Page 72 of Ms. Lead

As it is, I’m surprised she’s not having her wedding at the cathedral in the main square in Milan, but instead at another equally beautiful church, Santa Maria del Carmine. It’s not the easiest for the wedding party to get to as it’s hidden away and attached to a small courtyard with only alley access.

Of course, the weather doesn’t cooperate either, and it’s raining off and on, but we do our best to run through with long plastic rain cloaks covering us, dodging raindrops, and giggling like schoolgirls as we go.

The entire week here has been busy with wedding preparations, dress fittings, and last night's rehearsal dinner. It’s been a nice distraction and has also kept my mind occupied. I’ve needed that with the outrageous jet lag I’m currently dealing with.

I’ve been able to throw myself into making this wedding perfect for Gina too, which has been kind of healing for me. I even worked with her wedding planner without breaking out in hives, despite my self-imposed allergy to those. It’s kept my mind off of Oliver and the upcoming date of total destruction.

And there he is. Right in my head where he always is. I keep doing that. I tell myself that something is distracting me from Oliver when just the act of thinking that brings him up in my mind. And it, of course, starts the downward spiral of wondering where he is, what he’s doing, and if he’s genuinely as happy now as he looks on his website.

“Bianca, come on!” Gina pulls on my arm to put me in line. There are five of us regular bridesmaids apart from her Maid of Honor in the procession. I hadn’t noticed that the music for Ave Maria had started already, so I jump into place and pull myself together and follow the flower girl as she heads to the top of the aisle.

When we practiced yesterday, she basically ran down the carpet, but thankfully she’s a little more sedate today and has promised to try to walk slowly. That leaves me to set the pace for the rest of us, which feels like a super important job.

Gina is supposed to get to the altar at a specific part of the song, so I can’t be too fast or too slow. I didn’t realize I was signing up for this responsibility when I volunteered to be first behind the flower girl, but here we are.

I straighten the gorgeous deep red, empire-waisted gown, pat my hair to make sure it’s not fallen too much with the rain, and grip my bouquet tightly. I turn, give Gina a quick smile, nod, and start down the aisle.

The smile I’m wearing is genuine. It’s been amazing seeing family this past week that I never get to see in person. And seeing Enzo and Theresa has been great too. I think I’ll be doing this again in their wedding sometime soon, from the looks of things.

About halfway up the aisle, I look for Enzo. He’s pretty tall, so he should be easy to spot. Plus, Theresa is wearing a bright yellow dress that will be hard to miss. When I find him in the crowd on the left side, the bride’s side, he’s not looking at me or the procession at all. He’s looking at something further up across the aisle, and his posture is so tense something in my stomach clenches. Something must be terribly wrong. Theresa seems worried about him too.

No. Not on Gina’s big day.

Enzo catches me staring at him in confusion, still walking at my stilted procession pace, and flashes the fakest smile I’ve ever seen on him. If I could read auras, I’d say his was black.

Keeping my placid smile plastered on my face, I start to look in the direction he was focused on. I don’t see what he’s so concerned about, until I do.

Oliver.

The blonde hair and perfect scruff immediately draw my attention to him. And those steel gray eyes that seem to see through me. I’d know him anywhere.

Almost tripping, I freeze, and I think I even yelp, but I can’t be sure. Goosebumps rise all over my body, not just my arms. I glance down at a non-existent watch on my wrist and then around in confusion.

I could swear I just saw Oliver. Here. In Italy. In Milan. At my cousin’s wedding. Is today the 21st? Am I dreaming right now? Still asleep?

Suddenly there’s an insistent voice behind me, “Vai avanti.” Move on.

Shit. I’m holding up the line. I’m fucking this all up. I’m ruining Gina’s wedding with my crazy imagination.

I try to shake it off and start walking again. How long is this stupid aisle? I look back at Enzo quickly to make sure he’s still upset because then maybe I’m not hallucinating. He’s now looking at me with concern, so I don’t know what to think about that.

Then I glance back to where I imagined Oliver to be, and holy shit, he’s still there. Maybe I’m not hallucinating. Maybe he’s really there. Here. He’s really here. He looks concerned at me too. Why does he look concerned?

It’s then that I notice other people giving me the same look, and some even have sad frowns on their faces. Why would they look at me like that?

The beauty of the song strikes me at that moment, and I realize why people are looking at me strangely. I’m crying.

I’m fucking crying. No. No. I will not cry in front of Oliver. He will not see me weak.

I hurry and wipe my eyes with the convenient handkerchief I’ve tucked around my bouquet. Weddings, in general, make me cry, but being a bridesmaid crying as she leads the procession is just not right.

I finish my part and take my place at the end of the bridal party line at the altar. When I get situated, I search again for Oliver, and he’s still there, watching me, but not as concerned as he was the last time I looked at him, so that’s good. Hopefully, he sees that I’m strong and not as affected by seeing him as originally thought.

The ceremony is a beautiful blur, and I do my best to keep focused and stay in the moment, but it’s impossible. Oliver sits only yards away, and I can’t keep my eyes off him. The shock of him being here has not worn off in the slightest, and I think my brain might actually be broken because of it.

I have forgotten everything that is supposed to happen in the ceremony that we practiced last night. I don’t like this feeling, but at the same time, something deep in me is so happy to see him. I want to jump up, run over to him, and fly into his arms.

Unless he’s here to tell me it’s actually over. We never said what we’d do if that were the case. Would he track me down like he obviously has if it was to say he’s moved on? I can imagine that being something Oliver would think would be the proper thing to do. The polite thing. Do it in person.

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