After the groom ran away, I married a billionaire

"Move the floral arch two feet to the left." I pointed toward the center of the ballroom stage.

"Like this?" the florist asked, dragging the heavy iron frame across the polished wood.

"A little more. The photographer wants it perfectly centered under the chandelier."

"Got it."

I wiped a bead of sweat from my temple. My wedding dress hung safely upstairs in the bridal suite. Right now, I wore faded jeans and a white tank top. Dust coated my sneakers. I had been up since four in the morning dealing with caterers, missing chairs, and a drunken groomsman.

Miles stood a few yards away, staring at his phone screen. He wore his tuxedo trousers and a crisp white shirt, the bowtie hanging loose around his collar. He hadn't helped with a single decision all morning.

"Do we really need this many white roses?" he asked, finally looking up.

"It's a wedding, Miles," I answered. "Our wedding. You agreed to the floral budget three months ago."

"It feels excessive."

"Your mother requested the extra flowers."

He frowned, tapping his screen again. "Right. Well, hurry up. The photographer wants pre-ceremony shots in an hour. You aren't even dressed."

"I will be ready," I assured him. "Put your phone away. We need to go over the seating chart one last time."

"Just put my cousins at table four."

Before I could argue, his phone rang.

The sharp, upbeat tone shattered the quiet hum of the ballroom. Miles didn't hesitate. He answered it before the second ring.

"Hello?"

The volume on his device was high enough for the sound to carry. A sharp, ragged sob echoed from the speaker.

"Miles." The voice was fragile. Trembling.

Emma.

My stomach tightened into a knot.

"Emma, what's wrong?" Miles shifted his weight. He turned his body slightly away from me.

"I fell," she cried. "I was trying to get a box down from the attic. I slipped. My ankle... I think it's snapped. It hurts so much."

"Did you call for an ambulance?" I stepped closer, projecting my voice so she would hear me.

Silence stretched over the line for a fraction of a second. Then, a louder, more desperate wail erupted.

"Miles, please," Emma wept. "I'm all alone. Since Mom and Dad died, I just... I don't know who else to call. I'm so scared. The pain is unbearable. I think I'm going to pass out."

"Stay awake, Em. I'm on my way."

"Will Diana be mad?" Emma's voice grew smaller, pitiful. "I don't want to ruin your special day. You should just leave me here. I'll drag myself to the street eventually."

"Don't be ridiculous. I'm coming," Miles said.

He ended the call.

The screen went black. He shoved the device into his pocket and turned to face me.

"Diana, I have to go."

"Our ceremony starts in exactly two hours," I reminded him. My tone stayed perfectly level.

"She's badly hurt."

"An ambulance has paramedics. You are a financial analyst."

"Don't do this right now," he snapped. He marched over to the nearest table and snatched his car keys. "Her parents passed away last year. Our families have been close for decades. She needs someone she trusts."

"I need the man I'm about to marry," I countered. I moved quickly, stepping directly into his path. "If you walk out those doors, you are choosing her. Again."

"I am helping a friend in a crisis!"

"A crisis?" I challenged. "Like last month when she saw a spider in her bathroom? Or two weeks ago when her car wouldn't start because she forgot to get gas? Are those the crises you're talking about?"

"She has severe anxiety, Diana. You know she's been struggling since the funeral."

"And you are her therapist?"

"I am her family!" he shouted.

"You are my fiance!" I shouted back.

He scowled, his jaw tightening. "Call her a hospital transport then."

"You're being incredibly selfish," Miles muttered. He tried to side-step me.

I grabbed his wrist. "Miles. Look around. This is our wedding day."

He yanked his arm free. The sudden force made me stumble back a step.

"I will be back before you even put your dress on," he insisted. "Just finish setting up the venue."

"This is the hundredth time," I said.

He paused, his hand resting on the brass handle of the ballroom door. He glanced over his shoulder. "What?"

"Since she moved back from overseas six months ago," I clarified. "I kept track. Dinner dates, movie nights, my birthday, our anniversary dinner, and now our wedding day. You have dropped everything and run to her exactly ninety-nine times. This makes one hundred."

"You're tracking my movements? That's insane." He shook his head. Disgust flashed across his features, twisting his mouth into an ugly line. "I'll see you at the altar."

He pushed the heavy door open and sprinted across the manicured front lawn. He didn't look back once.

The heavy oak doors slammed shut behind him.

The loud thud echoed through the massive room. Several staff members stopped what they were doing. They stared at me.

The wedding planner, Sarah, approached me slowly. She held a silver clipboard tight against her chest.

"Diana?" she asked softly. "Do we... do we pause the setup?"

I stared at the closed doors.

A laugh bubbled up from my throat. It sounded completely foreign. Dry and hollow.

"No," I told her. "Keep going. The wedding is happening today."

Sarah blinked, visibly confused, but she nodded and walked away to direct the catering staff.

I pulled my phone from my back pocket. I scrolled past the florist's number, past my mother's contact, past Miles.

I stopped at a name I hadn't called in a year.

Miller Cross.

My former boss, and the man who had proposed to me right before I accepted Miles's ring.

My thumb hovered over the screen. A wave of clarity washed over me. I wasn't going to be the pathetic bride left waiting at the altar. I wasn't going to spend the rest of my life competing with the ghost of a tragic orphan.

I tapped the green button.

It rang once. Twice.

"Well," a deep voice answered. "This is unexpected."

"Miller," I said.

"The bride-to-be," he replied. The amusement in his tone was unmistakable. "Shouldn't you be walking down an aisle right now?"

"There's a slight delay." I leaned against the edge of a catering table. I traced the rim of an empty crystal champagne flute with my index finger. "I have a question for you."

"Ask."

"You said you wanted to marry me," I stated. "Does that still count?"

Silence hung on the line. The faint background noise on his end completely vanished.

"Are you drunk, Diana?"

"I am perfectly sober."

"You're marrying Miles in less than two hours."

"Miles just left the venue to rescue Emma from a sprained ankle."

A low, dark chuckle vibrated through the speaker. "The tragic orphan strikes again."

"Are you going to answer the question, Miller?"

"Marriage is a permanent contract," he warned. "You don't get to use me to make your little accountant jealous and then run back to him tomorrow."

"I don't want him back. I want a husband who actually shows up."

"Where are you?" Miller asked. His voice dropped, shedding all traces of humor. It became sharp, focused.

"The Grand Plaza."

"Give me twenty minutes."

He hung up.

I lowered the phone and looked up at the massive floral arch. The white roses looked beautiful. Expensive.

Miles thought he was going to come back to a desperate, weeping fiancee. He thought I would swallow my pride, put on the white dress, and smile for the cameras while he texted Emma under the table.

I smiled.

"Sarah!" I called out across the room.

The planner hurried back over. "Yes, Miss Diana?"

"Change the name cards on the head table," I instructed. "Take Miles's name down."

Her eyes widened. "Take it down? But... whose name should I put up?"

"Miller Cross."

Sarah opened her mouth, closed it, and quickly scribbled the name onto her clipboard.

I turned toward the staircase leading to the bridal suite. It was time to put on my dress. I needed to be ready when the real groom walked through those doors.