Eliza

Two weeks have passed since James and I sent out our wedding invitations and slowly but surely, they've begun to trickle in. So far, we have about seventy people attending our wedding on August seventeenth here in Whistler. We've been talking and texting to our guests nonstop for the past few days and have had barely any time alone because of the final preparations. It's been stressful for the two of us, but I'm excited for our big day. Since I was a little girl, I've always been enamoured on the concept of weddings, including the dress, the cake, the theme, et cetera. When I was a teenager, that's all I used Pinterest for.

I can't wait until our big day is here and we get to trade rings, sealing the promise with a kiss.

James and I met two years ago to the day. I had been mountain biking one of the more difficult trails early in the morning before it got too hot. When I was speeding down the final hill of the trail, I hit a rock and flipped over the handlebars of my bike. The accident was a disaster: I broke my left wrist, chipped a tooth, and had a small but very deep gash just above my right eyebrow. I was dazed, despite the protection of my helmet, so when I saw his handsome face come into view, I thought I was hallucinating.

James, who was quite familiar with mountain biking and the possible injuries that the hobby can include, carefully inspected my wounds before helping me sit up. I would have told him I was okay if I hadn't of broken my wrist and blown a tire. I was pretty battered and bruised, so I asked him if he could help me back to my vehicle, apologizing profusely for being such a bother. He told me it was no big deal and literally picked me up and sat me on the seat of his bike. He then walked his bike, with me sitting on it, down the rest of the trail and back to the parking lot. The whole time, I couldn't stop staring at the corded, contoured muscles in his biceps and forearms.

When we were back in the parking lot, he sat me in the back of his truck and cleaned me up a little using the antiseptic wipes from his first-aid kit. After that, he offered to drive me to the hospital. I tried to tell him he'd already done enough, but he insisted. I eventually caved, despite the fact that my father always told me to never get into vehicles with strangers when I was a little girl. I'll admit, I was edgy about being in the car with James – I had no idea who he was – but he was true to his word and drove me directly to the hospital. He even stayed with me until the bitter end, when the gash was stitched up and my wrist was covered by a cast. I also was carrying two slips of paper when I exited Emergency: a chalky pink one, which was a referral to a dental surgeon, and a chalky white one with a prescription for some stronger painkillers.

After the hospital, James asked me out on a date. And the rest is history. With two years behind us, we're both ready to settle down and start living our lives together.

Today is the first day we've been able to get together with our friends and not pay any attention to our upcoming wedding. The coffee table is no longer overrun by the contents of my wedding binder or empty wine glasses. Instead, it's got a bowl of bite-sized pieces of watermelon, a stunning charcuterie board, and a couple of other appetizers, as well as some expensive bottles of wine and hard liquor. It's the calm before the storm, as James jokes.

Following my gaze to the coffee table, my best friend, Tenille West, stares critically at the charcuterie board, a crooked grin on her face. "Honey, don't get too used to it – that binder is going to find its way back here eventually."

I glance across the room at James and he gives me a sympathetic smile. As much as I've loved planning my wedding with Tenille's help, James knows I'm ready to burn that goddamned binder. Tearing my gaze from his, I revert my attention back to my French manicure. "Well," I reply, "I bet you're relieved I'm not a bridezilla. I bet you expected me to be impossible after years of watching me build my wedding board on Pinterest."

Tenille raises her glass of bourbon. "Amen to that, sister. Had you been a bridezilla, I think I would have strangled you by now."

"I don't know," Serena says. I met Serena about three years ago when she joined our team at the shop. She does the bookkeeping on top of working at the chairlift in the Village. "If James is correct and this is the calm before the storm, we might be in for some wicked retaliation."

Again, I make eye contact with James. Although there's a sympathetic smile on his face, I can see the humoured allure in his dark-brown eyes. "Do you finally understand what I have to deal with?" I ask. "The ladies tease me relentlessly. It's almost too much to bear."

James, who looks dramatically lax in his chair, broadens his smile. "And yet you're still friends with them."

I smile and raise my glass. "That I am."

A small chuckle goes through the room. One even comes from Scott, James's best man. While I wasn't a fan of Scott at the beginning, he's grown on me. Once you get past his orgasm-inducing body and the sleeve of tattoos up his arm, he's quite the gentleman. He's a little reserved and very picky about what he eats, but still respectful. And if you ever want some personal training done at the gym, he's the man to talk to – he's a bodybuilder, a health nut, and a total outdoor, mountain man. In fact, it's rumoured that he trains with some of the top athletes in Canada. If that's true, it doesn't surprise me. It's also rumoured that he and Serena have been hooking up since they met.

I glance at Serena. Beneath her sheer crop-top, I can see the faint pattern of red lace her "man-killer" bra, as she calls it. Apparently, it's sexy enough to strike a man down. I think it's her seemingly polite way of calling it skimpy. Not that I have anything against a woman flaunting what she's got – it's just not my style.

Serena's also staring at Scott as she chews on the painted nail of her thumb. Her makeup is tastefully done and her unruly black hair is piled atop her head in a messy bun. Everything about her is so meticulously put together and perfected that I think she could lure any man into her bedroom if she so desired.

Tenille makes eye contact with me and rolls her eyes. If the rumour is true, then Scott is positively going to destroy that bra tonight and whatever underwear Serena's chosen to wear beneath those Daisy Dukes.

"I'm not a bridezilla," I reply in defence. "Nor am I a perfectionist. I just think that a day like August seventeenth needs to hold meaning."

Tenille laughs and holds up her to-do list. It's been written in my shitty chicken-scratch writing, but the simple piece of lined paper is filled front-to-back with a list made specifically for the Maid of Honour. "Someone might call this list a little overboard, Eliza, but lucky for you, I prefer lists compared to running around the yard like a headless chicken. I like that you know what you want whenever I ask questions about the wedding instead of shrugging and telling me to do whatever."

Sheepishly, I shrug. I wrote that list for Tenille because her family was generous enough to allow James and I to have our wedding on their ranch. She knows the property better than I do and has always had a knack for planning events. Back in high school, she used to plan parties all the time. They would usually end up earning her a month of lockdown via her parents, but Tenille's parties were fantastic. Whether it was the prime location – their ranch that's hidden up in the mountains of Whistler, about ten minutes from the Village – or her popularity, I'll never know.

Smiling at the memories of high school, I glance out the window and stare at the grassy fields. The sun is just about to set behind the mountains, casting a golden tint over everything. On the far side of the property, the impeccable, dense forest looks like something from a movie. And the aqua-coloured lake beside the large maple tree is no exception, either. For a brief moment, I wish I was out there, sitting on the tire swing hanging from the maple tree and breathing in the calm alpine air. The aesthetic of the property is the reason why James fell in love with it when I brought him here five months ago. I don't know how long he'd been planning to propose to me by that point, but I think seeing this property as a potential wedding venue really kicked his plan into motion. And, as an added bonus, Tenille's house is ginormous, with multiple rooms for the guests who want to come here early and explore the depths of Whistler. There's also a carrier home just down the white-brick path. It's much smaller, but there are four more bedrooms in it, which helps us immensely.

Suffice to say, we owe Tenille and the rest of the West family our souls.

"Does anybody want another drink?" Tenille asks. I glance at the bottles of wine and liquor on the coffee table, ready to ask why she's getting up. But then I realize her bottle of bourbon is missing from the collection. "I'm going to check on dinner, too."

On cue, the smell of roasted chicken and baked vegetables wafts into the living room. My stomach grumbles in response. I've been so busy relaxing that I forgot to eat lunch earlier. After all the hard work we've been doing, making lunch seemed more like a job than a necessity.

"I'm okay," I reply. I've been sipping my rosé for a few hours now. When it comes to packing on the calories, I'd much rather eat way too much food and slip into a food coma than drink.

Everyone else says their piece and then Tenille is in the kitchen. I can hear the sound of the oven opening and closing, drinks being poured, and the clinking of ice cubes in a glass. But then, out of the blue, I hear something I wasn't expecting to hear for at least a couple of days. The ringing of the doorbell.

I frown, glancing over my shoulder. My parents couldn't possibly be here. I mean, our invitations did say people were allowed to show up early if they wanted to. There's so much to do and see in Whistler that we felt it would be unfair to not offer our guests a place to stay whilst they explore. But it seems a little early for people to show up.

"That's probably Kit," James says as he sits down beside me. He wraps an arm around my shoulders and pulls me close, pressing a kiss to the corner of my mouth. His breath smells of stale beer, which I find severely unattractive, but the smell of his cologne is intoxicating – the great outdoors with a hint of spice. "He's never been capable of showing up on time."

I chuckle. Kit Coleman, James's step-brother, was supposed to show up when the rest of our friends showed up. He, however, failed to do so, claiming that something important came up and he had to change his plans. I love Kit but it wouldn't surprise me if he showed up on our wedding day, his hair matted and clothes wrinkled. Tardiness aside, Kit is a sweet guy who you can trust with your life. And whenever James tells the story about how his mom and Kit's dad met, I fall in love with it every time. Despite James's dad having a scandalous affair, James's mom, Devra, she was persistent and decided to divorce him and move on when James was only four years old. Not even three months after putting herself back in the world, Devra met Mickey Coleman.

Whenever James tells the story about how the two of them met, he mimics their voices and mannerisms. So I'm not doing the story justice when I simply say that after a few dates, they knew their chemistry was something special. Within a year, they were married and James had a step-brother. It was a new concept for a four-year-old and a six-year-old to adapt to, but after a few months of despising each other, their relationship blossomed into something brotherly. Now, leave the two of them alone in a room together and you'll have to wrench them apart with a crowbar. They may not be biological brothers, but they are certainly soul brothers.

I lean my head against James's shoulder, briefly closing my eyes. Seven years ago, I would have expected a big wedding and several nights of drinking and spending time with my friends. Only...I would have been marrying someone else.

For four years, I waited for Leon to return to Whistler. I dropped my romance life and focused on things that mattered. I kept in touch with him. I worked. I gained an education. I did everything a woman needs to do in order to be successful. I avoided men at all costs so I could save my heart for him, believing that he would do the same. Leon bailed on me several times, claiming that something had come up or he couldn't make it. And I was okay with that – things come up in life that you're not expecting. But what I wasn't okay with was the day he called me and told me he'd been living in Saanich for two months and wanted to meet up. He admitted he'd been nervous and needed some time to find the courage to talk to me again. I remember loving how vulnerable he was, how honest he was. It was the best day of my life and also the worst day of my life.

I made all the proper arrangements that day. I even went down to set up a picnic on Saint-Sangster rock. I waited there for three goddamned hours until I got a phone call from Leon. He told me he couldn't make it. That he probably wouldn't be back for a while because a major opportunity with his golfing career had come up. In any normal situation, I would have been happy he'd called me and let me know – there's nothing I hate more than being left empty-handed without any answers. But the thing is, I could tell by the tone of his voice that he was lying to me. Choosing golf over me was too out of character for Leon. Even then, though, I tried to call him and make sure he was okay. But he never responded to me. As the months passed without hearing from him, I began to realize that I was wasting my time. Leon was never going to come back. I always knew he cared about me but I don't think he cared enough.

Giving up on him nearly broke me. Over time, though, I began to put myself out there and go out on dates. I let Leon's disappearance fuel me instead of breaking me. Now, I can finally say that this life I've made for myself is everything I've always wanted. I'm content with James and the new chapter we're about to start. It hurts that I lost my best friend and childhood lover through all of this, but Leon made his decision.

Yawning, I nod in agreement. "It'll be nice to see Kit again. He's always a riot. But if he wants to enjoy everything leading up to the wedding, he's going to need to show up before the big day."

James chuckles. "My brother wouldn't miss my wedding, Eliza. Sure, he'll probably storm in, sprinting down the aisle when we're saying our vows, but he'll be here."

"Good," I smile. "I know how much you want him here."

He runs his fingers through my hair and presses another kiss to my mouth as the doorbell rings again.

"I'll get it!" Tenille shouts from the kitchen.

"She does too much," I murmur. "We owe her for this, James."

Rubbing my back, he murmurs in agreement. "We'll find a way to repay her. I promise. Without Tenille, this wedding would be a disaster – we're shit at planning things."

I have to agree with that statement. While James and I were dating, everything was so spontaneous. I think that's part of the reason I fell in love with him, to be honest. But there were often times where things were a little too unplanned for my liking. I like spontaneity for the most part. I also like having things planned, though.

In the distance, somewhere between my perfect, content feeling and the daze of James holding me, I hear Tenille open the door. I'm expecting to hear her greet Kit or perhaps another family member, but the name that leaves her mouth is one I would never have expected. Not in a million years.

"Leon!" I hear her exclaim.

It's quickly followed by a muffled oomph, as well as some mumbling.

"You made it! I'm so happy you got my invitation. Oh my God, just wait until Eliza hears about this. She's going to be so happy you came early."

My body stiffens. Tenille sent out an invitation without asking me? Did she go behind my back? Did she go behind my back to send out an invitation to Leon Freaking Saint-Laurent?

Panic threads itself deep in the roots of my heart as I sit up, set my drink down, and turn to face the bright hallway. On the opposing wall, I can see two shadows moving down the hallway. One is much broader and taller than the other. A million thoughts begin to go through my mind. How tall is he now? What does he look like? Does he still have the babyish cheeks I remember? It's been seven years since I was physically in the same room as Leon. And while I see some posts of his on Instagram and other social media platforms from time to time, I don't think they can possibly prepare me for what's about to happen.

I take a deep breath and hold it in, waiting for Leon and Tenille to step into the living room. When they come around the corner, my eyes instantly meet Leon's. I recognize the smudge of honey-brown in his left eye; a colour that contrasts so beautifully with the intoxicating sapphire-blue of his irises. He smiles at me, but I can see the look of hurt in his eyes when he glances at James. At the arm that's around my shoulders.

The breath I release is shaky.

Years and years of memories begin to flash through my mind. The night we said goodbye; the number of times we went swimming in Lost Lake; us hiking the trails of Whistler Mountain and picking the stonecrop we would later plant around Saint-Sangster Rock; the one time I drank too much and Leon was there during my vomiting act, holding my hair back and whispering soothing words to me. I can't count how many times we skipped class to kiss under the bleachers. And then there were those times where we would lay under the oak tree and stare up at the stars, talking about our future together.

Every single memory my mind can possibly conjure up about Leon Saint-Laurent infiltrates my mind, and I want to cry. I want to scream, laugh, run away. My heart is straining to feel his touch. My fingers want to trace the line of his sharp, square jaw and the neatly trimmed stubble. I want to know why he lied to me on the phone that day and what really happened.

He's changed so much. Gone is any baby fat that was still present in his cheeks, being replaced by a much more masculine look. I notice a muscle in his jaw tic as he glances around the room, only to focus on James again. Luckily, James hasn't yet turned around to greet our guest, giving me a few more precious seconds of staring at Leon. He's taller than I remember and his body is lean and fit, making his black T-shirt look a little tight on him. But, with everything that's changed, his eyes are still the same. Absolutely stunning. Breathtaking.

"Hey, Liz," he smiles.

His voice is smooth and thick, reminding me of honey. It shakes me to the bone, hearing a voice I haven't heard for at least two years now. And, in an instant, nerves I never knew were sleeping begin to wake up. My toes and fingertips begin to tingle as he stares at me and I have to force myself to look away. I clear my throat and stare at Tenille, hoping she can feel the metaphorical daggers in my eyes. I'm upset with her. There was a reason I decided to not invite Leon to my wedding. He continued to bail on me and then inevitably left me behind after he blatantly lied to me on the phone. The past we share is complicated. Although we were young and in love, we were also young and stupid – we had sex beside a creek for God's sake! Anyone could have seen us, yet we still did it.

But what worries me the most is how I'm going to explain my connection to Leon now, when the night ends and James asks me why a man he's never met is attending our wedding. I never told James about the complicated past Leon and I share because it was too tender of a topic for me to discuss. It's heartbreaking to watch a relationship unravel as the years pass by until there's nothing left but Instagram feeds and the occasional comment or like.

I should have known that Leon would find me again one day. I'm kind of ashamed that I didn't expect him to do something like this. Leon is persistently stubborn; he's never been one to give up until his point has been made or his goal has been met.

And I know, just by the way he's looking at me, that he's here because he wants to talk to me. There's years of unfinished business between us that needs to be resolved. But I don't know if I'm ready for it.