Monica opened the door wearing a long, white nightgown made of silk, her dark hair hanging down past her shoulders, her makeup perfect, and her expression innocent. “Hi, babe,” she said, stepping aside so Trent could come in. “What’s going on?”He took a deep breath and crossed into the room, thinking the threshold was a point of no return he couldn’t go back from. “I have something important to talk to you about, Monica, and I need the truth from you, okay?”

Aware that Bree had arrived, Trent did his best not to look at her. He wanted to; he knew she looked gorgeous in that green dress without even turning his head that direction. But Monica didn’t need to know Bree had anything to do with his discovery of her cheating, nor did she need to know that he had feelings for Bree, that he’d been in love with her for at least a decade and wasn’t sure how he’d ever stop loving her, even if he did go through with the wedding.Monica had made more promises in the last few hours than she ever had in the whole

How many times had he listened to Bree play that song over the years? More times than Trent could count. This performance had to be the most beautiful of all, and it had taken everything he had within him to keep from letting the tears stinging the back of his eyes make their way through the stone facade he’d built around himself.What was he doing? How could he stand there and pretend like marrying Monica was a good idea? It was all wrong--all a sham. But walking away would be difficult, too. They had so much time invested in each other… He was in a horr

Leaving Monica to fend for herself amongst the crowd of people who were beginning to understand that something wasn’t right didn’t seem like the best idea to Trent, but he found himself headed for the door ten or fifteen minutes after his friends--or should he say former friends?--ducked out.He had no idea where they’d gone, but he figured he’d find them. When he finally caught up to Hank, he was alone. “Hey, where’s Bree?” he asked his best man, who was carrying his shoes, and a half-empty bottle of whisky.

Bree walked into the chapel and noted her guitar was already in place. She didn’t wait for an usher. Her spot was reserved, so she walked right to it, ignoring all of the other guests. There were several there already, and she heard her name shouted in a familiar voice that was probably Christy, but she didn’t look. She was in performance mode, robot mode, and she didn’t want to lift her eyes to look at anyone or even make small talk and pretend smile. She’d have to talk to Christy later and explain that she just hadn’t heard her, which wasn’t true, but Christy didn’t need to know that.