Then held out his arm.
“Ready?”
“No.”
His face fell.
“That’s wrong.”
I laughed harder.
“Sorry.”
I wiped my cheek.
“I’m ready.”
“Good.”
The chapel doors opened.
More than a hundred guests stood.
At the front, Adrian waited.
My mother was already crying in the first pew.
Two seats away sat Margaret.
I saw her.
Only for a second.
Then Ethan moved.
“One.”
Step.
“Two.”
Step.
“Three.”
He was counting under his breath.
Exactly like practice.
I wrapped my hand around his arm.
“Too fast?”
he whispered.
“No.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes.”
“I practiced.”
“I know.”
We continued.
The photographers moved quietly.
One ahead.
One to the side.
The third farther back.
All according to plan.
Halfway down the aisle, Ethan stopped counting.
I looked at him.
His lower lip trembled.
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