This wasn’t an oversight. This was deliberate. This was Victoria’s way of putting me exactly where she thought I belonged. Out of sight, out of mind, barely acknowledged.
I could have left then. I could have driven back to Denver, called in sick, and spent the day nursing my wounded pride with ice cream and bad television. But stubbornness kept my feet planted. I was her sister, and I’d been invited, and I’d be damned if I’d give her the satisfaction of my absence.
Guests began arriving around four in the afternoon. I watched from my position behind the pillar as people found their seats, greeted each other warmly, and took photos against the picturesque backdrop.
I recognized some faces from family gatherings, aunts and uncles and cousins I hadn’t seen in years. None of them noticed me tucked away in my corner.
Our mother arrived twenty minutes before the ceremony, resplendent in a champagne-colored gown that probably cost more than my monthly rent. She was escorted to the front row by a groomsman, beaming and accepting congratulations from everyone she passed. She didn’t look back, didn’t scan the crowd for her younger daughter. Why would she? I was exactly where I was supposed to be—invisible.
The ceremony began at five exactly. Music swelled from hidden speakers, and the wedding party processed down the aisle. Each bridesmaid looked beautiful in their matching sage green dresses, carrying bouquets of white roses and eucalyptus. The groomsmen followed in sharp navy suits. Then came the ring bearer and flower girl, children I didn’t recognize, probably from Gregory’s family.
Finally, Victoria appeared on our father’s arm. Even from my obstructed view, I could see she was stunning. Her dress was a masterpiece of lace and silk, her veil trailing behind her like a cloud. Our father, who I’d barely spoken to since my parents’ divorce five years earlier, looked proud and distinguished in his tuxedo.
I craned my neck around the pillar, trying to catch a better view. The angle was terrible. I could see maybe forty percent of the actual ceremony, mostly just the backs of people’s heads and occasional glimpses of the officiant.
That’s when I noticed I wasn’t alone in the back row.
A man sat two chairs away from me, partially hidden by the same pillar. He was younger than most of the guests, maybe in his early thirties, wearing a perfectly tailored charcoal suit. His dark hair was styled casually, and he had the kind of sharp features that belonged in a magazine advertisement. But what struck me most was the expression on his face. He looked as out of place and uncomfortable as I felt.
He caught me looking and offered a small, sympathetic smile. I smiled back weakly before returning my attention to the ceremony, or what I could see of it.
The officiant spoke about love and commitment and partnership. Victoria and Gregory exchanged vows that I couldn’t quite hear from my position. They exchanged rings, kissed to enthusiastic applause, and just like that, my sister was married.
The ceremony lasted maybe twenty-five minutes, though it felt both longer and shorter than that. As guests began standing and moving toward the cocktail hour location, the stranger from my row approached me.
Up close, he was even more striking, with intelligent gray eyes that seemed to see more than they should.
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