"Zoe, sweetie,don't touch that—"
"Did anyone see where I put my mimosa?"
I'm perched in the center of the large space on a barstool in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows, held captive by two women from my favorite salon who’ve come to do my hair and makeup. One of them carefully works a large-barrel curling iron through my hair while the other applies soft blush to my cheekbones.
All around me, the comforting chaos continues. Voices overlapping, laughter punctuating instructions, the organized warmth of a dozen women preparing a bride for the day she's been dreaming about.
My wedding day.
I had only the slightest bit of nausea this morning, and now it's long passed. A small mercy, and one I'm silently grateful for as I sit still and let myself be transformed.
Mom perches on a nearby chair, her own hair and makeup already complete. She looks lovely, so elegant and pampered, it makes my throat tight. Her silk robe matches mine, and her eyes are soft as she watches the proceedings. Every few minutes, her gaze finds mine. She doesn't say anything. She doesn't have to. The quiet pride on her face says everything.
Across the room, Tasha is a vision in wine-colored silk, the autumn-hued gown we chose together draping her curves beautifully. She's also, at this moment, engaged in negotiations with a three-and-a-half-year-old terrorist.
"Zoe Marie Lopez, if you don't stop spinning, you're going to knock over Aunt Avery's makeup—"
"But I'm aprincess!"
"You're a princess who's about to be demoted to court jester if you don't stand still."
I laugh behind my hand, and Tasha gives me an eye-roll. Zoe's flower girl dress—dusty rose, frothy and precious—flares as she twirls anyway, her black patent Mary Janes gleaming in the filtered morning sunlight. Tasha catches her mid-spin, hoisting the squealing hellion onto one hip.
Near the breakfast spread, Eve and Kat have their heads together, champagne flutes in hand, their voices low and conspiratorial. Eve catches me looking and her grin sharpens, mischievous and amused.
"We're just discussing how Nick's going to react to the honeymoon lingerie pieces," she says, not bothering to lower her voice. "I'm taking bets on whether he makes it through the first night without tearing them off you."
"My money's on no," Kat adds, giving me a wink. "That man has 'feral' written all over him, especially where you're concerned."
A flush warms my skin even as I laugh. "You're both terrible."
"Terribly accurate," Tasha agrees, raising her glass to the others.
Lita is sprawled across the chaise near the windows, already dressed for the wedding in a sleek black dress that shouldn't work with her rebellious hair color but somehow does. She looks incredibly pretty, which I'd never say to her face because she'd murder me.
"For the record," she announces to no one in particular, "I still think we should've done the bachelorette party. There's an all-male revue in Atlantic City that comes highly recommended."
"We'll do something after," Tasha says, shifting Zoe to her other hip. "When things are more settled."
Lita snorts. "Define 'settled.' Because between the near-death experience and a surprise pregnancy, I'm starting to think 'settled' isn't in this crew's vocabulary."
Her list is missing one more item: secret elopement. But that's something I'll share with her another day. For now, I just want to sink into the comforting familiarity of having all these women close to me while I prepare for this day.
I catch Lita's eye and shake my head, laughing. It feels good to be able to smile after everything that’s happened these past weeks. Today, all of that is behind me. I’m only looking forward now.
In the corner of my vision, Serena's team from House of Delaire moves like an elegant pit crew. Yuki adjusts the gown on its padded hanger, while at the same time Clara and Sofia prepare the steamers. Serena stands apart from her team, overseeing, her signature blonde bob sleek and perfect even at this early hour.
She catches my eye. A subtle gesture: Can we speak?
I nod.
When I rise from the barstool, the makeup artist makes a small sound of protest, but Serena's already moving towardthe quieter corner near the hallway, and I follow. The noise continues around us—Zoe's giggles, Eve's laughter, Lita calling for more mimosas—but this moment feels separate from the happy buzz of activity. Solemn.
"Avery." Serena's voice is measured, professional, but something softer runs beneath it. "I need to say something before we go any further today."
I wait.
"What happened with Nadiyah—" She pauses, her slender jaw tightening almost imperceptibly. Remorse dims her gaze. "She was my employee. I should have sensed something was wrong with her, and I didn't. The fact that you were put in danger because of someone under my supervision..." She meets my eyes directly. "I'm deeply sorry."
