The following morning everything felt like a last supper. Hayley made Michael get up and go to McDonalds for muffin sandwiches. We ate on the couch and it was poignant, especially after Hayley said, “It's our last morning as roomies!”

I drank a lot of coffee.

I packed my clothes and stuff into boxes and suitcases remembering the last time, when I sat in the middle of my apartment in Los Angeles, attempting to separate my belongings from Braden's, while crying, and hoping he would take pity on me and love me again. Instead he was walking around the house with a bandaid on his cheek as if he was the victim.

I stripped the bedding off the bed and started a load of laundry. Then I ate lunch, sandwich and chips with a coke. By this time my stomach was flitting and flying around inside my ribcage.

I took a shower. Blew dry my hair. Then Hayley followed a YouTube tutorial for putting it up in a pile on my head, with swirls and twirls and curls. With the pearl crown in the center I looked gorgeous.

Then I put on the dress. Hayley laced the back. My breasts, generally too small for much notice, were pushed up, having, for once, a bit of cleavage. I put on a necklace, but after taking a look, Hayley and I decided it wasn't necessary. Just a plain neck, bare wrists, unadorned fingers.

My makeup was perfect.

All those details.

For months I had worked on wedding plans with Braden, and here a wedding was happening in a day and a half, and the details were exactly like I wanted.

Hayley drove me to the church. In silence. Because there wasn't much to say, and I was shaking in my boots. Or fancy white satin pumps to be exact.

When we pulled up in the parking lot of the church, I panicked. “What if they aren't in there, what if this is all a—”

“They are in there, because your dad's car is here. So see, they're in there.”

I tried to stretch the tight front of my bodice to get more air. “Can you go check for me. I can't...what am I doing?”

“First, you're taking a nice long swig of this.” She pulled a flask from her bag. “It's medicinal. Next, you're going to sit here while I go look inside.”

She left me alone in the car and went up the front steps of the church. I sipped from the flask. Whiskey, strong, but necessary. She returned a few minutes later and pulled open the car door and leaned inside. “He's here. Oh my god Katie, he is so freaking hot. Are you ready?”

“I am not ready. I am not at all.”

She grabbed my hand, pulled me out of the car, and stood in front of me adjusting a tendril of hair near my ear. “Back straight.”

“I don't want to do it. I'm scared Hayley, what if this is some huge mistake?”

“If this is some huge mistake, you divorce his ass, and take everything he owns. But in the meantime, he's standing at the altar, waiting. By himself.”

“I don't know if 'divorce' is the pep talk I need. I kind of feel like I'm going to throw up.”

“You aren't going to throw up, you're going to stand tall. Straighten that back.” She pushed my shoulders and I stood straighter.

“Take a deep breath.” I drew in some much needed air.

“Who's thought this all through?”

“Me.”

“Louder.”

“Me!”

“Yeah, you. Who's gonna marry that hot Scotsman and tell Braden he can suck it?”

Me!” I stretched my neck side to side.

“Who's going to march into that church and come out rich as hell?”

“I'm not in it for the money, but me, I am.”

She went to my back and massaged my shoulders. “Who's the bravest girl in the world?”

“I am.”

“Damn right you are. You're going to take that Scotsman to bed and you'll figure out where to put his sword later.”

“True that.”

“You might not know half of what he's talking about, but when he says 'Aye' you get all weak-kneed, so you're going to march up those steps and right down that aisle and you're going to say I do. Ready?”

“Ready.”