A/N: So I hated how Breaking Dawn ended. Big time. This is my take on it. It's my first story so be gentle. I would love critism though; it helps you become a better writer. So please comment. Anything written in italics comes straight from Breaking Dawn, which I do not own. Nor do I own any of the characters.

This chapter is mostly the wedding in Breaking Dawn, but stick with me. This chapter might suck but (fingers crossed) the next few will be better.

"Easy, Bells," Charlie said. He turned to Alice nervously. "She looks a little sick. Do you think she's going to make it?" His voice sounded far away. I couldn't feel my legs.

"She'd better." Alice stood right in front of me, on her tiptoes to better stare at me in the eyes, and gripped my wrists in her hard hands. "Focus, Bella. Edward is waiting for you down there."

I took a deep breath, willing myself back into composure. The music slowly morphed into a new song. Charlie nudged me. "Bells, we're up to bat."

"Bella?" Alice asked, still holding my gaze.

"Yes," I squeaked. "Edward. Okay."I let her pull me from the room, with Charlie tagging along at my elbow.

The music was louder in the hall. It floated up the stairs along with the fragrance of a million flowers. I concentrated on the idea of Edward waiting below to get my feet to shuffle forward. The music was familiar, Wagner's traditional march surrounded by a flood of embellishments.

"It's my turn," Alice chimed. "Count to five and follow me."She began a slow, graceful walk down the staircase. I should have realized that having Alice as my only bridesmaid was a mistake. I would look that much more uncoordinated coming behind her.

A sudden fanfare trilled through the soaring music. I recognized my cue. "Don't let me fall, Dad," I whispered. Charlie pulled my hand through his arm and then grasped it tightly.

One step at a time, I told myself as we began to descend to the slow tempo of the march. I didn't lift my eyes until my feet were safely on the flat ground, though I could hear the murmurs and rustling of the audience as I came into view. Blood flooded my cheeks at the sound; of course I could be counted on to be the blushing bride.

As soon as my feet were past the treacherous stairs, I was looking for him. For a brief second, I was distracted by the profusion of white blossoms that hung in garlands from everything in the room that wasn't alive, dripping with long lines of white gossamer ribbons. But I tore my eyes from the bowery canopy and searched across the rows of satin-draped chairs—blushing more deeply as I took in the crowd of faces all focused on me—until I found him at last, standing before an arch overflowing with more flowers, more gossamer.

I was barely conscious that Carlisle stood by his side, and Angela's father behind them both. I didn't see my mother where she must have been sitting in the front row, or my new family, or any of the guests—they would have to wait till later.

All I really saw was Edward's face; it filled my vision and overwhelmed my mind. This wasn't right. The whole day I had felt something was wrong, and walking down the aisle I realized, it was my groom. Edward shouldn't be standing at the front of the room. It should be Jacob.