The garden was filled with roses the color of dried blood, and still they delivered a scent that split open old wounds and scars. Behind the closely woven forest of thorns, Adira sat on a bench in her achingly white dress, face buried in her gloved hands, hiding from the world and her soon-to-be husband—his best friend, to be exact.

There was a satisfaction to that, to seeing her suffer because of Marcus, to feel the power, for once, to change things, to break them apart and take residence in whatever hole it might leave behind.

"You know," he said, stepping out of the shadow, "I did tell you many times that updos don't look good on you."

She looked up at him, parted her lips and then pressed them back together. Adira wasn't someone who granted people access to her weakness. Not to him anyway. He wasn't the right man, had never been one from the start.

He seated himself next to her, thought about wrapping his arm around her shoulders. Didn't. She kept her eyes on the hands that curled tight around her dress, seemingly oblivious to the dead weight on her bench and the loud, chirping birds around them. Adira could ignore people out of existence, and if she wanted to, there was nothing you could do about it.

Except if you were Marcus.

Marcus could always break through, get her to spill those words, to shout, to scream, to beat at his chest crying.

"I've always been in love with you." The birds had suddenly stopped singing, for some reasons. "I still am. I will be tomorrow. I think you know. I think you've always known."

She drew an unnecessary breath, held it.

"I resent the fact that you're about to walk down that aisle, and it isn't me at the end of it. I resent Marcus sometimes for being that man. I am," he swallowed, hesitated, said it anyway, "hoping you would break his heart and consider mine."

She looked up and fixed her eyes on something on the ground, listening.

"But then I can't make you laugh the way he can, or blush so red like these damn roses. He is," he said, not sure why he did, "waiting for you in that church, to make you laugh and smile a million times, perhaps more."

Adira smiled. Even the mention of him made her smile, he realized.

"With you, it was always going to be Marcus, then, now, tomorrow." He placed his hand on hers, squeezing it once. "But tomorrow may never come, Adira, and life is a clock counting down to zero. Go," he said. "Get in there and live your life smiling. If he fails, I'll be here."

He watched her disappear from the garden after that to walk down the aisle, lingering there for some time looking at the symbol of love that surrounded him in the garden.

Thorns and blood-colored roses. How damningly appropriate.

***