Page 15 of Savage Love

And it seems like he never will.

Elena

My sister is the furthest thing from thrilled about the wedding that I can imagine, but she tries to rally. “What do you want to tell our parents?” she asks me over breakfast the next morning, between eating bites of her own and spooning bites of cereal into Aisling’s mouth. “You’re marryingLevin. The man they sent you off with to protect you and bring you here. They’re not going to be thrilled, especially since it’s a shotgun wedding.”

“Do we have to tell them that?” I can’t eat. I know it’s all going to come right back up, and I’m beyond exhausted.

Saying I didn’t sleep the night before is an understatement. I laid awake, thinking about Levin. About the idea of being married to him, having a child with him—what all of thatmeans. It doesn’t feel real, even now. None of it does. I press my hand against my stomach, and it feels like something someone else made up.

I feel like I’m trapped on an awful merry-go-round of emotion. I think of the fact that I’m marrying Levin, and I feel a rush of excitement, of happiness. He came back. We’re going to be together forever. And then I remember why, that he’s marrying me out of hesitant obligation and nothing more. That if it weren’t for our baby, which also makes me feel torn between excitement and fearful dread, Levin would have never come back from New York.

“If we don’t,” Isabella says flatly, “they’re never going to agree to you marrying him. You get that, right? Theonlyreason they’re going to go along with it is because you’re pregnant.”

It’s as if she heard everything I was thinking and decided to twist the knife deeper. I know she doesn’t mean to hurt me, though, and I also know she’s right. Levin isn’t the sort of man my father would agree to me marrying. He doesn’t fit the requirements for the kind of man that my father would arrange a marriage to, and he’s not the kind of man that they would understand me marrying as my own choice. The baby is the only reason that they’ll say yes.

I could do it anyway—but the consequences of that aren’t worth it, not just to avoid the awkwardness of admitting why I’m marrying him.

“What about the wedding itself?” she continues, glancing over at me. “You should have a big wedding. This is your only chance to experience that.”

“You didn’t have a big wedding,” I point out, and Isabella lets out a huff of frustration.

“Stop comparing all of this to me,” she says firmly. “This is nothing like my relationship with Niall, and your wedding doesn’t need to be small because mine was. Small is what Niall and I wanted.You, on the other hand—”

“What if I want a small wedding? What if Levin wants one?”

“Levin will want whatever you want,” Isabella says, with a vehemence that tells me not to argue with her. “What doyouwant?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think I—”

“I think you deserve a big wedding. After everything you’ve been through, under these circumstances—you deserve that. Something to be excited about, something to plan…and a day that’s about you. One that you can make however you want–”

“I don’t think that’s what I want.” I keep my voice as calm as I can, trying not to get frustrated or emotional. “I think–why don’t we compromise? We’ll do something in between. Not just going to the courthouse—we’ll get married in a church, we can shop for a dress, all of that. But not a huge wedding, either. I don’t want to have to talk to a bunch of people I don’t know and pretend that this is all perfect. I don’t want to have to put on a show for a crowd—that doesn’t sound like the kind of wedding I would want even if this were—”

I break off, feeling my throat catch.If this were real,I almost said—but it is real. All of it is real, just not in the way I hoped.

“We’ll make dress shopping our first priority, then,” Isabella says firmly. “Along with reserving a date for the church. Niall can talk to Father Callahan.” She stands up, gathering my plate and hers as she leans down, kissing me lightly on the top of the head. “I’m going to make sure you have a wedding that will make you happy.”

Even if I don’t like who you’re marrying.She doesn’t have to say it aloud for me to know what she was thinking. But the fact that she’s participating at all, rather than simply leaving me to it and glowering at Levin and me throughout the entire process, is something.

Out of everything I might want for my wedding, being able to share it with my sister is something that does matter to me. Isabella has been difficult throughout all of this. Still, I love her, and I know her protectiveness is because she loves me too. I want her to be a part of this, to help me. I want her with me through all of this; it’s why I insisted we stay in Boston.

We end up going to a bridal salon that afternoon. “This is the same place I bought my dress,” Isabella tells me, her voice bright and cheerful as she shifts Aisling onto one hip and pushes the door open. “Anything you want, you can try on here. They have so many options. An overwhelming amount, actually.” She smiles brighter as a pretty woman with long, straight blonde hair approaches us. “Madison! You’re here.”

“Isabella!” The woman smiles at her, turning her attention immediately to Aisling and cooing at the baby. “And this is—”

“This is my sister, Elena.” Isabella nudges me forward. “She’s getting married. Elena, Madison helped me pick out my dress. She’s fantastic; she’ll help you figure out exactly what you want.”

I see Madison’s gaze flick to my left hand, but if she’s confused by the lack of a ring, she doesn’t show it. “Where are you getting married?” she asks, and I let out a quick breath, relieved for a question I can actually answer easily.

“The Cathedral of the Holy Cross,” I tell her, and her eyes widen.

“You need anoutstandingdress then for that venue! Something fit for a princess, with a train—”

“It’s not a big wedding,” I amend quickly, before she can get too excited. “Just a few family members and close friends and colleagues. We—compromised on the venue.”

“It might not be a big wedding, but you should fit your surroundings!” Madison beams at me. “Why don’t I bring you a few options in different styles? Something grand, something a bit more casual, something in between. We’ll try them on and see what you feel comfortable in. Now–lace or satin or silk?”

I stare at her. I don’t have the faintest idea how to answer. Again, I had never gotten far enough in envisioning my future marriage to think about my dress. All of my dreams of romance and weddings were for the characters in the romance novels I read—the ones where they actually got their happily ever after, instead of being married off to someone they didn’t want. I assumed my mother would have opinions about my dress, and that I would probably agree with them, to save time and frustration for us both.

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