The Wrong Fiance

 

The Wrong Fiancé

Leah

I smooth the bride’s veil with hands that should be steady by now.

This isn’t my first wedding. Not even my fiftieth. But it’s the first one where the groom is the man I never stopped loving.

 Carter Mason.

His name looked harmless enough on the intake form when it crossed my desk six months ago. Just another couple. Another love story I wasn’t part of. I didn’t recognize his fiancée’s name, Callie something sweet, something forgettable.

But his?

I would’ve known it even if someone had set it on fire and buried it in ash.

And now he’s here. In this venue. In this building. Minutes from promising forever to someone else.

And I’m the one who has to watch it happen.

I press my fingers into the papers on my clipboard and pretend like my stomach isn’t knotted. Like I’m not seconds from unraveling in front of the wrong people.

The bridal suite buzzes behind me. Laughter, champagne, hairspray in the air. Callie is radiant. Nervous in the way most brides are, flushed cheeks and shaky hands, but excited. 

In love.

She talks about him like he’s everything. Like he’s gentle and thoughtful and says all the right things.

And I know he is. Because he said those things to me first.

I step into the hallway, needing air, or distance, or hell maybe both.

That’s when I hear it.

His voice.

Low. Familiar. A little rougher than I remember.

“Still running away from me, Leah?”

I turn slowly, afraid that if I look too fast, I’ll break.

But there he is.

Tux sleeves rolled to his elbows. Tie undone. Hair a little messy like he’s already run his hands through it a dozen times today.

And his eyes, those warm, stormy eyes, are locked on mine.

“Carter,” I say, his name a whisper I don’t mean to speak out loud.

He smiles without humor. “Didn’t think you’d actually take the job.”

“Neither did I.”

Silence stretches between us. It’s not cold, it’s loaded. Like everything we didn’t say back then is still sitting in the air between us, waiting.

“You look good,” he says, eyes dragging down my form, lingering just a second too long.

I swallow hard. “You shouldn’t say that.”

“Probably not.” He steps closer. “But we’ve said worse things to each other.”

I should walk away. I need to walk away.

But he tilts his head, voice quiet. “Do you ever think about that night?”

I blink.

And just like that, I’m not in this hallway anymore.

I’m in his bed.

Wrapped up in him like I never left.

It starts with silence.

Not the comfortable kind. The kind that stretches between two people holding on by a thread, both too afraid to say the wrong thing, because there’s no coming back from this.

I’m already packed. My bag’s by the door. I told him I was leaving in the morning, and he didn’t say a word. Just nodded and poured himself a drink.

And now we’re sitting in the living room like strangers who remember what it was like to be in love.

He leans forward, elbows on his knees, voice low. “One more night.”

I blink. “What?”

His jaw tightens. “Just stay. Tonight. I’m not asking you to change your mind. Just…” He looks up. “Give me this.”

He doesn’t move toward me. Doesn’t beg.

But something in his voice cracks me wide open.

I don’t say yes. I just stand there for a moment. And when I walk past him, he follows, quiet, steady, until we’re in the bedroom that still smells like him. Still feels like us.

The second the door closes, it changes.

His hands are on me before I can think, gripping my waist, pulling me in like he needs to feel me breathing just to believe I’m still here. His mouth crushes mine, hot, aching, desperate, and I kiss him back like I haven’t spent the last week trying to forget the taste of him.

“Tell me you don’t want this,” he says against my lips, voice rough. “Tell me, and I’ll stop.”

I can’t. I won’t.

Because I want him like I’ve never wanted anything else even if it’s just this one last time.

His hands slide under my shirt, fingertips dragging up my sides, over my ribs, like he’s trying to memorize every detail. I strip the shirt over my head, and he doesn’t hesitate, his mouth is on my neck, down my chest, kissing, biting, claiming.

“You’re mine tonight, Leah,” he says, voice low and steady. “And the next time another man touches you… you’ll think of me. You’ll remember this. Remember me.”

Heat blooms low in my stomach as I reach for his belt, fingers trembling when I undo it. He watches me, eyes dark, jaw clenched like he’s barely holding on.

“Then take me,” I whisper.

That’s all it takes.

He lifts me easily, lays me down on the bed with a kind of reverence that makes my chest ache. His mouth finds mine again, slower this time, deeper. Then he pulls back just enough to look at me, like he’s asking without words if I’m sure.

I nod, and he moves, tugging my jeans down my legs, underwear with them, never taking his eyes off me. He strips the rest of his own clothes in seconds, like he’s done this a thousand times and well… he has.

And when he climbs over me, bare skin to bare skin, every inch of me lights up. Likely because it knows this is the last time it will ever feel like this with him.

He moves slowly at first, dragging his cock through my center, teasing me until I’m panting, hips shifting beneath him.

“Carter,” I breathe.

He kisses me again, deep, possessive and finally pushes inside, inch by angonizing inch, stretching me until I’m gasping.

We both exhale when he bottoms out.

“God, Leah…” His forehead presses to mine. “You feel like home, you always have.”

He starts to move, slow, deep thrusts that hit every spot just right, like he knows my body better than I do. His hand slips between us, thumb finding my clit, and the pressure builds fast. My legs wrap around his waist, and I pull him closer, nails digging into his back as pleasure curls hot and sharp in my core.

I come with a cry, head thrown back, body arching into his like I can fuse us together if I just try hard enough.

But he doesn’t stop.

He flips me over, pulling me up onto my knees, and slides back in, harder this time, deeper. His hands grip my hips, holding me still as he pounds into me, filthy words spilling from his mouth in between ragged breaths.

“You still fucking feel like mine,” he growls. “Say it, Leah.”

“I’m yours,” I gasp. “Carter—please—”

“Say it again.”

“I’m yours,” I cry, broken and breathless, pleasure crashing through me in another wave.

His rhythm falters, hips stuttering as he groans my name and comes inside me, one hand fisted in my hair, the other still wrapped around my waist like he doesn’t want to let go.

We collapse together, tangled and sweaty and ruined.

Neither of us speaks.

Because we both know what’s coming next.

My breath catches as the memory fades, replaced by the reality of him standing in front of me.

Same eyes. Same voice. Same everything.

Except now, he’s getting married.

And I’m just the girl holding the clipboard, pretending I didn’t once fall asleep to the sound of his heartbeat.

“I think about it all the time,” I whisper. “That last night.”

Carter’s jaw flexes. He shifts closer, lowering his voice. “That night didn’t fade for me, Leah. It’s carved into me.”

“I know.” My voice breaks on the words, because I feel it too, like a scar that never healed right.

His gaze burns through me. “Then why did you leave?”

I swallow hard, the truth rising like a lump in my throat.

“Because I took the job,” I say quietly. “It was everything I’d worked for, and I didn’t think we were ready for the kind of future that came next. I told myself it was the right move.”

A beat. My voice cracks.

His eyes search mine, like he’s looking for the version of me that stayed. Like he’s wondering if she ever really existed.

A bitter smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “So that was it. You walked away, and I was just supposed to figure out how to exist without you?”

He lets out a dry laugh, sharp, tired.

“You think this,” he gestures down the hall, “is everything I was supposed to deserve?”

“She loves you.”

“She’s not you.”

My heart shatters quietly in my chest. I press my hand to the wall to stay upright. “Don’t do this, Carter. Not today.”

“Why not? You already took everything else when you walked away.”

He steps closer, and I don’t move.

“There’s still time, Leah.” His voice drops. “Say the word, and I walk out that door with you right now.”

My heart lurches. My whole body still remembers what it felt like to be his.

But I can’t be the girl who ruins someone else just to feel whole again.

I shake my head, even though it nearly kills me. “I can’t.”

He stares at me for a long second, then gives a small, sad smile. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.”

He starts to turn, but I catch his wrist.

“Do you regret it?” I ask. “Us?”

He doesn’t hesitate. “No. You were the best thing that ever happened to me.”

And then he’s gone.

Back down the hallway. Back toward the altar. Back toward a life that was never supposed to include me.

I press my hand to my chest and close my eyes.

Because some goodbyes echo for years.

And some never really happen at all.

The End - or is it!

Copyright © by LS Phoenix

No portion of this story may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.

Published by LS Phoenix

New Hampshire, USA

https://linktr.ee/authorlsphoenix

First Edition: May 2025

Cover Design by LS Phoenix