The Bride Who Walked Away

I stepped out of the private dining room, and the wedding planner's call came almost immediately.

"Ms. Bennett, do you still want the waist on the gown let out by an inch?"

I stopped mid-step.

"My measurements haven't changed."

A few seconds of silence on the other end.

"Ms. Vivian Bennett said the bridal gown would be altered into a reception dress after the ceremony, and it might be too tight for her."

I gripped my phone tighter.

"Who gave her permission to wear my wedding gown?"

"Mr. Hayes. He said since you're sisters, there's no need to be so particular."

The door to the private room opened, and Julian walked out. He draped his jacket over my shoulders.

He always noticed when I was cold. He'd also leave a pair of flats in the car whenever I wore heels.

I used to take these details as proof of love.

Now I understood. He would look after me, but he'd also go over my head.

"Why was the gown altered to Vivian's measurements?"

Julian frowned.

"She's only wearing it once, after the ceremony. Her dress order fell through. She can't show up to the reception with nothing to wear."

"It's my wedding gown."

"Grace, she's your sister. Don't be so selfish."

There it was again.

When we were kids and Vivian broke my music box, Mom said she was just my little sister.

After high school graduation, my senior trip was replaced by Vivian's summer camp, and my father, Richard Bennett, said the same thing.

Everyone told me not to make a fuss.

Because she was the younger sister, everything I had was automatically half hers.

"Why didn't you ask me first?"

"I assumed you'd say yes."

"Why would I say yes?"

He was quiet for a moment.

"Vivian already told her friends."

So he hadn't come to ask for my opinion. He'd come to inform me.

I couldn't understand why my parents, my family, even my own fiance, all put me behind Vivian.

My phone buzzed. Mom was telling us to come home to sample the wedding menu.

I declined, and she called immediately.

"The wedding is days away. What kind of tantrum are you throwing now?"

"The entire menu is built around Vivian's favorites. Why should I go?"

"You're busy with work. What's wrong with your sister helping out?"

"I can't eat the seafood bisque or the mango mousse."

Mom paused.

"There are so many dishes. Will skipping two of them leave you starving?"

"But it's my wedding banquet. Shouldn't my preferences come first?"

"You've always had everything. Vivian has been running around helping you, and you can't even let her choose a few dishes she likes?"

I laughed.

Every time she took something from me, they turned it into one of Vivian's grievances.

Every refusal of mine became proof that I was the difficult one.

Julian took the phone from me.

"Don't worry, I'll bring her over."

After he hung up, he ruffled my hair.

"Be good. After dinner, I'll get you some strawberry shortcake."

Six years ago, when Vivian lost the piece I'd entered in a competition, he'd consoled me the same way.

He came back in the rain with a cake and said, "Vivian's young. I'll make it up to you."

After that, every time Vivian took something from me, he'd offer some small compensation, then expect me to swallow my grievance.

"Julian, I don't want cake."

He blinked.

I handed back his jacket and stepped into the elevator.

Just before the doors closed, he thrust his hand between them.

I sighed to myself, suddenly struck by how pointless it all felt.

"Grace, you're an adult. Stop making scenes wherever you go."

I looked at his hand, pinched red by the doors, and pressed the open button.

He exhaled, thinking I'd given in again.

But I took one step back, then another, until I stood at the far wall of the elevator.

"I just wanted to tell you. Strawberry shortcake is Vivian's favorite."

"Mine is dark chocolate."

The elevator doors slid shut.

Julian stood on the other side. For the first time, he didn't follow.