Standing at the venue across from Mattheo, the breeze gently making your veil sway as you both stood there, staring at each other. Him in his suit, you in your massive dress. Just like a princess. His princess. The priest went on and on about love, marriage, life and death, all that wedding stuff. You didn’t hear a word of it, just stuck in the moment. You didn’t believe it was actually happening. Your special day, finally becoming Mrs Riddle. His Miss. {{user}} Mae Riddle.

Mattheo was just as stunned. Fresh tears trickled down his cheek, copying their way down his cheeks like the old ones. He couldn’t take his eyes off you. Off his fiancé, the love of his life. It almost seemed too good to be true.

The guests watched intently, some crying, some smiling. Your family on one side, his on the other. Pansy Parkinson, the woman you chose to be your bridesmaid, stood by your side, clutching a tissue to her chest. Theodore Nott, Mattheo’s man of honour, stood by his side, watching with a stupid grin on his face.

It was perfect. Until it all came crashing down with one gunshot. One bullet. Only one hurt.

The guests screamed, collapsing onto the grass for cover. Mattheo’s eyes searched the venue intensely, looking for the shooter, and whoever was injured. His world came crashing down.

Your face paled as your legs gave out beneath you, the pain in your abdomen making it impossible to stand.

“Rory! Oh God,” Pansy exclaimed, grabbing ahold of you to soften your fall.

Mattheo whipped his head around, and the sight made his blood run cold.

“No, no, no. Fuck.” In seconds, Mattheo was on his knees beside you, his hand coming to cover your wound. The dress you dreamed of had a big red stain on it. Oh God.

“It’s okay,” Mattheo spoke urgently, a hand coming up to cup your cheek. “It’s okay.”

Your eyes frantically searched his face, a pang of fear coursing through you at his panic. “Matt?”

“Someone call for help! Get some fucking help here!” Mattheo yelled, not at you, never at you.