“No,” Jenna whispered, pushing him into the room. “She’s nervous. She needs you. Go on.”
Nick tapped on the door with the back of his hand. “Sammie? Are you okay?”
“I don’t know!”
He darted a concerned glance back at Jenna, who gestured toward the door and whispered again.“Just go inside.”
He held his breath as he turned the knob and opened the door to peek inside.
Sammie sat slumped over on the edge of an ornate bench wearing a fitted, strapless lace gown, that—much to his confusion—seemed to have a baby blue hue to it. He thought all brides were supposed to wear some shade of white, but this was obviously not the time to question her color choice. Her hair was swept back into an ornate network of twists and curls, a couple of which cascaded down one of her heaving shoulders.
She was also sobbing, the sight of which was like a dagger in his chest, and he immediately forgot all about his potentially wrinkled slacks or the fact that he shouldn’t be seeing her before the ceremony. Because, right then, he was thinking there might not be a ceremony.
He kneeled down in front of her, holding her hands with one of his, and reaching up to hold the side of her face with the other.
“Sammie,” he said quietly. “What’s going on?”
She looked up at him through teary, red eyes with a quivering chin and knitted eyebrows. “You don’t really want to marry me.”
He gaped at her slightly. “Sweetheart. Of course I do. I wouldn’t have asked you if I didn’t.”
She huffed. “Nick, you asked me because you forgot our anniversary and you were trying to make up for it. I don’t think—”
“Hey,” he stopped her gently. “That’s absolutely not the case and you know it.”
“But Nick youneverwanted to—”
“Sammie, how long have you known me?”
She sniffled. “A year and a half.”
“A year and a half,” he repeated. “And in a year and a half have you ever seen me do anything that I didn’t absolutely want or believe was the right decision?”
She shook her head and sniffled again.
“Then why would this—the most important decision I’ll ever make—be any different?”
She shrugged listlessly. “It wouldn’t.”
“Exactly. It wouldn’t.”
She gazed at his face for a second as her chin continued to quiver, then reached up to comb his hair back with her fingertips while she clutched his hand in her lap. “I love you, Nick. I can’t do this without you.”
He gave her an amused look and rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand. “Well, of course you can’t, sweetheart. We can only do this together.”
He held the nape of her neck and kissed her softly. “And that’s the point. We’re doing all of this together from now on—life, I mean. And we have everything to look forward to. But we can’t do any of it if we’re stuck in this dressing room. So what do you say?”
He stood and helped her off the bench. “Meet me at the altar in, say, fifteen minutes?”
She demurely dabbed her eyes and cheeks with a tissue. “Only if you promise we can eat immediately afterward. I’m starving. And super dehydrated. I could eat a mountain of wedge salad right now. And probably drink a swimming pool full of water.”
He chuckled and kissed her hand. “Fortunately, you picked that for the menu. And I’m sure we can get you all the water you can stomach.”
Before exiting, he paused to soak in this last little private moment before they took the plunge.
“You look beautiful, Sammie.”
“Thank you.”
