Justin’s stomach heaves violently, clenching and cramping as his fingers curl against the porcelain of the toilet bowl, nails scratching just trying to find something to hold on to. He takes a large gasping breath when it finally lets up, his body trembling, legs quivering under him and he wants to fall to his knees but can’t risk getting his Armani trousers dirty.

A quick rap of knuckles on the door. “You okay, dude?” Trace asks, his voice muffled behind the heavy wood of the bathroom door.

“Yeah,” Justin breathes, his voice a dry rasp but he’s not fine, his stomach rolling again violently as he retches once more into the bowl.

This is easily the worse case of nerves he’s ever had, the buzz before going on stage nothing compared to this bout of cold feet. He’s getting married in an hour. His groan is cut off by the sharp seizure of his abdominal muscles as they try and force up the last of his lunch along with the lining of his stomach.

“You sound like you’re hurlin’ up your balls in there,” Trace says, his words joking but his tone is tentative, the door handle jiggling.

“I said I’m fine,” Justin snaps, letting out a shaky sigh as he finally sits back, his trousers be damned, leaning his head back against the cool wood of the door, resting his trembling elbows on his shaking knees.

He closes his eyes, hearing the muffled chatter of the groomsmen in the outer dressing room before there’s a hush and it’s only the dull hum of Trace’s voice followed by the sound of shuffling feet and then silence. He sighs heavily, pulling his head forward and then letting it thump back hard against the wood, jarring his senses and his stomach finally feels settled enough for him to try and stand. His legs wobble unsteadily underneath him as he braces his hands on the cool porcelain of the sink for balance, looking up at himself in the mirror.

He’s pale, forehead clammy with sweat and his blue eyes are slightly bloodshot and alight with some emotion he doesn’t try to decipher. He flicks on the faucet and cups a shaking hand beneath the stream of water, bringing it to his mouth and swishing it around before spitting it back out and then splashing more in his face.

He takes a step back from the mirror, standing tall and running a hand over his closely shaved head as he breathes. “Come on Justin, get it together.”

***

Charlotte paces the hallway, her heels making smart tapping sounds against the stone floor. She’s a bundle of nervous energy, her stomach twisting itself in knots. All week Trace’s plea had rung in her ears and she hates to admit that she’s courted the idea of trying to stop this thing, even had her thumb poised over the send button a few times, her heart thundering in her chest but she always stopped herself. Despite Trace’s furious belief that she could fix this situation she had no clue what to say. She’d said it all before and Justin had ignored every time, subconsciously or not and in the end all she wound up with was the same feeling of helplessness she always had when it came to Justin.

But now standing here in the biggest church she’d ever been in on what was probably the biggest day of Justin’s life she wishes she would have spoken up sooner, all of the words that she’s held in for so long wanting so badly to rush out of her. So she paces, weighing the pros and cons of such an act. A desperate plea to her lover on his wedding day? Dare she allow herself to commit such a cliché?

“Charlotte!”

She jumps as she hears her name echo off the stone walls, turning to see Trace striding towards her, the other groomsmen giving him a sidelong glance as they file their way out into the foyer to wait. Charlotte’s throat constricts, checking her watch in a panic but finds that there is still forty-five minutes left before the ceremony.

“What are you doing? You don’t have to line up for another thirty minutes,” she says, walking towards him and he waves a hand.

“Justin needed space,” he says and Charlotte nods swallowing hard. “You didn’t talk to him did you?”

She sighs. “I…”

Her voice dies in her throat forgoing excuses and arguments and settling on silence instead, looking down at her toes peeking out from under the fluttering hem of her dress She hears him sigh before feeling his hand close around her bicep.

“Come on,” he says, his voice slightly perturbed and she trips over her own feet as he drags her down the hall.

“Where… where are we going?” she stutters, startled by his manhandling.

“We’re gonna talk to him,” Trace says and Charlotte plants her feet, nearly sending them both tumbling to the ground.

“No,” she says, jerking her arm from his grasp. “No, Trace.”

“Come on, you can’t just-”

“It’s not my fight!” she exclaims finally, the words she should have said all along, not just to him but her herself as well. “If he wanted me in his life he would have found a way to put me there. He would have been the one fighting but it’s been me all along and I can’t do it anymore.”

Trace stares at her, taking in the mask of her face as she tries to hide how wounded she actually is. He places a hand on her forearm. “You love him,” he says softly and watches her close her eyes tight, sucking in a sharp breath.

“He doesn’t love me,” she says and is proud her voice only trembles on the last word.

“He does,” Trace says softly and she shakes her head, her eyes still squeezed shut. “He’s just stuck, Charlie!” He sighs as if exasperated that she doesn’t get that by now. “He… he’s obsessed with doing things right, has been for as long as I’ve known him, which is for-fucking-ever.” He winces, glancing up at the ceiling as if God would smite him right then and there for use of foul language in His house. “He’s scared; he knows this is wrong. I know he does but he’s just afraid of what it would mean if he didn’t go through with it. He’s hurling up his guts in there for chrissake. He needs someone to tell him it’s okay to let this go.”

“Then you do it,” Charlotte spits, annoyed that he’s asking so much of her. Doesn’t he know how much she’s lost already, how much Justin has taken and left broken? Trace blinks at her. “You tell him it’s okay. Because I can’t anymore. I can’t.”

“You can!” he argues back and she scoffs rolling her eyes and shifting her feet. “You wouldn’t be here otherwise.”

Charlotte widens her eyes at him. “I have to be here, Trace. I’m working.”

Trace’s face screws up in annoyance. “Fucking bull. Shit. Charlotte.” He pauses watching her huff and cross her arms tightly over her chest, gnawing on her bottom lip. “Fine,” he says after a moment and she looks up at him. “Don’t say anything to him. But just make damn sure that you keeping your mouth shut isn’t going to be something you’re gonna regret for the rest of your life.”

He bumps her shoulder hard as he stomps past her disappearing around the corner, leaving her alone in the empty hall.

***

Going through the motions of putting on his tux comforts Justin, methodically slipping each button through the corresponding hole of his starch white dress shirt, pulling his vest onto his shoulder and situating it on his thin frame before buttoning it as well. It’s easy for him to pretend that its another night during his last tour, even though that was nearly three years ago now, as he adjusts his collar and cuffs. The room is silent and he wishes he had a radio, the melodic hum of chords being strung together to comfort him and put him at ease. The full-length mirror in front of him shows a man that can’t possibly be him. He’s not that pale and his hands don’t shake like his reflection’s does. He breathes out a steadying sigh, closing his eyes and fighting the roll of his stomach and he can’t seem to shake these nerves. He’s never been this effected before, not even when he’d auditioned for the television show all those years ago, not even when he’d asked Amelia to marry him.

His stomach rolls so hard it gives him a strange sense of vertigo, making him stumble backwards and fling out a hand to catch himself on the nearby vanity lest he lose his balance. A soft, almost inaudible knock on the door startles him and he swallows hard as a thin shiver of panic runs through him. It can’t be time already!

“Yeah?” he questions, cursing the tremble in his voice and he lifts his head just in time to see the door creak open in the mirror over the vanity, Charlotte slipping inside and his heartbeat ratchets up about twenty notches.

She’s dressed in a sleeveless gown, the lavender color making her a little sallow but the draped bodice and empire waist flatter her curves. Her hair is twisted in a low side ponytail, curling elegantly over her shoulder with an orchid tucked right next to her ear. His mouth twitches with the realization that it probably wasn’t her choice to put it there.

“Hey,” she says so softly she almost mouths it and he doesn’t turn, busying himself with fiddling with his cufflinks. “Trace said you were sick?”

Her voice is closer now and he looks up to find her directly behind him, her hand reaching out and when he feels it start to settle on his shoulder blade he jumps, shrugging her off quickly.

“I’m fine,” he says, his voice sounding nothing like him at all and she nods solemnly in the mirror, a heavy silence settling between them.

“Justin…” she starts and then trails, his eyes meeting hers and in the mirror and he can tell she has something to say, can always tell when she’s holding back and his heart gives a nervous tremble at what he’s not sure.

“Did Amelia need something?” he questions, looking down so he doesn’t have a chance to see the hurt that blooms in her eyes.

“No… no she didn’t need anything,” Charlotte says softly, her courage dying away at the mention of his fiancé. Soon to be wife. She glances at the clock. Only thirty-five minutes left.

“I’m almost ready,” he says, his voice thin and barely in control, taking the few steps back over to the full length mirror and reaching for his tie.

She nods, watching him loop it around his neck, his usually nimble fingers struggling with the loop and his brow draws as his movements become jerkier with his frustration.

“Here,” she says softly, stepping closer to him and laying a soft hand on his shoulder, feeling his skin warm through the cool linen of his dress shirt before he turns towards her.

“I’m…” he gulps letting out a manic chuckle. “I’m really nervous,” he says, tipping his chin up and looking at the ceiling before closing his eyes against the churning in his gut.

Charlotte merely hums, her fingers shaking almost as badly as his, causing her to have to start the knot over several times. He breathes deeply through his nose and out his mouth, his stomach calming as he takes in the light scent of Charlotte’s hair, his shoulders loosening slightly as her fingers brush his throat. She always was able to bring him down and put him at ease.

“Justin…” Charlotte starts, finally getting the knot and adjusting it, her throat closing on her words, losing her nerve once again but when his eyes meet hers, her lips loosen and words just come tumbling out. “Don’t do it.”

She breathes the words softly, her breath fanning his face and his eyes widen, heartbeat tripling and his hands move to her biceps to steady himself. What did she just say? Her hands wrap in the fabric of his vest, pulling him closer until they’re nose to nose, his breath coming in heavy pants as he stares down at her and when he sees the pleading in her green eyes his knees nearly buckle.

“Please,” she begs, her voice raw, hands winding tighter and tighter in his vest. “Justin, please don’t do this.”

His brain is jammed, something stuck in the gears of his thoughts. Her words shock him, like a punch to the ribs, pain throbbing with every beat of his heart as he stares at her in disbelief. She has to know he can’t, as much as it hurts him he can’t. He’s getting married in thirty-five minutes. Right?

“Don’t…” he replies, his voice thin and he swallows hard to try and give it more strength. “Don’t right now okay,” Justin says softly, his hands moving from her biceps to gently untangle her hands from his vest.

“Justin, you can’t do this,” Charlotte says, her skin prickling with panic, her vision vibrating with her heartbeat as she grips his vest again, ignoring his efforts to make her let him go. “It’s not what you want. Amelia is wrong for you. Can’t you see it? Can’t you feel it? You have to! You’re physically sick from it for god sake!”

“I’m fucking nervous, Charlotte!” he snaps finally, the stress becoming too much as he shoves her hands away from him angrily and turns away, suddenly overheated and panicked. “I’m… I’m getting married in thirty minutes.”

Saying the words aloud sucks all the air from his lungs, his heart threatening to break his ribcage as black starts to creep in from the corners of his eyes, and he’s deaf from the roaring in his ears. He stumbles, leaning to tumble awkwardly onto a leather ottoman.

“Look at you!” Charlotte exclaims, her voice breaking, tears stinging her eyes as she kneels in front of him, touching his face, his skin cold and clammy to the touch. “You’re not just nervous! You know this is wrong, Justin. You know it in your gut.”

“It’s just cold feet,” he insists weakly, trying to shake her off because he can’t do this. Not now.

“What is wrong with you?” Charlotte exclaims, both hands planting firmly on his cheeks, trying to force his eyes to hers. “Look at me. Look at me! You deserve to be with somebody who makes you happy. Somebody who doesn't complicate your life. Somebody who won't hurt you. You belong with me, Justin!”

Her chest heaves as she finally says the words she’s been longing to say for months. He stares at her blankly, blinking a few times as if he’s trying to process her words. Justin’s eyes fall to the floor, letting a few silent seconds pass, feeling her hands shake against his face, hearing the labored push and pull of her breath. He doesn’t know what to say, can’t think of what to do, her words having torn something apart inside him and now he feels set adrift, his mind not being able to comprehend or process how he should react. So he says the only thing he can.

“I can’t do this right now,” he says softly, peeling her hands from his face and the sob that pulls from her throat lacerates him.

“God don’t,” Charlotte pleads, unable to stop the tears because somewhere deep down she had thought Trace was right. She thought that if she told Justin, flat out, he would finally see. And the realization that it’s not true, that he is going through with it, she can’t handle that. “Justin she’s not who she was! You don’t even know her anymore!”

She’s desperate now, clawing at his chest, her green eyes wide and he stands slow, shushing her softly, prying her hands away from him and holding her wrists steady. Something about her hysterics keeps him calm but even through the numbness he can feel something sharp pricking him inside as he pulls her away from him.

“Charlie,” he says evenly, holding her face in his hands and the pain deepens making him swallow hard as her hands clutch at his wrists.

“What’s her favorite song?” she asks, sniffling through her tears, fingers digging into the delicate skin of his inner wrists. His brows draw in confusion. “What’s mine?”

The End of the Innocence, his mind supplies immediately without so much as a hesitation at a guess.

“What’s her favorite color?” Charlotte tries again, searching his eyes and he frowns. It’s cream… isn’t it? Or it might have changed to coral, she’s worn a lot of coral lately. Blue? “What’s mine?”

Green, he thinks instantly and sighs in frustration, moving to release her face but her hands keep hold of his wrists.

“What is her biggest regret?” she asks and his mouth opens. “What’s mine?” Majoring in finance. “But none of that matters right?” she asks, wiping at her face angrily. “You have a lifetime to learn it all? How about this then; when was the last time she told you she was proud of you?” she asks and Justin blinks slowly, his mind racing as his breathing picks up. “When was the last time she called you other than to bitch? God, when was the last time she told you she loved you?”

“Just stop okay,” he says finally, shaking her off him in frustration, his mind racing to find answers to her questions but finds himself coming up blank. “None of that matters.”

“IT DOES MATTER!” she exclaims, her eyes searching his in disbelief. “Don’t you get it, you deserve someone who tells you they’re proud of what you’ve accomplished, that calls simply because they miss the sound of your voice,” Charlotte sobs and her hands hitting his chest ineffectually. “And you deserve to be with someone who tells you they love you every damn day!”

“Charlotte, I can’t-”

“DON’T YOU SEE THAT?” she bellows, shaking him slightly and his mask finally breaks, his hands coming up to grip her arms as his face screws up in annoyance.

“WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS!” he yells back, feeling a bead of sweat roll down his spine, his vision throbbing with the quick pounding of his heart.

“BECAUSE I LOVE YOU!”

Justin’s jaw falls slack, his breath sucked from his lungs as he stares at her in quiet disbelief and something in her words moves him, they way her face is screwed up in frustration and anger but her eyes are full and bright. She loves him. He feels lightheaded, more so than before but in a different way, breathless and tingling all over. She loves him!

Movement from just over her shoulder makes him jump and he can feel all the blood drain from his face as he sees Trace standing just inside the door staring at the two of them, his best friend’s face unreadable and a deep sense of panic washes over Justin. He had to know they’d be caught eventually, he just wishes it didn’t have to be by his best friend.

“Jesus Christ,” Justin mutters, turning his back on both of them, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers, his heart thudding so hard in his chest it hurts, sweat dripping down his face from his hairline.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Trace says slowly, looking from Justin to Charlotte, his own heart racing as hope blooms hot in his veins but is quickly snuffed out when Charlotte turns to face him, her tearstained face contorted in agony.

“No you’re fine,” she says, her voice in shambles as she crosses the room in quick jerky steps. “I tried.” She says as she approaches him, throwing one last glance over her shoulder at Justin who still has his back to them and she takes a shaky breath. “I’m done.”

Trace’s protest dies in his throat as she nudges past him and he watches in shock as she walks down the hall towards a side exit, her steps quickening as the sobs start to come harder, her hand coming up to cover her mouth to muffle the sound so it doesn’t echo off the stone walls. Justin watches her as well, though not so blatantly, his heart breaking with every step put between them and when she disappears around the doorframe he shuts his eyes against the steel knife that’s lodged itself in his throat making it hard for him to breathe.

Trace watches her break into a run as she hits the exit hard, the metal bar clanging loud in the cavernous hall and he’s temporarily blinded as she disappears into the afternoon light. When his vision comes back all he can see is her after image and he has to blink a few times before he turns back to Justin who’s standing helplessly in the middle of the room, his mouth open as he pulls in heavy gasps, his hand pressed against his base of his sternum.

“What the fuck are you waiting for?” Trace asks after a beat, his words startling Justin, his head jerking back as they reach his ears. “Go after her!” Trace flings an arm towards the hall and Justin swallows hard, his feet itching inside his dress shoes, wanting to run.

“The wedding…” he says weakly and Trace shakes his head.

“Don’t worry about that,” he replies hastily. “I’ll go out there and tell them it’s off. Me and Ginger will handle it. Go.”

Justin blinks at him. “What?”

“Yeah, you’re right not, Ginger,” he says, slipping his hand into his pocket and reaching for his phone. “I’ll call Rachel.”

“No,” Justin says, his brow creasing. “Trace, I’m not leaving! The wedding starts in twenty minutes.”

Trace blinks back at him. “but…but… Charlotte just told you she loves you.”

Justin sighs, gritting his teeth against the sudden stab of pain mixed with the flutter in his stomach. He can’t think about all that right now. One disaster at a time. He reaches for his suit jacket, shrugging it on his shoulders.

“We… should get out there.”

Justin moves to brush past him but Trace grabs him hard and Justin looks down at him bewildered to find his friend’s dark eyes on fire with anger.

“What the fuck do you mean?” he demands, his voice hard. “Charlotte just told you she loves you! She’s getting away!”

“Trace, I really can’t deal with that right now.”

“The fuck you can’t!” Trace yells, giving Justin’s arm a violent shrug as he drops it. “Charlotte is perfect for you, you utter fucking moron.”

Justin’s brow draws in anger. “Look Trace, don’t talk about shit you don’t know nothin’ about.”

“The fuck I don’t!” Trace yells and then his anger morphs to pleading, his eyes begging him in a way Justin had never seen before. “Amelia is not the one Justin! Amelia is the opposite of the one. Charlotte is the one. She’s done everything she can to try and make you fucking see that!”

“I’m not walking out on my fiancé on our wedding day!” Justin yells, his voice breaking as the panic wells over, bringing a hand up to brush away the sweat rolling from his temples. “I know I’ve made a lot of fucked up decisions over the past couple of months but that’s not who I fucking am. I don’t walk out. I made a commitment and I’m-”

The look that Trace gives him cuts off his words, a fiery anger burning in his best friend’s eyes that he’s never seen before and then Trace laughs humorlessly, shaking his head and looking up at Justin with disbelief and unveiled pity. “You know she’s been chasing you around for awhile and eventually she's going to stop running in circles around you and waiting for you to wake the hell up...” Trace says quietly, nodding in a knowing way that makes Justin’s heart tremble. “She's going to get over you, really get over you and be gone. Not just for the afternoon or a day, really fucking gone and at that moment – when she does –“ Trace shakes his head sadly “You're going to wish you had let her catch you.”

Trace gives him one last sad look before shaking his head again in frustration and turning to leave nearly smacking into Isabel who comes to a skidding stop in front of the door. Her long dark hair looks like it was once twisted elegantly on top of her head but now has stray pieces tumbling down into her face, her cheeks pink from exertion, eyes panicked.

“It’s time,” she says, looking from Justin to Trace and back again before letting her eyes dart around the room. “You all haven’t seen Charlotte anywhere have you?”

Justin lets out a frustrated growl, storming past the both of them, his stomach tied in knots as he stomps down the hallway. Every part of his body is screaming, fighting with what he should do and what’s right, both of which switch places in his mind, back and forth, back and forth until he’s so overwhelmed he can’t see straight.

“There he is!” his mother exclaims her voice a little strained as he makes his way into the narthex and her false smile slides right off her face. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he grumbles, shaking his head slowly and he pretends not to notice the way she looks past him, searching out Trace asking silently for an explanation.

Patti breezes over, tutting over Justin’s tux and running a lint brush over his shoulders, straightening his tie which he wiggles away from, the feeling of her fingertips on his throat sending him into sensory overload and when he closes his eyes he sees green eyes staring back at him pleading.

He jumps at the feel of cloth against his forehead, jerking away quickly. “You’re sweating honey,” Lynn says delicately, pausing before reaching in again and dabbing at his face. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

She tries to hold his gaze but he looks resolutely at the doors leading into the church, hearing the murmur of thousands inside drowning out the string quartet. “I’m fine. Just nervous.”

“Alright people!” Patti says in a raised voice and Justin’s stomach lurches. “We’re going to do this just like we practiced. Groomsmen first, then our groom and his mother and then the bridesmaids. Remember quick but not too quick.”

She nods authoritatively and Justin finds himself mimicking the movement, finding encouragement in her assuredness. This is how it’s supposed to go. They practiced yesterday and it had gone smoothly enough. Well aside from Amelia changing the procession order about ten times. He takes a steadying breath as the doors are flung open, the long nave stretching before them, the strings amplifying and the murmurs hush as Patrick steps out taking slow steps down the aisle. He’s followed by Christian, then Sasha, then finally Trace who glances back at him over his shoulder ignoring Patti’s urging for a beat before shaking his head and trudging up the aisle.

“You look so handsome,” Lynn says, startling him as she reaches to blot his forehead again. “You’re happy?”

It’s a simple question to which the answer should undoubtedly be yes, seeing as it’s his wedding day, a day he’d been looking forward to for months, or had been until recently. His mother is looking at him, her eyes questioning and hopeful and he forces himself to smile, giving her his most practiced one, looking back down the aisle before he has a chance to see the twinge of sadness in her eyes.

“Don’t forget to smile!” Patti urges, beaming at him as she gives him a little nudge, his feet unsticking from the floor.

Walking down the aisle is a surreal experience for him. He knows that outwardly he’s on par, looking around and smiling, following the flashbulbs of the cameras, knowing that if Amelia doesn’t get good photos she’ll have his head. He nearly stumbles, his arm tightening around his mother’s and she grips his fist with her opposite hand, her palm nearly as clammy as his. Pachelbel’s Canon in D Major swirls around inside his head and one of the violins is just a hair out of tune, the tinny screech grating on his nerves but seeming to go unnoticed by everyone else. They reach the end where his father is already seated in the front row, watching him with a solemn expression that Justin can’t quite read. He feels Lynn take a deep breath as he slips his arm from hers, guiding her into the pew and she turns to him, placing her hands on his chest, opening her mouth to speak. His heart thumps unevenly at the way she steels herself.

“I love you, Mom,” he blurts, almost spastically and her eyes hold his a beat before her mouth shuts, giving him the smile she always gives when he says it.

“I love you too, son,” she says, reaching to adjust his tie and he shrinks back slightly, his mind racing back to not thirty-minutes prior. He wonders where she’s at now.

“I gotta go,” he breathes, swallowing hard as he turns away, taking deep gulps of air as he walks up the five steps to where the groomsmen are waiting for him with the minister.

“Still time,” Trace mutters out the corner of his mouth, smiling tensely out at the nearly full church as Justin turns to face the crowd.

“Don’t,” Justin breathes thinly as a crippling sense of stage fright washes over him, feeling a bead of sweat slide down the side of his face as he begins to watch the bridesmaids make their procession down the aisle.

“I’ll race you back down the aisle,” Trace mutters, half joking and half serious and if Justin hadn’t been so keyed up he might have cracked a smile.

“Stop,” he mutters, his breath hitching in his throat as he watches Bianca take her place next to Annelise, Arden, and Danielle and the last chord of the violins flutter into silence.

He jumps as if the ringing first notes of the bridal chorus had been gunshots, his stomach dropping as the back doors swing open again, revealing Amelia, standing tall next to her father and he feels lightheaded, swaying ever so slightly on his feet.

“Loser buys beer,” Trace murmurs, placing a steadying hand on his back, which Justin shrugs off glaring at him from the corner of his eye.

“Shut. Up,” he grits, trying to focus on Amelia gliding gracefully towards him.

She’s still nearly fifty-yards away, her dress blinding white even in the soft candle lit glow of the church. She’s stunning, absolutely breathtaking, the bodice of her dress tight right down to the flair of her hips where it explodes in fabric that’s gathered and ruffled, rouched and folded nearly three time as wide as herself. Her hair is pulled back away from her face, hidden in the back by her veil that flutters out behind her as she walks. He tries to catch her eye but she’s not looking at him, busy preening with all eyes on her.

He’s struck suddenly by questions, what is her favorite color, her biggest regret? When was the last time she felt proud of him? When was the last time he’d made her laugh, really laugh. He’s overrun by the memory of sitting on his porch in Memphis with his three best friends, drinking themselves silly and that dimple in her right cheek.

He can’t do this. The feeling is sudden and arresting, nearly buckling his knees and he feels Trace’s hand come up against his back again. He doesn’t know why he couldn’t see it before, couldn’t feel it before but now watching her lift her dress to take her final steps towards him nothing has ever felt more wrong to him in his life. He glances over at Trace whose brows are drawn in concern, his hand still steady against the roundest part of his back, eyes asking a million questions.

He hears Amelia’s sharp hiss, his attention immediately drawn back to her and he finds her standing at the top of the steps just like they practiced, waiting for him to come to her so they can walk together towards the minister. He hesitates, heart hammering in his chest feeling like his feet are stuck to the floor.

“Justin?” Trace whispers, his voice barely a breath as Amelia’s eyes flare, holding her hand out to him.

Her movement sparks him, stumbling slightly toward her and she looks relieved, taking his hand in hers. He sees the slight wrinkle of her nose.

“You’re sweating,” she says through her smile and he swallows hard nodding.

“S-sorry,” he stutters watching her heave a small sigh and pluck the royal purple handkerchief from his breast pocket.

The crowd gives and audible “awww” as she wipes his face for him, his nerves settling a little at her tenderness. Maybe it all is just cold feet he muses as she takes care to fold the handkerchief and stuff it back into his pocket, patting his chest and giving him a genuine smile. When was the last time he’d made her smile like that?

“What’s your favorite color?” he asks suddenly and the smile slips off her face, blinking at him slowly.

“What?” she asks, a slight chuckle pulling from her throat as she begins to turn away, keeping one of his hands in hers as she moves to step towards the minister.

He tugs her back. “Seriously what is it?” he questions, that panic creeping back in and her eyes go deadly, her fingernails digging into the back of his hand.

“What are you talking about?” she hisses, giving an impatient tug on his hand. “Who cares what it is? Come on.”

He tugs her back, pulling her close, his heart thundering in his chest, feeling as if it’s being torn in two separate directions. She looks up at him from under long lashes, her ice blue eyes annoyed and a little fearful, asking him a thousand questions and a million threats in one look.

“Promise me you’ll love me forever,” he breathes shakily watching her eyebrows raise at the rawness in his voice. “Promise you’ll hold my heart and keep it safe and-”

“Justin,” she sighs impatiently, shifting uncomfortably as the crowd begins to titter. “I know you wanted us to recite our own vows but this is not the time! Now come on!” she spits, turning resolutely towards the minister and yanking his arm hard, jerking him off balance so that he stumbles forward.

He’s not listening as the minister tells them why they’re gathered, misses the silent conversation that passes between Trace and his mother when they ask if anyone objects to this union, Lynn holding up her palm to tell Trace to hold his peace. He’s too caught up in the fact that this is so horribly wrong, that he’s made the worse kind of mistake and now he’s standing up here swearing in front of God and country that this is what he wants for the rest of his life.

His eyes widen, feeling all the blood drain from his face as he watches Amelia listening intently to the minister, asking her if she can love him for better or for worse, in sickness and in health, for richer or poorer. The rest of his life.

He has a fleeting memory of Charlotte ascending the staircase on his birthday, her lashes fanning against her cheekbones as she watched her feet make careful work of each step and when her eyes had met his, his entire body had exploded in tingles and he hadn’t been able to stop the smile on his face.

“Do you Justin, take Amelia to be your lawfully wedded wife, for better of for worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, and forsaking all others, keep yourself only unto her, for so long as you both shall live?”

The silence stretches and Amelia’s hands are holding his in a vice, fingernails digging into his skin hard enough to draw blood and he has to blink hard to rid himself of his reminiscence, the cold stone of realization settling in his belly at the thought that he chose this life. His eyes flick out over the crowd, finding his mother’s face, fearful and holding her breath, then his father’s expression almost just as anxious, and next to him his grandfather with his chin tipped up, watching Justin steadily.

“We raised you to stand up and take responsibility, and you have and we’re proud but boy you run.”

He steels himself, turning back to Amelia who is now wringing his hands in hers, eyes pleading as the tittering of the crowd turns to murmurs. He’s had every opportunity to get out of this and now standing here in front of a woman he promised to share the rest of his life with he knows he has to stop running and take responsibility for the decisions he’s made. He takes a shaking breath.

“I do.”