The Forever of Ella and Micha

and all I want to do is comfort her.
    Dean looks really happy, which kind of annoys me. Ella might have dusted what he did under the rug, but it doesn’t mean anything to me. He’s part of what broke her—part of why Ella will never be the same girl.
    The minister declares, “You may kiss the bride.”
    Dean and Caroline lean into one another and kiss, and everyone stands up and claps. As they walk down the aisle, people throw rose petals at them from the baskets placed in front of each chair. Lila collects a handful and joins in, throwing petals in the air.
    Ethan rolls his eyes. “I suddenly remembered why I never go to weddings,” he utters under his breath. “They’re too cheesy for me.”
    “Yeah, I guess,” I reply, not completely agreeing with him. “But the cheesiness does have a point.”
    Once Caroline and Dean leave the canopy, the groomsmen and bridesmaids follow in a line. The guy Ella’s been paired up with annoyingly keeps checking her out and he whispers something to her as they walk outside.
    The crowd moves across the yard to the back deck of the house, where another canopy is set up over tables decorated with rose petals and candles. There are lights strung across the ceiling and a massive chocolate fountain against the back wall.
    Ella waits at the front where a cameraman is getting set up to take pictures. As she waits, her gaze collides with mine. She rolls her eyes, like she thinks this whole thing is silly and I wink at her.
    Ethan, Lila, and I steal a few glasses of champagne and plates of cake and pick a table near the bar, drinking in silence as the music turns on.
    “So how long are we obligated to stay here, do you think?” Ethan gags on the glass of champagne. “God, rich people have bad taste in drinks.”
    “Hey,” Lila protests, setting her glass on the table. “I think it’s good.”
    “That’s because you’re rich,” Ethan jokes, shoving up the sleeves of his shirt, and then he takes a bite of his cake. “And you were brought up to think that expensive stuff tastes good.”
    Lila sticks out her tongue and there’s purple frosting on it. “I think you might be the one with bad taste.”
    Ethan scrunches his eyebrows, like he’s overthinking. “Nah, I have excellent taste.”
    Ethan used to give me crap about Ella and my needing to screw and get it over with. I’m considering telling him the same thing about Lila and him.
    Ella drops the bouquet before slumping into the chair next to me. “God, weddings are exhausting.”
    I pluck a piece of grass out of her hair and flick it on the ground. “You want to get out of here? We could go get some dinner or something.”
    “I can’t leave yet.” She frowns, rests her head back on the chair, and stares up at the ceiling. “There are more pictures to come.”
    She straightens up in the chair and steals a bite of my cake, leaving a little bit of purple frosting on her bottom lip. I want to lean over so badly and lick it off.
    “What?” she asks when she notices me staring.
    I reach toward her and she freezes as my thumb grazes her bottom lip. “We should dance.”
    She arches her eyebrows. “Since when do either of us dance?”
    “We always dance.” Extending my hand to her, I get to my feet.
    “But our dancing is a lot different than their dancing.” She points a finger at the area where people are slow dancing. “We’d probably scar their innocent little minds.”
    “Come on, Ella May, dance with me.” Dazzling her with my most alluring smile, I keep my hand out, hoping she’ll take it.
    Sighing, she laces her fingers with mine, and I pull her to her feet. When we reach the center of the dance floor, I twirl her around and collide her into me. A smile tugs at her lips as I put my hands on her hips. Guiding her closer, she hooks her arms around the back of my neck.
    As we dance to the music, I put my lips beside her ear and sing along with the lyrics.
    She leans back to look me in the eyes. “How do you know the lyrics to “The Story”? Most guys don’t listen to Brandi Carlile.”
    “Shh… don’t tell anyone.” I wink at her and hug her closer. “And you used to listen to this song all the time. How could I not know the lyrics?”
    She clutches onto me as I continue to sing. Her head rests on my shoulder and I’m no longer scared of telling her how I feel. I want her to know—need her to understand, because holding it inside is no longer an option.
    “I love you, Ella May,” I