But mostly because he loved Stella. Loved her more than he hated himself.
Stella
“You ready, honey?”
My father held out his arm for me. Soft music was playing out of the open door that Wren, Zoe and Yasmin had just left out of. There had been kisses, hand squeezing, murmurs about how stunning I looked and talk of getaway jets being fueled and ready to go if needed. That was obviously Wren, though Zoe likely would’ve attempted to fly the jet herself if I’d even hinted at having cold feet.
Wren was three months pregnant and looked amazing. Her slinky, bias cut, floor length dress skimmed over her new curves, and her boobs looked beyond good. without even the smallest swell in her lower stomach and her skin glowing radiantly, I swear the bitch was showing me up on my wedding day without even trying.
But I guessed I looked pretty darn good too.
“I’m ready,” I nodded, taking my father’s hand and smiling. He held me tight, his eyes glassy. We walked slowly out of the room I’d been getting ready in ... the only room I’d been able to see upon arrival.
Wren had actually put a blindfold on me when we drove up, joking that she was sure it wasn’t my first time, what with Jay and all.
Heat had crept up my cheeks, and that had got her going even more. “Oh, my God. You still have the ability to be a blushing bride. Jay may be more vanilla than he seems.”
I’d raised my brow at her. “Trust me, he is nowhere near vanilla.”
It had gone without saying that we weren’t going to be married in a church. Apart from that, the both of us had given her free reign when she’d made it very clear that she did not want either of us to be part of the planning process.
Walking in with my father, I gasped. Like a literal, dramatic, out loud gasp that I didn’t think people did in real life unless Jay was fucking them. We left a hallway decorated with vases of wildflowers and freestanding candles. Overhead, lanterns hung at different levels with more flowers around them. Harps and violins were playing as we neared the huge doors where a subtle ocean wind blew through.
Somehow, the magician that she was, Wren had understood the importance, the significance of a simple sea breeze on my wedding day.
Nothing else about the wedding day was simple, though.
There was a harpist, for fuck’s sake.
Walking out onto the biggest balcony I’d ever seen, I stepped on an explosion of flowers that trailed down the aisle and adorned the seats everyone rose from to watch my entrance. And it looked every single flower that existed was included, they were all white.
I didn’t see the guests. Barely saw all the work that my incredible, kind and talented friend had done. I only saw the man at the end of the aisle. Wearing all black. His expression wasn’t guarded. Wasn’t cold. He was not the Jay I’d met. Not the Jay that he presented to the world. His lips were parted ever so slightly, his face soft, without any of the hard edges. He wore his love for me—his adoration—as well as he wore a Tom Ford suit.
Utterly stark and sinful against the white arch that seemed to crown him with a calm sea and a cloudless sky in the background.
My world tilted utterly and completely in that moment. So much so that I actually stopped walking. Right there in the middle of the aisle. With everyone watching me.
With Jay watching me.
“Uh, Stella, honey?” my dad leaned in and whispered. “I support your decision to change your mind, but people are staring. Are we going to keep going or leaving?”
I didn’t take my eyes off Jay. “We’re not leaving,” I whispered back, not quite as quietly. “I just need to ... remember this moment.”
Once I’d committed every detail to memory, I resumed walking. I would’ve sprinted if I’d thought my Dad would keep up with me. Instead, I settled for a brisk walk, never taking my eyes off Jay.
I was shaking by the time we reached him, standing like glorious marble in his suit. But marble he was not. Nor a monster. He was a man. One who bled, breathed and cried.
Which was what he did when my father handed me over to him. It was a single tear, but it may as well have been as tsunami.
His hands framed my face, holding me as if it were just the two of us, as though the world had only ever housed two people. He didn’t whisper anything, didn’t speak of how much he loved me or how beautiful I was. No, he just held my face in his hands and stared.
In a way unlike he’d ever looked at me before, and that was saying something considering Jay had a fucking PhD in intense, brooding stares. My insides jumped and moved, and my world tilted all over again.