, not the church.

A mutual had already commented.

A: [Wendy, who exactly are you trying to bury?]

Wendy: [The one standing in her veil who can't find her groom, obviously.]

I screenshotted it. Blank-faced.

"Tessa, stop waiting." Vera grabbed my phone. "Look at this garbage." "You dropped out over in London and came running back for him. Back then Ethan was a nobody. If you hadn't run yourself into the ground for him all these years—writing the pitches, chasing the investors, quietly trading on your family name to build his company—you think he'd be where he is? And now he's rolling around with Wendy." Her eyes were red now. "Tessa, stop waiting. Live for yourself for once."

"Vera, thank you for coming. I'll explain everything to my parents myself."

I calmed my friend down, and calmed myself.

I went to the terrace at the end of the hall for some air. Just as I reached for the door, I heard voices inside—the groomsmen, holed up for a smoke.

"Wait—Ethan's really not coming back?"

"Said Wendy's got him chained to the bed and told us to stall. What do you figure Tessa's limit is?"

"Look at her today—veil on, aisle ready, groom gone—and she hasn't so much as blinked."

"She really loves him," Jason sighed. "Ethan's sitting on a gold mine and doesn't even know it."

"Like Ethan's got room for that right now? Wendy's got him wrapped around her finger."

They laughed again. Then someone started a video call. "Ethan, finally. Tessa's still waiting—you not coming back is kind of messed up, man."

Muffled sounds came through the other end.

"Can't. Keep the relatives busy for me." Ethan's voice was hoarse, impatient, still thick.

"Sure, sure, you do you," Brandon smirked. "Tessa's the easy one anyway—"

Before he finished, I'd pushed the terrace door open.

Every smile froze.