She smoothed her palm down the full, silky skirt of her dress, eyeing herself critically in the mirror. Today was a very important day, and while she was always concerned about her appearance, she had to look perfect now.

The dress fit like a dream; the bodice accentuated all the right things, including the breasts she had always been, if truth be told, a little insecure about. The skirt was full and light, swinging gracefully about her legs and making her think of Grace Kelly. She'd put up her hair in a simple bun, to which Mercedes had affixed the veil, a few stray tendrils framing her face charmingly.

Rachel smothered a sigh as she looked around her. They were situated in a small room in the Lima City Hall building, the girls wearing the bright pink dresses, the boys wearing tuxes with matching pink flowers in their lapel. She couldn't help but smile at their beloved, beautiful faces.

The McKinley High School Glee Club, the people who loved her the most in the world, with the exception of her dads, of course. Two of their number were missing—one was the groom, who was waiting with the justice of the peace in the main room.

The other…

She swallowed hard, thinking of the explosive argument she'd had with Quinn Fabray only a week before in the bridal shop. Quinn had looked stunning in her simple pink bridesmaids dress, one of the reasons Rachel had chosen them, but her views of this wedding weren't nearly as rosy.

"I won't stand by while you ruin your life by marrying Finn Hudson!"

Rachel didn't like to think about what had happened next, the heated, hateful words exchanged. She'd accused Quinn of wanting Finn for herself, of not really being her friend, of being the same Head Bitch in Charge she'd been sophomore year. Rachel Berry, who was by no means a calm person, had never been so angry or said such things in her life.

Quinn, clearly hurt, hadn't said anything in her defense. She'd simply looked at Rachel with wounded, tear-filled eyes, turned smartly on her heel, and left.

They hadn't spoken since then, although Rachel ached to apologize. She just wasn't sure how to start, nor did she understand why Quinn's passionate pleas had left her with such strange, wild emotions. The way Quinn had looked at her, as if…as if…

Well, as if she'd have liked to grab Rachel by she shoulders and kiss her, almost.

She barely stopped herself from jumping out of her skin when Brittany gently took her hand. "Come on, Rachel," she said, with her usual sweet smile. "It's time."

The others followed her and Brittany out of the room, leading her to the double doors opening on the main hall. Hiram and Leroy stood there, both looking resplendent in the elegant tuxedoes Rachel had picked out for them. Brittany took her place by Santana, while each of Rachel's fathers offered her an arm.

"Ready, button?" Hiram asked, and Rachel, pushing all thoughts of Quinn aside, nodded.

"Ready," she said.

First, her friends—all in pairs: Kurt and Blaine, Tina and Mike, Santana and Brittany, Mercedes and Sam, Sugar and Rory, with Puck pushing Artie in the wheelchair in the rear—followed by Mr. Schue and Miss Pilsbury. Rachel hadn't intended to have them in the ceremony, but when she'd seen the Glee club gathered around her as she got ready, it seemed wrong not to have Will Schuester there, too.

The Berry family was halfway down the aisle when the sound of high heels clacking frantically against the marble floors made them pause, turn. A wild-eyed blonde woman, who Rachel recognized as Quinn's mother, was framed in the doorway, her features twisted in a blind panic.

And, somehow, in that moment, Rachel knew.

"Oh, God." Rachel breathed, her knees giving out. "Mrs. Fabray? Judy? Judy!"

Calling her name for a fourth time, stumbling out of her father's grasp, she got to the woman, who was by now sobbing hysterically. She framed Judy's face between her hands, gently urging her to focus.

"Quinn—Quinn's been in a car accident," Judy sobbed, gripping the doorway so tightly her knuckles were white. "She's—she—"

Even though she had felt it the moment her eyes had fallen on Judy Fabray, the word that came next still wrenched Rachel's world apart. She had started screaming before Judy even said it, before Judy herself had fallen apart, sinking to her knees and tearing at the blonde hair which was so like Quinn's had been.

"She's dead!"

She was aware, in that tiny sliver of herself that was not absolutely shattered, of a pair of male arms around her. It could have been any of a number of boys—Finn, one of her fathers, Mr. Schue, who had been only a few feet away from her upon Mrs. Fabray's entrance—but it didn't matter. Rachel couldn't feel the man's embrace, couldn't hear the words of solace he was surely pouring in her ear.

Nothing mattered except Quinn was dead. Quinn. Quinn!

Rachel didn't know she was screaming the name, didn't know she had torn the veil out of her hair and the engagement ring off her finger, flinging them both away from her. Quinn's last words, the way she'd begged Rachel not to go through with this, were echoing like gunshots in her head.

And then, through the fog, a question came to her mind. She looked up at Judy, who was also wracked with sobs, and asked, "Why did you come here?"

The woman struggled to compose herself enough for speech. "My Quinnie would have wanted me to," she managed. "She loved you all so much."

Behind her, Rachel could hear the rest of the Glee club, all mourning Quinn. She realized the person holding her was Kurt Hummel, who was looking at Judy with the strangest mixture of grief and understanding on his face.

"There's something more, isn't there?" he asked softly. "Something about Rachel."

Twisting in his arms to look more closely at his face, Rachel gaped at him. "What are you talking about?" she asked. "Do you know something?"

Kurt, saying nothing, simply nodded at Judy. Rachel turned back to the woman, who, to her complete shock, was holding out a letter.

"There's more of them," Judy said. "A whole box of them. I—the police found this one on the passenger seat of her car, and the box was hidden in the glove compartment."

A whole box of letters? Rachel's mind was reeling, the world around her tilting and swirling dangerously like a whirlpool threatening to pull her under. A whole box of letters, from Quinn Fabray to her?

Why?

It was two days after the disastrous attempt at a wedding, two days after Rachel Berry had received the singlehandedly most devastating news of her life. She sat on her bed, a simple little box, made from oak and carved with what appeared to be—Rachel blinked tears away—gardenias, in front of her on the bed.

Quinn's funeral was in three hours.

She couldn't bring herself to read any of the letters, although she had opened and closed the lid of the box several times, staring at the packet of letters, bound with what appeared to be the ribbon from Quinn's prom corsage.

Had she figured it out? Had she known that the lovely, unassuming corsage hadn't been Finn's idea at all—but Rachel's?

Rachel had always been fascinated by flower lore, what each blossom and bloom meant. She thought that flowers having their own meaning, almost their own language, was a beautiful, archaic idea, something Audrey Hepburn or Rita Hayworth would know.

Gardenia's meant secret love.

Looking back now, over the past three years, it was all too clear to Rachel why that particular flower had sprung to her mind when she thought of Quinn. She gripped the box with both hands, barely resisting the urge to fling it across the room. She was so ashamed of herself, of how stupid she had been—her, who had grown up with two gay dads, for God's sake, who had watched Brittany and Santana go through the very same thing right in front of her eyes.

She was in love with Lucy Quinn Fabray.

"Oh, God," she whimpered, tears streaming down her face. "Oh, Quinn."

Rachel remembered the frisson of heat she'd felt, every time Quinn had grabbed her arm or brushed too close; the way her heart fluttered in a sweet, painful agitation when she caught the scent of Quinn's perfume. She particularly remembered that day in the bathroom—not the violent, then strangely tender, scene at prom, although that was memorable as well—but the day a few weeks ago, when Quinn had revealed, beaming with pride, that she'd gotten into Yale.

The hug.

It was the first time Rachel had just impulsively hugged anyone except her fathers like that, and—oh. Quinn's arms had come around her, snug on her waist, their bodies had been pressed together, the feel of Quinn's silky hair against Rachel's cheek.

How had she quelled that swell of fire in the pit of her stomach? How, looking back, had she stopped herself from kissing Quinn?

She had wanted to. It was both easier and harder to admit it to herself now, hindsight being twenty-twenty but regret biting at her heart, that she had wanted to very much.

Rachel opened the box, grabbing the letter on top, the one that had been in the passenger seat next to Quinn. Surely, it didn't matter now…even if Quinn was alive, she wouldn't want to be with Rachel…

Dear Rachel,

Don't marry Finn. I'm begging you with every fiber of my being, don't marry Finn Hudson. Choose me. Choose me instead, Rachel. I want to be with you. I love you—always have, always will, no matter what you decide. I'll be there for you…

They were all like that, all of them. Whimpers and sobs rose in Rachel's throat as she ripped the envelopes open, her hands shaking so badly she could barely read the words in the other girl's neat, pretty script.

I've done so many things in my life to be sorry for, but one of the worst things I've ever done is act like I don't care about you…

You're so beautiful. I know you want to be like me, but I only want to be like you. Not just for how you look, but for who you are. You're so brave, Rachel…

I dream about you all the time, the way things could be if I struck up the courage to tell you the truth, if I was lucky enough that you felt the same way…

Sobbing, Rachel shoved the box away from her, deaf to the dull, heavy thump it made against the carpet. She curled up in a ball, gathering her pink coverlet to her chest, wishing she could just wrap herself up in pillows and blankets and just never come out of her room again.

"Oh, Quinn," she said again. "Quinn, Quinn, I love you!"

"Rachel…"

She shoved the gentle hand on her shoulder away. "Leave me alone!"

"Rachel, honey, it's time to get up…it's your wedding day!"

She sat bolt upright, startling Leroy and Hiram to the point that Hiram, bearing a tray of tea and fluffy chocolate chip pancakes, stumbled backward, almost spilling breakfast all over the floor.

Casting her gaze around the room, Rachel realized that the little oak box, which should have been on the floor with its contents spilled out around it, was gone. Her heart pounding in her throat, she dared to ask, "W-where's Quinn?"

Her fathers looked between her and each other with surprised. "Quinn Fabray? We don't know, sweetheart—"

"Her number is in my daybook," Rachel said, holding out her hand pleadingly. "Get it for me, please."

Leroy grabbed the book off the desk and handed it to his daughter. Without her needing to ask, they backed out of the room as she dialed Quinn's number with shaking fingers.

"Q-Quinn?" she gasped when the girl answered.

"Rachel? What's the matter?" Quinn asked, her voice sharp with worry. "Are you—?"

"I'm calling off the wedding," Rachel said. "I—I can't do this—I—Quinn…I…"

Very gently, so gently it made Rachel's eyes prick with fresh tears, Quinn said, "Are you in love with me, Rachel?"

"Yes," Rachel breathed, unable to censor herself. "Yeah, I am."

Across town, Quinn Fabray, gripping the phone so tightly with one hand that her knuckles were white and her fingers ached, closed her eyes with relief. Thank you, God, she thought. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

"Good," Quinn blurted out, and smiled helplessly when Rachel laughed. "Good—I—I love you, too. Rachel…you know, I looked it up, and Yale and New York aren't that far away from each oth—!"

Her voice died in her throat as she wondered whether or not Rachel really wanted this. What if she wasn't ready to be in a relationship? What if she was put off by Quinn's eagerness? What if—?

"We'll have to set up a visitation schedule," Rachel was saying, in her usual brisk, bossy manner, and Quinn could have wept for joy. "It wouldn't be fair to one if she had to drive or take the train more than the other, you know."

"Okay," Quinn said, laughing. "That' fair."

As Rachel began to get into planning mode, Quinn wound the phone cord around her wrist, allowing herself to become lost in the familiar, beloved sound of Rachel's voice. Turning her head, she reached out with her free hand and lightly touched the vase of gardenias she'd taken to keeping by her bed for the past few months.

There had been a part of her for years, the part of her strangled and beaten and berated by the upright Christian girl her parents had raised, that had known her true feelings for Rachel Berry, but it wasn't until prom last year that she'd allowed herself to really be true to them. She'd known from the start that Finn was too much of a blockhead to ever pick out something as beautiful as that corsage, and the more she thought about it, the more it seemed like it had been Rachel's idea.

And when she'd done her research on the elegant blossom that had adorned her wrist that night, something had come undone in Quinn, and she'd felt simultaneously free and terrified.

Secret love.

Well, it wasn't a secret anymore, at least.

"Quinn?"

"Oh—I'm sorry, Rach, what were you saying?"

Rachel laid out the plan again, and Quinn smiled. "That sounds…perfect," she said. "It sounds absolutely perfect."