I guess sometimes things really do have to fall apart so they can come together. Who knew it could all take place in the span of less than an hour?

I’m feeling weak in the knees when Dane appears at my side, offering me his arm. “Guess Dad took the news okay?”

I snort because there’s no way I could formulate a single syllable at this point.

“All right, old man,” my brother teases, pulling the two men apart. “This is where she becomes someone else’s problem.”

“You take care of my little girl.” Daddy takes my hand, placing a kiss over my knuckles before slipping it into Lyle’s.

“You have my word, sir.”

My father bites down on his trembling lower lip and nods. “Then dammit, boy, you have my blessing.”

Those sitting nearest to us must overhear the exchange because the sniffles and sobs are momentarily interrupted by a handful of giggles.

Dane guides my father to his seat in the front pew beside my mother while Lyle slips his arm through mine and we complete the trek to the altar, where my best friends—Liz, Darci, and Margo—stand to the left of the stairs, blubbering into their bouquets.

My cousins Robert and Michael, who were to be ushers, stand beside my brother to our right. Dane must’ve had the good sense to recruit them, since they were already clad in tuxes for their roles, to serve as groomsmen.

To anyone who didn’t know who I was supposed to be marrying, nothing would appear out of place. It’s a picture-perfect wedding—like something right out of a magazine.

You’d never guess the entire thing was thrown together in two weeks. Or that the father of the bride was knocking on death’s door. And let’s not even get started on the whole pregnancy and groom disaster.

I feel like an actress playing a part in the story of my own life with no idea where the plot might lead.

At least the set is beautiful.

The church is draped in white roses and baby’s breath. Lush floral arrangements in varieties of pink and cream cover every available surface. With each inhale, I’m graced with the scent of their fragrant blooms. Three bridesmaids, three groomsmen, and the most adorable little flower girl and ringbearer you ever did see make up the wedding party.

It’d be sheer perfection if I could get past the lump of guilt pitted in my chest.

As it stands, I’m thanking my lucky stars that the guest list was largely compiled of my own friends and family, and that Trent only invited his immediate family, most of whom, it appears—judging by the empty pews on the groom’s side—have already quietly excused themselves.

Try as I might, I can’t stop my thoughts from wandering to what they all must think of me.