We Are Us

I’m about to be as attached as it’s possible to be.

“I don’t think I’d get very far in this dress.” I run my hands over my sides, keeping my voice even and non-confrontational.

There’s both anger and pain shining from Wren’s icy expression, but when Xenia taps lightly on the door, she lifts her chin at a haughty angle, pushes her shoulders back, and walks through it like she’s on a Paris catwalk.

The chords of the premier harpist from the New York Philharmonic Orchestra filter into the small chamber where I’m waiting with Tucker’s father. He offers me his arm. “I guess it’s now or never.”

“I guess so.” My stomach flutters nervously as I slip my hand through the crook in Mr. Stockton’s elbow. He’s told me to call him Hewitt, but I haven’t quite gotten used to it yet.

This is it. My wedding day. I keep reminding myself to take it all in. To enjoy every moment.

But it’s going by so fast.

Mr. S—Hewitt is walking me down the aisle. My mother asked if I wanted her to attempt to contact my father, but I said no. He left when I could barely walk myself, so asking him to give me away felt more than a little disingenuous.

But no more so, I realize now, than asking Tucker’s father. Thankfully, both he and his wife have warmed up to me since the day Tucker surprised us all with his proposal. Once they realized I was here to stay, and that I wasn’t some flashy gold-digger out to mine their family vault, the Stocktons seemed to accept that I would one day be their daughter-in-law.

For the first time in over a year and a half, there is no ring on my left hand. It’s been temporarily displaced to my right, to make way for the wedding band Tucker will soon slip onto my finger. More diamonds, of course.

I’d suggested a simple ring to the salesperson at Harry Winston. She’d looked at me as if I was a traitor to our gender, and placed an eternity band of flawless, emerald-cut stones on a velvet-lined tray. For women who prefer an understated look, she’d said to Tucker.

Xenia’s minions make a few last-minute adjustments to my appearance, smoothing out the train of my dress and straightening my veil. Someone thrusts a bouquet at me, with the reminder to keep it at hip-height. Any higher and it will conceal the intricate beadwork sewn into the bodice.

These are my last moments as Poppy Whitman.

For the rest of my life I will be Poppy Stockton.

One of the most venerable names in the country, the Stocktons represent safety and security. A life of privilege and invincibility.

Soon the Stockton name, with everything it entails, will be mine.

Xenia waves us forward. “Remember, better slow than fast. And,” she tugs at the ribbon-wrapped stems in my right hand, “don’t forget to smile. This is the happiest day of your life.”

The doors open and all six hundred of our guests, most of whom I’ve never met, rise in unison.

We step out onto the balcony and I hold tightly to Tucker’s father as we make our way down the grand staircase and into the Great Hall with its walls of white marble.

Tucker is waiting for me at the end of a long aisle, along with my sister, Wren, and several Stockton cousins. Tucker’s side is filled with a matching number of fraternity brothers.

For a moment, it feels like my feet, in their Louboutin stilettos, have grown roots. Tucker’s father looks down on me seriously, his cocoa-colored eyes exact replicas of Tucker’s. “Welcome to the family, Poppy.”

The tremulous smile I’ve plastered to my face falters as grateful tears threaten to overflow my lashes. “It’s an honor… Hewitt.”

He glances over at his son and then back at me. “Shall we?”

Yards of white duchesse satin whisper as I take one tentative step, then another, along an ivory ru

But for one blinding moment, it all disappears, replaced with an image of poppy petals scattered outside the entrance to an abandoned cave. Flickering candles and a pile of mismatched pillows. And Gavin.

I stumble slightly, the tip of my heel catching on a wrinkle in the satin ru

Gavin isn’t here. I have to leave him where he belongs. In the past.

It’s an arcane habit, a bride do

U

I am the luckiest girl in the world to be marrying Tucker Stockton and I know it. I do, really.

By the time Tucker lifts my veil, I’ve found my equilibrium again. I am the perfect bride he deserves.