Page 10 of I Almost Do

There’s approval on his face as he does so. “I wasn’t sure whether you’d have some romantic fantasy about this. I should have known you’d be reasonable. You’re a smart girl.”

I shrug.

“As long as we keep things strictly friendly, we'll get along fine,” he reassures me.

“What do you mean?”

He pulls back a little, brows furrowed. “I mean as long as we’re careful not to develop romantic feelings for each other, we’ll have a successful marriage."

"You think that’s something a person can control? That you can just decide not to catch feelings for someone?"

His eyebrows lift. “Yes.” He says the word the way someone would say,"Obviously."

At my look of consternation, his expression changes. He's looking at me like I'm an employee he just learned didn't meet a quota. Or a teenager who snuck out after curfew.

He nods over at my phone. “Write it down, Clarissa. Last rule: don’t catch feelings."

5

Stand By Me

Clarissa

I’m a miserable bride. Not that anyone realizes it. I’ve stuffed all my fear, grief, disappointment, and anxiety all the way down where, hopefully, no can see them.

Of course I’m marrying James. There was never a question that I’d do it. For Dad.

James is marrying me for the same reason.

But the way he’s so confident that he’ll never develop an attraction to me…. My initial embarrassment is giving way to reluctant resentment.

It’s true that I’ve never dated.But I’m not ugly.

I look down at this dress and swallow that thought.

I feel ridiculous. This gown, or one very like it, was the one I insisted I wanted back when I was around fifteen years old. It's a confection of sparkling white organza and seed pearls, with a cathedral train and layers upon layers of mesh, tulle, bows, and flounces everywhere.

I look like a wedding cake.

But my father is staring at me with so much love and pride and hope. I just have to keep reminding myself that he is theonlything that matters at this moment.

Bronwyn, Janessa, and Franki are waiting near the altar. My bridesmaids are wearing hot-pink-and-black taffeta dresses, and the way they put them on without a word of complaint just goes to show how amazing they are. That pink is bright enough to fry my retinas.

They know exactly what kind of wedding this is. They’ve also been my best friends since elementary school, which means they’ll never breathe a word of it to a single soul without my say-so.

The organ is playing, and I’m supposed to look at James as I walk down the aisle. But I can’t. This feels wrong to me, as if I’m making a joke out of something that should be sacred.

So I look at my friends instead.

Franki is trying to smile, but she’s all choked up. Her big brown eyes are wet, and she’s sniffling loudly enough that I can already hear her. Janessa elbows her and passes her a tissue.

They all tried to talk me out of this before finally acknowledging it was a foregone conclusion. After that, they rallied around me with their unwavering support.

Of the three of them, Janessa was the most vocal of my friends to tell me this was a “horrible idea” and that I was “asking for a broken heart.”

She’s five foot ten, topping Franki’s height by five inches and Bronwyn’s by nine. She’s right there in the middle of them, looking like an Italian model and trying to force herself to smile for my sake. It looks more like a worried grimace.

Bronwyn's blonde hair glints under the spotlights, and she points at me from the front of the church, wiggling her curvy little behind. She fans herself with a hand, licks her finger, and pretends to burn it on me, mouthing, "Hot."

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