“I’ll take my shower now, and we’ll begin our night, Mrs. Almost Saladino.”
Elle giggled. Troy polished off his glass of scotch and walked into the bathroom, closing the door behind him. Elle ignored the anxious flipping of her stomach at the mention of her future last name. Everyone had jitters just before tying the knot, and she was no different from any of the millions of brides before her who were overwhelmed by their nerves. She took a deep breath, carefully removed the dress, and began to groom herself for their evening.
Her hair was curled, tumbling in loose waves down her back. Her makeup was finally complete as she closed her cosmetics bag. Elle slipped off her cozy robe and stepped back into the lace gown. She emerged from the bathroom, feeling beautiful and excited. She lost her breath when she saw him.
Troy looked ridiculously handsome in his tuxedo, the color of midnight. He was fixing the collar of his crisp white shirt when their eyes locked.
“Wow,” Elle sighed. She walked to him, smoothing down the lapels of the suit. “You’re so dapper.”
“You’d better believe it, baby.” Troy winked. Then he took a small step back, holding Elle’s hands in his own, gazing at her from head to toe.
“You’re stunning. The most beautiful bride ever.”
“Thank you.” She blushed, pressing her lips together, feeling overwhelmed by the emotions in the room. They were doing this . . . really doing this. It wasn’t just a fantasy anymore. It was a reality. The anxious flip returned to her belly, and she pressed her hand into her abdomen, trying to calm herself.
“You okay?”
“Mmm-hmm,” she answered, swallowing hard. Troy narrowed his eyes; his hand grazed her cheek softly as he studied her, making her feel uneasy. She didn’t want him to know about her jitters. It was clear to Elle he had none to match hers. No, Troy wasn’t anxious—he was elated, enamored, and excited.
“Listen, Rigby, if you need more time—”
Again, Elle interrupted Troy’s offer of more time. She was dressed head to toe in wedding garb. The love of her life was standing before her in a tuxedo, looking as handsome as humanly possible.
She was getting married. She’d be absolutely insane to walk away.
“No. I’m ready. Let’s do this.”
Elle stood in her beautiful gown, her hands trembling as she studied her surroundings. Midnight was approaching, and the scorching heat of Las Vegas had cooled. A faint breeze blew against her clammy skin as she focused on her groom-to-be. Troy was standing beneath the gazebo, hands clasped in front of him, an expression of ease on his face. She wished she could will herself to be so confident, so at ease with this life-changing event. That voice had returned, telling her she was too young to get married, that their relationship wasn’t quite there yet, that she was swept up in the romance of it all. That she’d regret it and soon. But the idea of disappointing Troy, of ruining their picture-perfect romance, was more terrifying than going through with it. She loved him more than she thought she loved herself. And so, as a sign of her love, she took a leap, knowing she might take a terrible fall.
The small bouquet in her hands shook in response to her trembling fingers. Sweat formed on her neck as she walked down the white runner leading to the gazebo. “Here, There and Everywhere,” the Beatles’ song Troy always said reminded him of her, played as she joined him in front of the judge, a tall man with a kind face. She took a deep breath, looked him in the eye, and made a choice. She chose to marry the man she loved.
Their vows were simple. They would love, honor, and cherish for as long as they both should live. They were pronounced man and wife and they kissed under the stars.
“We did it, Rigby,” Troy murmured into her ear. Elle swallowed hard, wrapping her arms around his neck, seeking comfort and solace.
They returned to their suite, where they toasted with two sparkling glasses of champagne. The sweet intoxicating liquid helped ease Elle’s anxiety and she and Troy made love for hours. Troy fell asleep with his arms wrapped around Elle. But she couldn’t sleep. She simply stared at the wall, hoping for answers. Hoping for an epiphany. Hoping she did the right thing.
The next morning, Elle awoke before Troy, and a stiff pain formed in her chest. She slid out of his embrace and eased herself out of the warm bed. When she walked toward the bathroom, she saw it.
The dress. Her beautiful lace dress was draped across the chest at the foot of the bed. But instead of reminiscing in the blissful memories of the night before, she looked at the gorgeous garment with regret.
Regret and an overwhelming sense of panic. Sheer panic. That voice she’d suppressed before walking down the aisle was back. And it was dominating her psyche.
Her lungs felt as if they might collapse within her chest as she stroked the lace of the gown. She closed her eyes tight, withdrawing her hand from the fabric. Her eyes moistened as she dashed to the safety of the bathroom.
She locked the door behind her before grasping her hair with her hand. She lifted the seat of the toilet and waited for sickness to arrive. Her stomach was doing backflips over and over, so much so that nausea pervaded her body. She heaved again and again into the bowl, needing this horrible feeling to flee her. But it only grew worse with each passing minute. She clutched the ceramic bowl, hanging her head as sweat poured from her skin.
A knock at the door startled her. “Rigby, you okay?”
Troy sounded worried. No, more than worried. He sounded terrified.
“Just a minute,” she managed to squeak out. She wiped her slick forehead, attempting to calm herself down. But her stomach continued to tumble within her belly and sweat continued to bead on her forehead, neck, and arms.
“You’re scaring me, Rigby. Are you sick?”
“I don’t know. Just—I need a minute.”
“Okay. I’m here.”
With shaking arms and legs, Elle managed to climb to her feet and pull her robe to the floor. She crumpled herself on top of the fluffy robe, clutching the fabric in her fist. Tears streamed down her cheeks and landed on the soft terry.
It was a mistake. All of it.
She knew it in her gut. The self-saboteur in her was alive and well, and confident she wasn’t ready to be someone’s wife. She was lying on the bathroom floor, suffering from a panic attack because deep within her soul, she knew she was not capable of being joined to someone for the rest of her life. At least not yet. Not at the new age of twenty-five.
I’m too young. Too immature. Not ready. Not settled.
The thoughts swirled in her head, combined with an overwhelming amount of pure guilt.
On the other side of the door was a man who loved her. Who was ready, mature, settled. A man who would do just about anything for her. And she knew that, by day’s end, she would break his heart. That thought killed her, paralyzed her, and left her lying helpless on a bathrobe in the middle of their bathroom.
When her pulse returned to normal and the sweat had stopped forming on her brow, she was able to catch her breath.
You love him. You want this. You love him. Pull it together.
One hour after she first collapsed onto the bathroom floor, Elle emerged with combed hair, a clean face, and a relaxed demeanor. She was determined to see this through—to push her feelings of regret to the side and enjoy her birthday with Troy.
You love him. He can’t see you this way. You’ll break his heart.
Troy was sitting on the edge of the bed in a white cotton t-shirt and boxer shorts. His elbows dug into his thighs and his hands joined together, his knuckles squeezed tightly, making his skin turn a ghastly shade of white. He jumped to his feet as she left the sanctuary of the bathroom.