“I do,” Megan said again, removing her hand and tipping her chin up. It had been her who had spoken and she could hardly believe it. It hadn’t even been a conscious decision, it just was, it had just happened. She couldn’t marry the man standing before because she didn’t love him enough.

And he didn’t love her enough.

Or if he did, he didn’t know how to show it.

“What are you saying?” he asked, shaking his head, his cheeks flushing.

“I can’t marry you, Dylan. I’m sorry.”

He wiped his brow. “You’re just hot, confused. How much champagne have you had?” He threw a scathing look in Brendon’s direction.

“I am hot and I have had a glass or two of champagne, but that doesn’t change the fact I can’t marry you, Dylan. I’m really, really sorry.”

Her eyes stung, her chest ached from pushing up against the corset but the weight that had settled in her belly was lifting. It was like she was getting lighter, floating. She’d released the truth that had been sneaking around her psyche for too long and it was a wonderful, freeing feeling.

“So, er…what…” asked the vicar, “do you want to do?” He looked at Dylan.

“Well clearly she’s not thinking straight,” Dylan said, wafting his hand at Megan as if dismissing what she’d said.

“I am. I’m thinking perfectly straight. For the first time in a long time, in fact.”

Dylan’s mouth twisted, as though he was in pain.

Megan hated that she’d done this to him, created this moment for him to live through. But she had to be true to herself. Her parents had just told her they were proud of her, of the woman she’d become.

And that woman didn’t need Dylan.

She didn’t need to be told what to do, or spend her time worrying about a grown man’s mood swings.

She glanced at her mother. Her cheeks were red and her eyes wide.

She set her attention on her father—his expression was serious but, as ever, his eyes held love.

Brendon had his teeth gritted and one hand clasped beneath his chin and Georgie had pressed her palm to her chest, over her heart.

Megan knew what she was doing would alienate one side of the church. She would become a hated woman, the evil witch who broke Dylan’s heart. But that couldn’t be helped.

It was the way it had to be.

“Megan, come on, let’s get this done then we can get out of here and talk.”

“Talk?” she asked.

“Yes, talk.”

“Talk as in you tell me what a silly little girl I’ve been. That I should just get on with it and take what life gives me—”

“Megan.” Dylan’s voice was stern. “What’s brought this on?”