Always and Only You

Chapter One

CHAPTER ONE

A sudden jab of pain causes me to pull my hand sharply away from my bouquet of white tea roses mixed with ferns and eucalyptus. A tiny red bead bulges on the pad of my index finger before a drop of blood falls onto the skirt of my wedding dress.

There aren’t supposed to be any thorns, I think as I jam my fingertip against the ribbon bound tightly around the stems. I glance at the crimson teardrop on the off-white taffeta and swear.

My father, who is staring straight ahead at the closed church doors, turns to look at me. ‘Everything okay?’

I want to let my lip wobble. No , everything is not okay. I’ve dreamed of this day for so long and I want everything to be perfect.

I peel my finger off my bouquet and inspect it. The dark speck of a puncture wound is the only evidence on my body, but the pristine white ribbon is now a smeary red mess.

‘Everything’s fine,’ I say out loud. Because if I say it, it will make it so. And everything is fine. I’m getting married to Simon today. It’s day one of our perfect life together. That’s all that matters.

As we wait for the church doors to swing open and the strains of Pachelbel’s Canon in D to begin, I can’t help being aware of the almost unnoticeable stain on my skirt. I imagine it spreading, seeping through the weave of the fabric until, by the time I reach the altar, my dress has transformed into one of deep red velvet.

Behind me, my best friend, Anjali, fusses with the half train of my dress, fanning it out into a perfect semicircle. At least she’s got that right. I’m ashamed to say, in my less charitable moments, I mentally refer to her as my ‘maid of horror’. I love her to bits, I really do, but in the two months running up to the wedding, her flat has flooded, she got herself embroiled in a sticky situation at work and almost got fired, and the sleazebag ex she can’t seem to get over took out a non-molestation order against her. Not because she was actually stalking him; it was just a series of mishaps and misdialled numbers.

The upshot of all of that is, bit by bit, I’ve taken on almost all of her wedding-related tasks, and now her only jobs are to a) get my train looking good and b) make sure the pageboy and flower girl got dressed this morning and don’t run riot through the ceremony. After that, it’s their parents’ job to wrangle them.

I grip my bouquet harder, aware that my eyes feel scratchy. I thought I’d feel as light and joyous as a spring breeze waiting outside the church on my wedding day, but after weeks of planning and organizing, it feels as if I’ve been running a marathon and I’ve just hit the wall. I can hardly wait until Simon and I can flop out like stranded jellyfish on sunloungers, sunning ourselves on a perfect white beach in …

No. I blink to reset my mental slideshow.

Stay here, Erin. Stay now. Because this moment will never come again, and it’s the one you’ve been waiting for practically all your life.

Not that I’ve been husband-hunting since I left primary school. Far from it. It’s just that I’ve always had a picture in my head, a dream I suppose, of what it would be like as I walked down the aisle towards my forever person.

I’ve always imagined standing at the church doors, the most perfect version of myself, and when I step inside, the first thing I’ll see is the back of my groom’s head as he stands and waits beside his best man. He’ll be fidgeting a little, and when the music starts, he’ll straighten. I’ll be able to tell he’s stopped breathing, just for a heartbeat, and then I will walk, eyes trained on him, waiting for the moment he turns and looks.

Halfway down the aisle is when it’ll happen. Slowly, he’ll turn his head and our eyes will connect. It’ll be everything, because while he sees the elegant yet subtly sexy gown, the perfectly pinned hair and the flawless make-up, I’ll also know that he sees through it, to me – Erin. It’s all I’ve ever wanted, just for one person to do that. No facades, no filters.

In the present, the doors open fully, revealing a church full of fresh silence. After a few seconds of quiet, the sweet notes of a violin pierce through it. I glance at my father, slide my arm through his, and we take our first step together.

As I walk, I make sure to take in every detail – the floral arrangements on the ends of each pew, the sunlight streaming through the stained-glass window, the guests who have turned to look and smile or dab their eyes. And then there’s a flash of colour in my peripheral vision. My eyes are drawn to the deep red and blue of the pageboy’s Spider-Man mask …

Wait.

What?

I blink but yes, there’s no doubting it – Simon’s nephew is in full superhero headgear on top of the cute little suit I bought him and he’s currently pretending to shoot webs out of his wrists at unsuspecting aunties and uncles as he follows his sister down the aisle. I must admit, I’d been too nervous to pay much attention to the little ones outside the church, but how did I miss this?

I shoot a fierce look at Anjali over my shoulder. You had ONE job … the look says.

Of course, she seems blissfully unaware anything is wrong. She grins back. Isn’t this fun? her sparkling eyes say. It’s your wedding day. Yay!

I want to strangle her.

However, unless I want to break away from my father and sprint down the aisle, there is nothing I can do about tiny Spider-Man right now. I set my face towards the altar and keep walking. Thankfully, an eagle-eyed auntie at the end of a pew spots him and swiftly whips the mask from his head then tucks it into her handbag. I shoot her a look, communicating my eternal gratitude as I pass.

My eyes have adjusted enough to the darkness of the chapel that I can see two figures at the end of the aisle, and even though the groom’s hair is a dirty blond compared to the best man’s dark brown, in the shadowy interior of the church, they look almost identical. From behind, one might think they were brothers instead of best friends. Both stand with hands clasped in front of them, staring straight ahead, their shoulders rigid with tension. Nerves, I expect. At least on Simon’s part. Gil is a whole ’nother story.

Turn, I whisper silently. Turn and look. It’s the perfect moment.

But then I catch sight of the pageboy again, and my demure smile starts to slide. How did that happen, anyway? Someone other than me had to have noticed. Why didn’t they say something? I’m so caught up trying to figure it out that I only realize I’ve arrived at my destination because my father’s arm pulls against mine as he comes to a halt. I tear my eyes away from the children as they peel off and their parents scoop them up.

Let it go, Erin.

The moment you’ve been waiting for is here. It’s time to set eyes on your groom.

I take a small calming breath, then turn my head to meet his gaze, and he turns too. It almost seems to happen in slow motion. My pulse skips a little faster. I focus first on his ear and then his cheek and then his …

Wait. What …?

No.