My body is on fire, and the weight of the moment is pressing so heavily against my chest it’s as if someone’s cinching me into a corset and being purposefully cruel about it. Is this really happening? Am I doing this? Jesus, all of these guests are looking at me. Why, why, why didn’t you just keep your mouth shut, Solange?

Because this wedding is the “before,” and I know exactly how the “after” plays out. My mother had no clue my father was in love with another woman when he married her. The price she paid for that betrayal was steep: Neither her marriage nor her dreams survived it. Dean deserves better. Hell, Ella deserves better too, a fact she’d recognize if she weren’t determined to get married no matter the costs.

What the hell is wrong with people? If you can’t fully commit to a relationship, don’t fucking do it. Simple as that. Yet Ella’s willing to get hitched to Dean even though her heart belongs to someone who’s obviously still a presence in her life.

“Ella, please think this through,” I say once I finally muster the courage to speak again. “You know this isn’t what you want.”

The bride’s eyes flood with tears, my cousin’s skillful wedding-day makeup application ruined in seconds, then she turns to Dean. “Oh God, she’s right. I . . . I can’t marry you. I’m so sorry.”

Ella lifts the hem of her dress and stumbles back up the aisle, her mother scrambling after her. Tyler throws up his hands as if to signal he wants no role in this soap opera, then jumps off the gazebo’s platform and trots toward the parking lot. And Dean? He just stands there, his gaze cloudy as he braces the back of his neck.

Wearing a grim expression, Max moves to stand behind his best friend and places his hands on Dean’s shoulders. With steely determination in his eyes, Max speaks in Dean’s ear. The torrent of words wraps around Dean like armor, straightening his posture and smoothing his furrowed brow. The person before us isn’t embarrassed by what’s happened, and he’s daring anyone to tell him he should be.