The rehearsal dinner will be the last time I see him before I walk down the aisle tomorrow—my idea, not his. One night apart, to dwell and yearn before our forever begins.
With my vibrating feline in my arms, I peek into the nursery where my twins sleep, their tiny chests rising and falling in perfect rhythm. As much as I crave their warmth against me, I resist waking them.
I’m growing as a mother.
I've finally accepted help—just for the wedding. A girl named Grace will care for them over the next two days instead of burdening Jasmine, who deserves to enjoy the celebration without responsibility. After we cut the cake, Grace will whisk the boys back to the penthouse while the party continues. She will be accompanied by fourCosa Nostrahenchmen, of course.
I balance Luna against my chest as I reach into my dressing room closet for a small shoebox.
The box is mymonster.It kept me tossing and turning all night. Glancing up at the dreamcatcher suspended over our bed, I shoot it an accusatory look.
“Where were you last night? Huh?”
I sigh and head outside.
Stepping onto the alfresco, I shiver as the breeze finds its way through my silk pyjamas, raising goosebumps across my skin. The word "BRIDE" sparkles across my back in diamonds—a necessity, according to Jasmine, that makes me smile despite the weight of what I'm about to do.
The sun’s fingers tickle the horizon, the manicured garden almost backlit with pearly light.
I carry Luna and the box to the daybed on the patio—once a hard wrought-iron table and chairs, now a lounge draped in plush cushions and blankets.
“This used to be so uncomfortable,” I tell Luna, smoothingher spine with a gentle hand. She meows, padding around the cushions. “Now look at us, so comfortable.”
Sir hated comfort.
Until me…
I settle cross-legged in the centre of the daybed and position the box before me. Prepare myself. One little look. One big goodbye. My heart tightens. I bite my lower lip for courage and lift the lid. Inside, nestled against a faded cotton shirt from my first day at the mansion, is a tiny black notebook.
I draw it out, fingertips brushing worn edges. I open it. A single line catches my eye. “It’s okay, Fawn, just breathe,” I read it aloud into the still air, then snap the cover shut. “Goodbye,” I whisper, sliding the notebook back into the box.
With the shoebox tucked under my arm, I pad barefoot into Maggie’s dimly lit kitchen.
With a flick of the switch, I illuminate the space, revealing gleaming stainless steel countertops and a six-tier cake in pieces. We have been working on it for three days, and today—we put it together and decorate it.
That’s job two…
Luna trails after me, tail swishing high in curiosity and confidence. She has never gone a day without, never felt hunger, though she often actsstarved.
I press down on the pedal of the rubbish bin and let the shoebox tumble inside. Strange how freeing it feels to let go of the girl who was only a Harlow for ten years and never accepted as a Nerrock.
Soon to be Mrs Butcher.
I tap the wall-mounted tablet and navigate to Spotify, finding the wedding playlist Cassidy and Blesk compiled for me. While I enjoy music, I've never been the type to obsess over artists or albums like those two do. Still, I wantedsomething that would capture both my taste and Clay's—something refined enough to earn approving nods from the Family.
Romantic.
Classical.
Classy.
I hit shuffle. The first song to roll through the surrounding speakers isHeroesby David Bowie.
“You will be queen,” I sing along and bop my head, looking at the array of baking goodies ready to become our masterpiece.
I laugh to myself. “I might be the first bride who spends the day before her wedding finishing her own cake.” Looping the apron around my neck, I prepare. Rolling up the sleeves of my pyjamas, I line up bowls and utensils like soldiers.
Maggie appears in the doorway, her hair messy from sleep, her fists working her eyes back to life. “Sweetheart, you’re up at the crack of dawn. I know you don’t need your beauty sleep, but I do,” she teases, voice warm.
