He Picked Up Another Woman on Our Wedding Day Chapter 06

He Picked Up Another Woman on Our Wedding Day Chapter 06

Ryan never made it upstairs.

The wedding crew started packing up the camera positions. When the videographer put his lens cap back on, Ryan finally turned.

“Don’t pack that yet.”

The videographer looked at the coordinator, uncertain.

“The bride didn’t come down. We can’t film the departure.”

Ryan stood there, phone still in hand. I hadn’t answered his calls, and now Jenna had stopped answering too.

After a few minutes, the coordinator approached him with a folder. “Ms. Moore asked me to give this to you.”

Ryan took it.

It was the pickup itinerary I’d prepared the day before.

A sticky note on the first page read:

[Ryan gets nervous before going up. Let him have some water first.]

His fingertip stopped on that line.

The coordinator didn’t rush him. She opened the next few pages.

The folder contained a detailed run sheet—the timing for the handoff, the blessing toast, seating arrangements for the parents, cues for the photographer. Every step had a name assigned.

Ryan flipped through it page by page. At the end, his hand stopped on the section labeled “Groom goes upstairs.”

When to knock. When to hand over the bouquet. When to toast my parents. Which moments tended to get awkward, and whether the bridesmaids should step in.

Beside that section, a small note in my handwriting:

[Don’t rush him when he comes up. Let him knock on his own.]

Ryan read that line and looked up at the front door. The intercom screen was dark—he’d pressed it so many times, and no one had answered.

The coordinator gestured toward the white parasol still leaning by the entrance. “Should I still take this up?”

Two boutonnieres sat beside it. One said Groom. One said Bride’s Father.

Ryan didn’t reach for them.

That parasol was supposed to be opened at my front door and held over me all the way to him.

A red ribbon tied to the handle had a small note underneath—my mother’s handwriting. She’d been worried the crew might grab the wrong one.

[Natalie’s parasol. Use this one.]

Ryan stared at that note. The edge of the sticky paper crumpled under his thumb.

Now the parasol sat closed, the white silk perfectly still.

No one had pinned the boutonniere on my father’s jacket. It stayed in its bag, the wrapping still sealed.

At the back of the folder was a red sticky note:

[When he gets to the door, Mom and Dad should smile first. Don’t let him get nervous.]

Ryan stared at it for a long time. No one came down. Downstairs, the relatives had stopped asking questions.

Shelby got out of the car and walked over to him. “Natalie’s probably just angry. Go up and calm her down.”

Ryan didn’t look at her. He kept staring at the itinerary.

The blessing envelope my mother had prepared last night was marked in my handwriting:

[Envelope in Mom’s bag. Don’t make her search for it when the camera’s rolling.]

Underneath was a seating chart. Shelby’s name was marked at the friends’ table—two rows away from the head table, nowhere near my parents. Comfortable for everyone.

But the wedding car had still stopped at her place first.

The coordinator said quietly, “Mr. Bennett, the venue still needs confirmation.”

Ryan closed the folder, his voice rough. “Did she say anything else?”

The coordinator shook her head. “Only that the pickup segment isn’t being filmed.”

Not being filmed.

Ryan’s hand stopped at the folder’s inner pocket. He didn’t flip any further.

He found one more note inside—the one I’d written to my father.

[Dad. When he comes up, don’t look so serious. He’ll get scared.]

Ryan stared at that line. The veins on the back of his hand tightened.

My father hadn’t stood there with a serious face today. Instead, he’d folded the parasol and closed the door.

The hallway door stayed shut. The intercom screen stayed dark. No one else came down.

Shelby stood by the car, lips parted as if to speak, but she swallowed the words. No one needed her explanations this time.

The wind blew through, flipping the itinerary back to the last page.

Ryan couldn’t turn it anymore.

The venue called Ryan’s phone directly. The officiant’s voice was hushed.

“Mr. Bennett, the welcome screen is up and guests are arriving. If the bride isn’t following the pickup process… where do we start?”

Ryan stood by the wedding car. He didn’t answer right away.