It’s fucking decision time.

I’m standing in the middle of Piazza San Marco, Saint Mark’s Square. I’m observing the ebb and flow of people around me. Clearly, this is the epicenter for the carnival, which is well under way.

But the festivities don’t move me. I’m in no mood to celebrate. I feel like a nutshell on the ocean being tossed around by a storm; my mind is in turmoil.

I have never been so torn in my entire life.

Should I tell Nicole the truth? That Ryan isn’t coming? That he’s leaving her stranded on her wedding day?

Or should I continue with the deception I started this morning?

It feels wrong, but then again, kissing Nicole felt so right. It satisfied a need in me I never knew I had.

A stream of college kids on spring break rushes past, exhilarated, roaring with laughter. They’re having the time of their lives with wild abandon. The anonymity of the masks makes them bold.

Yet the carnival in Venice is entirely different from Mardi Gras in New Orleans or the Caribbean carnival. It must be the magnificent and palatial buildings with their splendid stonework all around. They lend the festivities, the pleasure, and indulgence a genteel air.

It’s magical, and it almost feels as if I’ve been transported back in time—to an era of chivalry, knights and honor.

Honor.

The word resonates with me.

Chivalry.

I watch the gaping tourists snap pictures, turning in circles. The throng of people continues on around them. The locals know how to navigate their city, even when it’s chock-full of visitors at this time of the year.

I have to admire the distinct styles of the different carnival masks, so steeped in tradition as I’ve learned from the guidebook. There’s the Colombina half-mask, the Medico della peste with the bird-like beak, harlequins, the iconic Volto masks in festive gold, stark white, and gaudy feathers.

How intriguing to meet a masked stranger and complete each other...even if only for a night. Or a lifetime, it occurs to me suddenly.

I should be drifting joyfully through this procession, drinking it all in without a care. But I realize I’m stalling because I feel incomplete.

I have left an essential piece of myself with Nicole when I stepped out of her hotel suite this morning.

I do care about her. Nicole, this sweet and fragile girl, so innocent.

And Ryan wants me to lie to her. That idiot is still in Rome, in the wrong fucking city for crying out loud. But he’s also balling whatever skanky slut he can’t resist this time around.

That must be satisfying his primal urges so deeply that he’s blowing off his own wedding—his wedding with Nicole, of all women.

Nicole...beautiful and shining. The best woman one could ever meet.

He wants me, his best man, to simply take care of things, like I’m the clean-up crew to his fuck-ups. As if I’m paying off a prostitute he screwed.

Ryan is one messed-up guy, but I’ve always given him the benefit of the doubt no matter what neck-deep shit that asshole got himself into.

Sometimes, friendship is blind to a man’s faults.

I’ve always bailed Ryan out of jail in the middle of the night, no questions asked. But to break Nicole’s heart over a lay in Rome? To shatter that girl’s dreams of the wedding she’s always wanted?

I’ve worked myself into a rage over Ryan, and my breathing is heavy. My face feels damp, and I remember the mask that’s still on my face. No one in this crowd can tell who I am.

I’ve always been adventurous and daring. I’ve never been afraid to jump headfirst into anything, to enjoy life and live to the fullest.

Which also means I’ve never even considered marrying anyone. I didn’t believe the perfect wife could be out there. Then Ryan finds her, finds Nicole—and rejects her.

Who am I? I’m not so sure anymore because Nicole has brought out a completely new side in me.

From the minute we met, I had wanted to protect her. Save her like I did when I fished her out of the canal.

I know I have to protect her from what Ryan is about to inflict on her, to save her from an absolute nightmare.

That baboon Ryan has made up his mind not to show up to his wedding...

But what if the wedding proceeds without him?

I have everything I need. I’m wearing Ryan’s costume. I’m hidden under the mask.

I have the rings in my pocket, and Nicole will think I’m Ryan—like she did this morning.

Although I don’t think she ever kissed him the way we did. I certainly haven’t experienced a kiss like the one we shared.

It was the best kiss of my life.

Full of cosmic energy, it was a kiss that makes you believe that deep down, it’s love that holds the world together. The world? I mean the universe.

We were like two stars revolving around each other before exploding into a supernova.

I could tell that she felt it, too. She entrusted her entire being to me; she abandoned herself in that kiss and came back different, new.

The way she looked at me afterwards. It was me she wanted, not Ryan.

Do I have an inkling of doubt? Not about Nicole.

She’s the perfect wife. She’s all I could ever want.

Just the day before, I had never imagined that someone like her could even exist. If I hadn’t met her, I’d have dared go through life alone.

Sure, flirting and flings are one thing. But Nicole, she’s turned me around completely. I thought I’d pity her for falling for Ryan.

Now I nearly pity Ryan because he hadn’t recognize her perfection.

Will there be consequences? Not that I ever concern myself with fall-outs, but yeah, it means that it’s over between Ryan and me.

Every asshole deserves a best friend, but fuck him, let him find a new ‘best man’ to his schemes and debauchery.

Let him rot in Rome with that slut with whom he betrayed his fiancé.

A bell tolls, and I’m sucked back into reality. My surroundings begin to fade in again.

I’m still standing in San Marco’s Square, and I realize I’ve been staring at the Basilica the whole time. San Marco’s Basilica is the most famous church in Venice, and its impressive Byzantine architecture towers above everyone.

Its walls and cupolas are covered in thousands of ornate tile mosaics. I’m reminded of Nicole’s love for art and her creativity, the fine and skilled strokes of the pen with which she did the sketch for me.

Nicole has chosen this unique and romantic place for her wedding.

Our wedding.

The picture is coming together in my mind, with me as her groom.

I take a decided step forward and become one with the surging crowd. The swarm of people have grown thicker; the buzzing atmosphere has intensified. I fight my way across the square to find the spot for the wedding just outside the entrance to the Basilica.

As I approach, I realize how electrifying it is. An intimate ceremony in the middle of the party that is the height of Venice’s carnival. I spot the priest, standing tall in his robes.

There’s blonde Allison and right beside her...Nicole, my future wife.

I linger for a moment to take in her stunning beauty and how absolutely impressive she looks in that elegant dress, fitted at the waist with a flaring skirt.

Immediately, I picture her gorgeous figure underneath, how she must look when I peel that dress from her…

Nicole is looking around, hopefully and expectantly. Then, she spots me.

“Ryan!”

I step forward.

“Ryan McCray?” the priest asks me solemnly.

I nod. “Present!”

“Where’s the best man?” he asks.

Allison looks at me. “Yeah, where is Dante?”

“Dante,” I begin. “Well, the best man couldn’t make it at the last minute.”

Allison scrunches up her face, and I’m excited to detect a slight hint of disappointment in Nicole’s eyes.

“It’s my understanding that the best man isn’t absolutely necessary to the ceremony?” I ask the priest. “My apologies for the inconvenience. Can we begin without him?”

“Do you have the rings?”

“Of course.” I pat my pocket.

The priest begins the recital he has prepared.

“We have gathered here today,” and he looks at me, then Nicole, then Allison, “to celebrate the special love between Nicole Collins and Ryan McCray, by joining them in marriage.”

I’m elated; our ceremony begins just as the carnival party all around us lifts off to new heights. It’s incredibly thrilling to stand in such a small gathering, bonding myself to Nicole, while ripples of excitement pass through the celebrating crowd around us.

“Nicole and Ryan,” the priest goes on, “your marriage today is the public and legal joining of your souls that have already been united as one in your hearts.”

He continues with the ceremony, and I recall the vows I’ve written for Ryan after meeting Nicole.

Those won’t do. In my head, I begin putting together an impromptu speech—vows that are going to come straight from my heart.