“You did good,” Cammy tells him. “Really good.”
Shawnie appears with a champagne flute. “For the bride,” she says solemnly. “You don’t have to drink it if you don’t want to, but you do have to hold it. That’s the rule.”
“Is this an American rule?” I ask.
She pretends to think about it. “It’s a wedding speech rule.”
To the left of me, the guys have descended on Scottie like a flock of extremely large, questionably house-trained birds. I catch snatches of their voices over the girls reminiscing about the ceremony details. I’m trying not to eavesdrop, but I can’t help it.
“—did you see Luka’s face when—”
“—I give it three weeks before you’re actually in love—”
“—I still have money on him crying during the first dance—”
Scottie is batting them away, cheeks flushed, but there’s no sharp edge to it. No real desire to escape. He’s surrounded and yet somehow not trapped.
That’s the difference, I realize. It’s subtle but enormous.
My father uses people like walls—to box you in, cut off exit routes, crowd you until you can’t breathe without his permission. Everything is enforced, perfectly guarded, andcompletely controlled. The way my grandfather taught him. I’m happy Luka got out. I wouldn’t want that life for him.
Here, the crush of bodies and noise doesn’t feel like a cage. It feels like a net—something that catches you when you fall, not something that cages you in and never lets you free.
“Alright,” Juliet says, materializing again. “Everyone, get food. We’re doing toasts in twenty, first dance after that, no one spills anything on the bride, or I will kill you all.”
“And she’s not kidding,” Peyton agrees.
Plates appear as if by magic, laden with roasted vegetables, chicken, something involving pasta and cheese that smells like heaven. Someone pushes a chair in behind me, and I sit without protesting, because my feet are starting to ache in my shoes, and adrenaline is finally loosening its grip on my spine.
Irina slides into the seat beside me, her eyes still a little red. “I stayed back to make sure that Juliet didn’t need any help. I just got back. Did I miss anything?”
“No, nothing yet,” I tell her.
“Good,” she says, blowing out a breath and then relaxes just a little. “You looked so freaking beautiful today.”
“So were you,” I reply. Her bridesmaid dress is a simple, deep green that makes her eyes look brighter, her hair twisted into an elegant knot at the nape of her neck. “I’m glad you came.”
“Of course I came,” she says, like it was never a question. “I would sooner have thrown myself in front of your father’s car than let you do this alone. Plus, your brother paid for my flight. I couldn’t turn that down.”
A laugh escapes me, choked and surprised. It dissolves quickly, replaced by a sting behind my eyes.
I blink hard.
Irina’s expression softens. “You’re okay?”
I look around the room.
At Scottie, laughing so hard at something Trey said that he has to brace a hand on the bar. At Luka, arguing with Wolf about whether vodka belongs near the wedding cake. At Peyton and Cammy and Vivi, leaning in close together, their smiles easy, their bodies angled unconsciously toward me like I’m already part of their circle.
Everywhere I look, I see people who chose each other and chose to be here for a fake wedding with a bride that no one knows.
Not because of debt. Not because of alliances. Not because of what they could gain.
Just because they wanted to be here. To support Scottie… to support me.
“Yes,” I say slowly. “I think… I think I am.”
For the first time in a long time, the thought of tomorrow doesn’t tighten my throat. The thought of next month, next year—even if I can’t see what they look like yet—doesn’t feel like a sentence.
