All of it.
The walls pressed closer with each passing second. Noise became a dull roar in her ears, words tangling into one long, indecipherable stream. Lace scratched against her ribs where the bodice cinched too tightly, and heat prickled beneath her arms. She felt like a doll being prepared for a display instead of a bride about to walk into her own forever.
She wanted Tate.
Just Tate.
His eyes that calmed her. His smile was the one that always pulled her back from the edge. The way his presence was steady when the rest of the world spun like a carousel around her.
The past few months had blurred together in a dizzy whirlwind—endless fittings, caterer consultations, decisions about flowers, vows scribbled then torn apart and written again. Add to that the ever-present shadow of the media, the way strangers always seemed to think they had a right to peer in, to pry. Security had been hired to keep reporters away, and still Nettie felt as though the eyes of the world hovered just outside the doors.
This day was supposed to be private. Intimate. A celebration of love and family and belonging. But it had become a balancing act, dozens of plates spinning high overhead, and Nettie could almost hear one of them beginning to wobble precariously, about to fall any moment now.
Her throat tightened.
She couldn’t do this, not one second longer.
“I need air,” Nettie said suddenly, her words tumbling out too fast, brittle as glass. “I need to get out of here.”
Shannon gasped as if Nettie had suggested eloping with the cake instead of her groom. “Whaddya mean?” she blurted, her voice pure Shannon—half scolding, half dramatic, and loud enough to hush the room. “Um, I hate to be the one to tell you this—but your trot down the aisle happens in T-minus-five minutes and you cannot muss up your hair, makeup, or have pit-stains from the heat.”
“It’s June,” Gina said, horrified, as though Nettie had just confessed to wearing sneakers under her dress. “You’ll melt.”
“Your dress is white—your pits need to be too,” Shannon added, her voice sharp with that familiar bossiness that could stop a stampeding team in its tracks. “You stay put.”
“I’m gonna pass out,” Nettie managed, panic rising like water in her lungs. “I can’t breathe. There are too many?—”
“I got this,” Shannon cut in, her tone snapping like a whip. And before Nettie could blink, Gina took her cue.
“EVERYBODY OUT—NOW!”
Her voice was a battle cry, a banshee’s wail, and in an instant the whirlwind of attendants scattered, the room clearing so fast Nettie could almost feel the air rush back into the space.
Shannon crouched in front of her, sharp eyes locking onto hers as if she could will her friend back into focus. Gina grabbed the nearest pamphlet and began fanning Nettie with the grace of a southern aunt at Sunday service.
“Look at me,” Shannon demanded, snapping her fingers an inch from Nettie’s face. “Right here. Breathe. Breathe…”
Nettie latched onto Shannon’s gaze, trying to drag oxygen into her lungs. The gown felt too heavy, her bouquet slick in her trembling hands.
“I’m nervous,” she whispered, voice cracked and raw, tears burning behind her eyes. A tide of sadness surged up out of nowhere, pulling her under. “I’m nervous that my dress is wrong, that all of this is wrong, and I wish my Gigi were here right now to see me marrying Tate.”
Shannon’s expression softened instantly, her sharp edges melting. “I know,” she said gently. “I know you miss her, but this is your moment. Your happily ever after you’ve wanted for so long and…”
“But we didn’t need a big wedding like this to be happy.” The words came out choked, desperate. It was the truth clawing its way free. This was a show, a spectacle, an event, but in her mind, heart, and soul – she was already Tate’s wife.
His chosen soulmate – and he was hers.
“Um,” Gina interjected, lifting one finger like she was about to school them both. “I know you might not need it—but my brother does.”
That snagged Nettie’s attention. Her gaze flicked to Gina, who had lowered herself carefully beside her, silken gown pooling around her like ripples of champagne.
“He’s all about recognition,” Gina said, voice steady but warm. “About making sure people know his intentions, his wants, his needs—and one of them is to give you the wedding you’ve always dreamed of, because it means a lot to him.” Her eyes softened, her voice catching just a little. “My brother loves you with everything in him. He would do anything for you, just to see you smile. And this wedding—it isn’t about him, or the dress, or even the cake. It’s about giving you a moment to celebrate what you have together. Your relationship. Your ups and downs. Your everything. And how you’ve somehow managed to find each other despite all the challenges you’ve faced along the way.”
Tears pricked Nettie’s lashes. Her throat ached.
“I just want this to be over,” she whispered, raw with nerves. “I want Tate—and that’s it.”
“And Tate wants to see you smile or he will lose his mind – and nobody wants that on your special day,” Gina said softly. “So, push your fear down. Take a moment to enjoy yourself and all of our planning. And honor my brother by letting who you are shine when you walk down the aisle to him. You are his girl, his wife, his Sticks – remember?”
