From Best Friend To Fiancé (Savannah and Roman) novel Chapter 73

**Chapter 73: Dreams Folding Into Broken Time**

**Chapter 46: To True Love**

**Wedding Rehearsal (The Next Day)**

I found myself positioned towards the back of the room, clutching a delicate bouquet of ivory silk roses that felt both foreign and familiar in my hands. The petals were soft, almost like the whispers of secrets yet to be shared.

With a sharp clap, the officiant commanded our attention. “Alright, let’s begin again. Bridesmaids and groomsmen, please pair up!” His voice echoed through the hall, a mix of authority and warmth that made everyone straighten up.

Up front, Dean stood with a broad grin plastered across his face, his eyes flickering in my direction just often enough to remind me of that moment—the proposal that had caught me off guard, a secret shared in the shadows. It was a reminder that sent a thrill down my spine, both exhilarating and terrifying.

Beside him, Henry, his best man, stood like a loyal pup, ready to follow Dean’s lead without question. Their camaraderie was palpable, a bond forged through years of friendship and mischief.

And then, there was Roman. He sat confidently next to my dad, as if he owned the entire venue. His presence was unexpected; he wasn’t part of the wedding party, nor had he been invited. Yet, in his dark suit, he blended seamlessly into the scene, as if he were the centerpiece of this gathering.

His gaze locked onto mine, and a small smile tugged at the corners of his lips. My heart raced at the sight, and I couldn’t help but smile back, my excitement bubbling over. I quickly turned my attention forward, determined not to stumble in front of the gathering crowd.

As if on autopilot, my feet carried me to my designated spot. The soft strains of romantic music floated through the air, wrapping around us like a gentle embrace. The rhythmic click of heels and the shuffle of polished shoes created a symphony of anticipation in the spacious hall.

The fragrance of roses mingled with the scent of lemon oil, the pews gleaming under the grand vaulted ceiling, each glint a testament to the care taken in preparing for this day.

“My goodness,” the officiant exclaimed, waving his hands toward the aisle. “Bridesmaids and groomsmen, adjust your lines. Pair up! And let’s aim for grace, not speed!”

Laughter rippled through the group, dissolving the tension that had settled over us like a thin fog.

Her dress was a flowing white sundress, a far cry from the elaborate wedding gown she had chosen for the ceremony.

At the altar, her fiancé waited, hands clasped in front of him, his stance betraying a mix of nervousness and eager anticipation.

My mind drifted back to yesterday’s barbecue, a whirlwind of laughter and friendly banter. It was strange to think that Chloe, who had publicly declared me her enemy just days ago, still insisted on having me as her maid of honor.

After a brief run-through of vows and a mock exchange of rings—two simple silver bands borrowed for the occasion—it was finally time for the informal part of the evening: the rehearsal dinner.

The atmosphere shifted dramatically. High heels were kicked off, jackets were discarded, and the sound of lively conversations filled the air like a vibrant melody.

The restaurant was the kind of place that didn’t need to flaunt its exclusivity; every polished surface and the soft notes of jazz spilling from hidden speakers spoke volumes about its elegance.