Kate stood in her white gown, feet poised at the foot of the aisle. The media cameras clicked in machine-gun fashion, capturing a three-quarter view. She curved her lips upward and forced a twinkle into her eyes. It was time to fix this mess.

Thirty feet down the aisle, waiting in the gazebo, was Anna; Lucas’s best man, Ethan; Reverend McFadden; and Lucas.

Lucas. Is this really happening, God?

The musicians started the wedding march. Kate curled her arm around the stiff material on her dad’s arm and took the first step. A gentle breeze blew off the ocean, ruffling her hair and veil and feathering her strapless A-line gown against her legs. She’d finally found the satin dress at a boutique in Boston after scouring numerous magazines and shops. Now what did it matter that the gown was perfect or that the hem hit the floor precisely?

How had it come to this? Bryan was supposed to be waiting at the end of the aisle. They matched. They were a fit according to everything she knew about personalities and relationships. They had so much in common—their love of exercise . . . organization . . . punctuality . . . loyalty . . .

Well. She supposed she’d have to rethink the loyalty part.

She passed her Aunt Virginia in the second row, wearing her trademark cherry-red lipstick. Her brown hair coiled above her puffy white face like thick chocolate shavings on a pile of whipped cream.

The groom’s side was half-empty, but what did she expect with last-minute invitations? Jamie sat on the first row beside Brody, her brown hair caught up in barrette. Two part-time employees from Lucas’s shop sat on the next row, straining to see around a tall, spindly man she recognized from someplace.

She imagined how upset Lucas’s parents would be at missing the ceremony. And at finding out about the wedding after it was over . . . But it was what Lucas wanted, and it was his decision. They’d have to smooth things over later.

They . . .

She was going to be joining another family. The thought struck her hard and quick. She didn’t even know these people—she barely knew the groom!

What am I doing?

She didn’t meet Lucas’s eyes until she nearly reached the gazebo and then realized her mistake. A bride would be gazing adoringly at her groom. Was she smiling widely enough? Her dry lips stuck to her teeth.

Lucas had cleaned up well, even shaved his perpetual five o’clock shadow. His long hair was combed back from his face. The hairstyle, combined with the formal suit, gave him the look of a nineteenth-century nobleman. His eyes met hers, pulling her in—a solid lifeline in what felt like a turbulent storm.

They reached the foot of the gazebo, and her dad stopped and kissed her cheek, then took a seat on the first row.

She was on her own now.

What am I doing? . . . What am I doing? . . .