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It all starts with the damn wedding invitation.
Mary Margaret Blanchard and David Nolan. The words flow across the page in beautiful, elegant lettering.
A little further down, her name is there.
And so is the invitation for a guest to accompany her.
She knows exactly who Mary Margaret has in mind – none other than Killian Jones, her best friend and college roommate of a little over three years. Mary Margaret hasn’t been subtle in questioning her about the nature of their friendship, but most of it was just teasing between close friends. It never bothered Emma.
She knows that she can say no.
She can go solo.
She knows Mary Margaret, with her accepting and kind nature, would understand.
She knows the guest doesn’t have to be Killian, either.
She doesn’t really want to do that. She’s okay with being alone – has been her whole life. Men can’t be relied on, they can’t be fully trusted. She learned that from Neal when she was left to rot in a jail cell, and she hasn’t ever forgotten. It’s a lesson she’s been careful to learn.
But truth be told, there’s no one else she’d want to go with other than him. For all his talk, he’s been her shoulder to cry on more than once, and yes – she trusts him.
She just doesn’t want to be okay with being alone anymore.
And she doesn’t want to sit at a wedding seeing two people so in love, so happy, and know that it’s exactly what she doesn’t have. What she’s never had.
So now, here they are after a run to Starbucks, sitting in their small dorm while she tries to explain why he should be her… “date” to this wedding.
“So you’re saying you don’t want to go to this thing alone?” Killian is beyond confused. She can’t blame him.
“I could, it’s just – they’re like Snow White and Prince Charming. They’re so sickeningly in love, and it just feels weird to be there alone, you know?”
He rubs the back of his neck, a usual habit of his. “Yeah, yeah. I get it.”
“Guess I could always bring someone else. Walsh is probably-“
“No,” he interrupts firmly. “Of course I’ll go with you. Dave’s a mate, anyway.”
“Just as friends,” she’s quick to explain. Of course just as friends.
“Right.” He looks almost hurt.
“Thank you, Killian,” she reaches to hug him, and plants a quick kiss on his cheek. “You’re the best.”
“Already knew that, love.”
She scoffs. “Okay, maybe I was a bit hasty…”
That earns a cocky grin from him, and after that, it doesn’t feel so weird.
When the day of the wedding finally comes, she feels like she’s the one getting married.
She’s always been a fan of black, so most of her dresses seem a little morose for such a happy event. She ends up buying a red cocktail dress – it’s off the shoulder, with lace adorning the sleeves and the length just above the knee. White wedges seem like a safe bet for shoes, too. Tall heels are a bitch, she knows that from experience. The makeup is simple and her hair is loosely curled and tumbling down her back.
By the time she’s done getting ready, she almost forgets that Killian is getting dressed, too.
She’s unprepared, to say the least.
It’s as simple as it gets, really. Black suit, black undershirt with a few buttons undone, no tie. But holy hell, he looks…
“Something to say, Swan?”
There’s a smirk inching up his mouth, like he knows her secret.
Maybe he does. She won’t give him the satisfaction.
“Yeah. You look good.”
And no, she’s not avoiding his eyes.
“Well, for what it’s worth – you look stunning, Emma,” he says, and something in his voice makes her glance up at him.
There’s an odd sort of awe in his eyes that she doesn’t completely understand, and she doesn’t really think she ever will. The blue of his eyes burn her.
“It’s worth a lot.” She smiles. “Maybe I fibbed a little. You look damn good.”
He poses for a moment, making sure to look as regal as possible. It’s times like these when she knows exactly why he’s a theatre major. “I know.”
She rolls her eyes. “Well, we should get going. Shall we?”
“We shall.” He makes a show of offering his arm to her. She ignores the fact that something about it feels right.
There’s no denying it. Mary Margaret is a beautiful sight as she walks down the aisle – her flowing white dress trails behind her, and her red lips and black hair contrast perfectly with it.
The look in David’s eyes as he watches her is indescribable.
They hold hands as they recite their vows, and she’s not sure she’s ever seen two people so enchanted with each other. They mean their vows with every word.
Mary Margaret’s eyes are cloudy when the final words are spoken – until death do us part – and Emma, surprisingly, feels a few tears traveling down her cheeks.
She’s grown really close with Mary Margaret and David over the past few years. They’ve been a couple for as long as she’s known them, but they had a particularly awful breakup at one point. Mary Margaret, during their break, had a few regrettable one night stands – something Emma could certainly understand.
But they found their way back to one another, like they always seem to.
“I do.”
“I do,” Mary Margaret echoes.
They kiss, and David slides the ring onto her finger. He looks at her as if he’s never seen anything – or anyone – like her in his life.
And she’s not sure why she chose then to turn to him, while she’s sitting in that pew with the day shining and the atmosphere calm. But she does, and she sees that Killian isn’t looking at the two people getting married. He isn’t seeing their love, or at least, he doesn’t care to.
He’s looking at her.
And it’s then.
It’s then that she realizes. It’s then that it dawns on her. It’s then that she realizes that she can’t hide from it – from them – anymore.
The look in his dark blue eyes is familiar. So, so familiar.
Because it’s the exact same look David gave to Mary Margaret.
He’s not pretending anymore. And now? She can’t either.
She should have known. Should have realized that one day, she wouldn’t be able to hide that fuck, they aren’t just friends. They never really were. And she never really wanted them to be just that, either.
She should have known a year ago, on that night that they both agreed to forget, but never did.
She should have known that things would never be the same after he pressed his lips to hers and left her breathless. After he rested his forehead against hers, and she felt like she was home.
“You can trust that I won’t hurt you, Swan. Just give us a chance.”
Such pretty words he had whispered that night. The worst part was that she trusted him too much. She would have given her heart to him on a platter, would have given him a chance in a second if she knew it would all work out.
But there were no guarantees. And pretty words had always failed her.
She knew what she wanted to say. The words that lingered on her tongue long after the night was over.
Yes.
I want to be with you.
I want to give us a chance.
I do trust you.
But she couldn’t. She just couldn’t risk being wrong again.
She couldn’t risk being wrong about the only man she’d ever really trusted.
She didn’t want to be wrong about a man she knew, in her heart, she could fall in love with.
“This is a one time thing,” is what ended up passing her lips.
The look of hurt on his face haunted her.
And here she is, wondering what the hell she should do now.
Luckily for her, David walks by to tell her that it’s time for the reception. It’s a very needed diversion.
Food, dancing, toasts… it’s pretty much a big party. It’s fun, and it distracts from her busy thoughts.
At least until Mary Margaret comes over to give her a hug and says, “I’m so happy for you!”
Emma freezes, knowing exactly what she’s referring to.
Killian, however, just raises an eyebrow.
“I kind of knew it was coming. I mean, anyone could tell the way you two feel about each other, but…” She trails off, sensing their discomfort. “You know what? I think it’s time to throw the bouquet!”
“Great!” Emma supplies.
“Yes, brilliant.” Killian offers a smile.
When she leaves, Emma tries to explain. “It’s just because we were sitting together, I think. Not a big deal.”
He shrugs. “Doesn’t bother me, darling. Does it bother you?”
No, it doesn’t.
She doesn’t know how to feel about that.
“Emma! Come on, it’s time!” Mary Margaret’s voice chimes in.
She scurries over and amongst the sea of women, she stands near the back. Soon enough, the bouquet is flying in the air, the color of the flowers stark against everything else. She reaches a hand out aimlessly, knowing that her chances of catching it are pretty damn slim.
And then her hands grasp onto something solid, and she’s staring at the pretty red roses in her hand.
“Good catch. Guess you’re the lucky lady!” Ruby says from beside her.
“Uh, yeah. Thanks.”
And then it’s time for the garter toss, and instead of a sea of women, it’s a sea of men vying to catch the small piece of fabric. David flings it, and a hand snatches it in record time.
And of course the person with the garter wrapped in his palm would be Killian Jones.
Oh boy.
She’s not prepared when she sits down in the chair, and she’s really not prepared when Killian gets an intense look in his eye, circling her as he holds the garter with one finger. He takes his time, slow and sweet, and the anticipation has her heart racing.
Finally, he slides it around her foot, getting it to her ankle before stopping. Her skin burns where he touches her. Then he does something she never would have expected.
He leans his head down – keeping his gaze locked on her – and captures the fabric with his teeth. The warmth of his breath on her bare leg is dizzying, almost intoxicating. She’s thankful when he stops at her knee. She’s not sure her heart could handle any more.
When Killian steps away, the rest of the wedding attendants start applauding. She blushes furiously.
“Well, that was…” David clears his throat. “Certainly something.”
She doesn’t think her face can get any redder.
“I think it’s time for the two of you to dance.” Mary Margaret suggests.
“At your service, my lady.” Killian bows dramatically.
She grins at him. She can’t help it. She feels… free. Happy.
She suspects that was his plan with the garter, to get her to stop thinking and be in the moment.
It worked, and she’s thankful.
Adele’s cover of “Lovesong” starts playing, and the sweet melody sets the mood.
As they start to dance and his hand interlaces with hers, she feels a nervousness in her belly that’s unlike anything she’s ever felt before. This is real, and it’s now. And she doesn’t have the urge to run, or hide, or make excuses for why she can’t be honest.
It scares her more than anything, but she likes it.
His other hand is rubbing smooth circles into her back, comforting her. He’s always been good at that. Always her friend, always her supporter. He’s never failed to believe in her.
She loves that about him.
And when she repeats that word in her head – love – it sounds right. Perfect.
She’s in love with him.
And it doesn’t surprise her, or cause an epiphany. It’s a fact, pushed to the back of her mind for longer than she cares to admit.
When she looks in his eyes, she sees that love. She sees it every day.
He’s been waiting, she realizes. Waiting for her to make the next move.
She decides that she doesn’t care how many people are watching, or how damn afraid she is. Now is their time, now is their chance, and she’s finally ready. She wants to make the choice to be happy.
With that in mind, she grabs the collar of his nice black shirt and pulls his lips to hers.
It takes no time at all for him to kiss her back with fervor, running a hand through her curls.
When he pulls away, his eyes sparkle and there’s a look of wonderment there.
“What is it?” she asks. The way he’s looking at her makes her feel lightheaded.
“Nothing.” He grins. “I was just hoping it’d be you, love.”