The chapel was hushed, reverent. Guests made their way to the pews, heels clacking against the sandstone floor, nothing more than whispers floating around them. Ezra tried to calm himself. Mimi was pressed next to him, their thighs parallel, her shoulder abutting his, and he wanted to just appreciate the moment for what it was: the last few hours before he asked her to marry him, the quiet aura of a chapel on New Year’s Eve, with stained glass windows to each side and an arch adorned with white and pink roses in front of them. He wanted to feel at peace. Everything about this moment told him that he should feel at peace. And yet he had to willfully stop his leg from jittering, consciously work to still his hands and slow his pulse.

He peered around. Still, she wasn’t here, and now the string quartet was playing, so everyone scurried to the remaining seats and held their breath. Then there she was. He’d forgotten she was a bridesmaid, that she’d done what she came here to do: show up for an old friend, stand beside April while she embarked on a new life chapter.

The bright magenta taffeta dress was outrageous. A bow over one shoulder as large as an anvil; a fabric that swooshed with each step; and honestly, if Ezra weren’t so angry with her, he would have been delighted. Then Pachelbel’s Canon began, and he watched her, seeing if she’d flinch. She’d hate the musical choice, he knew, and even through his fury, he wanted to see the look of contempt on her face at the predictability of it. If she were sitting next to him, she’d lean over and say something like, If it were me, I’d do an instrumental of “Love Is a Battlefield,” and she’d mean it both sincerely and ironically because he’d learned the hard way that Frankie had never wanted to get married, but if she did, she’d do it without all the traditional pomp and circumstance. The quartet played on, and he waited for her disdain, raised eyebrows, clenched jaw, the hint of a sneer, but her face never wavered, never betrayed judgment of the song. She stepped forward, moving down the aisle with grace, with joy, clutching a bouquet of pink flowers, doing it all, he knew, for April. That alone was astonishing.

Mimi reached for his hand, and he turned to face back toward her.

“This is so beautiful,” she said. “It’s all like a dream.”

And the thing of it was, Mimi was right. It was beautiful and it was magic, and for as long as Ezra had ever known, he’d wanted such things for himself too. So why was he staring at Frankie, the girl who’d never wanted such things for herself, much less with him? She’d made that clear. She’d said no. Anger—at her, at himself—bubbled up all over again.

Ezra leaned toward Mimi, her perfume like a balm, and kissed her forehead. It takes two to tussle. He thought of his mother now, as they all stood as April entered and walked down the aisle. He wondered what she would say, about Frankie being here, about her kissing him, about his plans for a New Year’s Eve proposal. His mom had never met Mimi, though she’d always been fond of Frankie. That his two serious loves were so different might cause his mom to raise her eyebrows, but what he thought she’d really do if she were here was ease toward him, poke his heart, and ask him if he knew what each woman held in there.