When I was seven I used to attach my Momma’s white linen table cloth to my head, grab my best friend Justin’s arm, and march down the sidewalk as though we were getting married. It was every little girl’s favorite game, dreaming of that one special day when she was older, with that perfect man by her side, in the most perfect white dress she could ever imagine, saying those romantic words that’d forever connect you to one another. Okay, maybe when you were that age it was more about the perfect dress and the pretty veil, maybe even giving the perfect man a bit of a smooch. And at eight, there was no more perfect man than my best friend Justin. 

To be honest, it’s hard for me to stand here now, at twenty-five years old, and stomach the fact that in just a few hours, he’ll be that perfect man to someone else. 

“Isabella Milena de Oliveria,” my mother’s voice pierced through my thoughts loudly. “What are you doing filha?” she questioned me, using the Portuguese word for ‘daughter’. My Momma has seriously forgotten that she’s been in the United States longer than I have been alive. While I get that she wants to keep her Brazilian roots close to her heart and all that mumbo jumbo, seriously Ma, you live in Tennessee. 

“Momma, please stop using my full name like that. You know I hate it,” I complained lightly. 

She scoffed, “That was the name you were given at birth my dear, so I see no issue in using it. That big city of yours has given you such an attitude.” That big city she’s referring to is New York City, where I’m a writer for New York Magazine. “Now I’ll ask again, what on earth are you doing? I thought Justin asked you to stop over at his house before the ceremony.” We were staying with me and Justin’s other best friend Trace for the few days we were in town for Justin’s nuptials. 

“He did,” I responded simply. 

“So why aren’t you going luoco?” she asked. There she goes again, calling me 'crazy'. I felt her eye me, taking in the uneasy look on my face, and she softened, “You okay sweetheart?” There, English, that’s better Ma. 

“Yeah I’m fine Ma, why wouldn’t I be?” I shook off the hand she’d placed comfortingly on my arm. 

She raised her eyebrows, but didn’t respond. 

“I guess I’m going. I’ll see you there?” I questioned, grabbing my bag and heading towards the front door. “Of course querido,” she responded, calling me ‘darling’. So much for English. 

I might want to add that the reason I’m so sour about my best friends impending marriage is because I’m in love with him. And up until just recently, I was pretty sure he was in love with me too. You see, Justin’s kind of a big deal. He’s got it all: the fame, the fortune, and the world famous girlfriend to match. Scratch that, fiancée. I’m a much lesser deal, just a successful writer for a widely popular magazine. I have none of the fame, not nearly that kind of fortune, but I do well for myself. I’ve even got a pretty successful and handsome boyfriend of my own. Scratch that, ex-boyfriend. I suppose I should start at the beginning. 

Maybe it was all just bad timing. I’d finally landed my dream job at New York Magazine, and Justin was in the prime of his music career. It wasn’t until he’d met Jessica and I was with Ethan that we both realized how attracted we were to each other. I mean honestly, at that point we’d been inseparable for all of our twenty-three and half years, and you don’t think we could’ve seen it a little bit earlier? So here we are, both in budding relationships and in the prime of our careers, and we can’t keep our hands off each other. We never talked about it, what we were doing, but soon it was more than just the physical attraction. The chemistry had obviously always been there, as well the affection and likeness of one another since we were best friends, but soon we started treading in seriously dangerous waters. We began sleeping over every chance we could, sneaking out of town together for romantic weekends, that sort of thing. That is, until one Sunday evening I returned home to find Ethan waiting for me, all of the things he’d kept at my apartment neatly packed into a suitcase. Seems that we hadn’t been as careful as we’d thought, and he’d seen us together on one of our weekend excursions. I honestly cared for Ethan—he was a good man and he treated me well. I was truly upset that he’d found out the way he had, and even more upset that I’d hurt him. At this point I’d been with Ethan for almost two years, and Justin and I had been sneaking around for about a year and a half, give or take. Ethan’s finding out about us popped our little bubble. It was no longer just the two of us, but rather someone else was in on the secret. We became distant following Ethan’s departure, and I think in a way it was both a combination of me pushing him away, and Jessica pulling him in. She wanted to get married and be that perfect trend-setting, jet-setting Hollywood family. The day I found out they were engaged, just two and half months after Ethan had found out about us, I stopped returning his phone calls entirely, his texts went unanswered, and I couldn’t even bring myself utter his name anymore. I wouldn’t talk about it with anyone; not my Momma, not Trace, nobody. They were getting married quickly—their engagement had lasted a mere two weeks, and I had an idea why. If I had to guess, Jessica had an inkling that something was going on, and felt the need to secure her man while she had the chance. I heard through Trace that my name wasn’t even on their guest list originally, but Justin had quickly righted that. Not that I even wanted to be there.

Nevertheless, here I am, on the day of their wedding, dressed to the nines and on my way to see Justin before he heads to the ceremony. I couldn’t believe he was going through with this. It made me angry, bitter, confused, and most of all, it made my insides ache. If it weren’t for Trace coming to New York and nearly dragging me on the next flight to Los Angeles, I wouldn’t be here today. Yeah, that’s right, Los Angeles. Justin should not be getting married in California on the beach. He should be getting married in our church back home in Tennessee, the same church both our grandparents had been married in. But Jessica had no interest in the simple, romantic, country wedding that Justin always told me he wanted. Wrong location, but that makes sense, because after all, she is the wrong bride. 

Entering the security code on the keypad, I wait a moment for the gates to open before I pull Trace’s BMW into Justin’s driveway, putting the car into park and resting my head on the steering wheel. I really can’t even believe it’s gotten this far. He has to know this is a mistake, right? I take a deep breath, letting it exhale in a large sigh as I grab my purse, stepping onto the pavement in my stilettos. I’d give anything to be eight again, back home in Shelby Forest, throwing rocks at one another in the gravel drive, Justin’s dad hollering at us from the porch to leave the em' alone.

Making my way towards the front entrance of his gigantic house, I debate knocking, but instead push the large door open. There are people bustling around, and I recognize few of them. 

“Bella!” Justin’s cousin Rachel called to me as she appeared in the hallway, her long dark hair billowing behind her as she made her way towards me. “You look stunning as usual. How are you doing?” she asked, the last part a bit hesitantly. She reached out and hugged me warmly, and for a moment I allowed myself to revel in the feel of a familiar embrace. 

“I’m alright,” I shrugged, not wanting to say too much. I’m afraid I may break down like a little baby, and people will end up thinking I’m some sort of lunatic. 

“You know, he’s been asking for you all day. Is Bells here yet Rach? Trace said she’s going to be driving his car Rach. Make sure the front doors unlocked Rach. I’m glad you’re finally here. It means he’ll shut up.” 

I smile wearily at her, nodding slightly, "Where is he?” 

She points up the staircase, “You want me to have him come down, or you want to go up?” she asks softly, rubbing my arm comfortingly. Judging by the tone of her voice and her body language, she must know something, or I truly do look like the train wreck I feel. 

“I’ll go up.” 

“Okay,” she smiled encouragingly. 

As I ascended the staircase that I’d taken millions of times before, I felt my stomach flip flop. Everything was familiar, nothing had physically changed, yet it all still seemed so far away. Slowly making my way down the hallway I stopped as I reached the door to his bedroom, which was left cracked open. Knocking quietly I hesitantly take a step into the room, and see him sitting at the foot of his bed, fumbling with his cufflinks. He looks up at the sound I make, and if I were to speak at that moment, it’d come out in a jumbled mess of sobs. 

“Bells,” I hear him greet me, and I watch him stand from the bed and inch his way over. 

And here we stand, after nearly three months of not speaking, of not seeing one another.

“I was beginning to think you weren’t going to come,” he says, a half smile on his face as he takes in my appearance. 

Just hearing his voice is making me want to cry and I look away, “I won’t lie and say of course I’d be here. Because honestly, if Trace hadn’t forced me to, we’d still be on opposite sides of the country.” 

I heard him sigh loudly, and turned my head to see him rubbing his cropped hair, “Well in any case, I’m glad you’re here.” 

All I do is nod in response and an uncomfortable silence engulfed us. It was never like this, and it’s killing me. “Trace told me you wanted to see me before you head over, so here I am. What can I do you for?” I asked, my southern accent thick for a slight moment. I reach up and tuck a piece of my long hair behind my ear. 

“You look really thin; have you lost weight?” he asked, surveying my body. “I doubt you called me here to discuss my eating habits Justin. What do you need?” I managed to get out firmly enough. 

“Bells, I tried calling you over and over; I text you constantly. I wanted to be the one to tell you.” 

I rolled my eyes, my head giving a slight shake, “It doesn’t matter anymore.” 

He stepped toward me, grabbing my hand, “It does matter Isabella.” He only ever used my full name when he meant business. “I needed to talk to you, to hear your voice. I had her pressuring me because she found out about us. You wouldn’t talk to me.”

“So you decide to marry her because she wants to lay her claim and I won’t talk to you? I was upset and confused because we’d hurt Ethan. We never once talked about what we were doing. We were reckless, and it got people hurt. Me included in the end.” 

“Bells, I didn’t do this to hurt you. Please don’t think that.”

“I guess I’m just having a hard time figuring out why you’re doing this. If you love her, then go for it. I’ll be there in the crowd just as you requested. But please don’t make a mistake and do this only because she wants you to. Once you say those vows, that's it. There's no turning back.” I swallow hard, trying to rid myself of the lump in my throat as I imagine watching him say his vows to someone who's not me.

“What do you want me to do?” he asked, his blue eyes capturing my stare. 

“This isn’t my decision Justin,” I tell him, tears brimming in my eyes. “I need to go before I get even more worked up.” Reaching up, I kiss him softly on the cheek, and as I pull away he wipes away one of my tears. “You know I love you Juj,” I whisper to him softly, using my nickname for him, before turning and exiting the room.

I’m in a daze as I walk down the stairway, the tears now falling freely down my tanned cheeks. Barely seeing Rachel as I reach the front door, I wave her off gently, desperately needing to get out of there. I finally reach the car, and start it quickly, anxious to be out of the confines of these gates. Despite my blurred vision, I make it out of the driveway, ignoring the fact that Rachel is standing on the front lawn back at the house, wondering what the hell just happened. All I can think about is how in a few hours, I’m going to have to sit there and watch the love of my life give himself to the wrong girl.