She wore a white mid-thigh A-line satin dress with a scoop neckline and an open back. I bought it months ago on a whim and never found the occasion. My hair fell in soft waves that brushed my shoulders. The makeup was simple: mascara, lip gloss, a little blush to hide how pale I’d gone in the past hour.
I looked like a bride.
I felt like a fraud.
Two days in Vegas. Two days of cheap champagne and wandering the Strip, pretending this was exactly what we wanted. That eloping in secret was romantic. Spontaneous. Perfectly us.
And it was.
So why did my chest feel like someone had filled it with concrete?
I pressed my palm flat against my sternum. The pressure didn’t ease. Somewhere below Owen was waiting.
My phone buzzed against the vanity.
Owen: You ready to become my wife?
A smile tugged at my lips despite everything. I could picture him down there, pacing, probably driving the chapel coordinator insane with his nervous energy. He’d been vibrating with excitement since we landed, like a kid on Christmas morning.
I stared at the message, thumb hovering over the keyboard.
Yes, I wanted to type.Yes, I’m ready. I’ve been ready for years.
But different words appeared on the screen.
Harlow: I love you. I can’t wait to be your wife.
I hit send. Then, before I could stop myself:
Harlow: Are we doing the right thing? Eloping like this?
The three dots appeared immediately. Then disappeared. Appeared again. Disappeared.
My heart stuttered. Owen never hesitated when he texted—he was the kind of person who responded in complete sentences within thirty seconds, no matter what. The fact that he was struggling to find words meant something.
The dots appeared again, lingered, then vanished entirely.
I set the phone down. My hand trembled.
Turning back to the mirror, I studied my reflection. The woman looking back was about to make the biggest decision of her life in a city built on impulsive decisions and neon dreams.
Without her family. Without her sisters. Her best friends.
My eyes burned. I blinked rapidly, refusing to let the tears fall. I’d already done my makeup. I wasn’t about to redo it because I couldn’t keep my emotions in check.
I picked up my phone again, scrolling past Owen’s thread to a different contact.
Syn.
My thumb hovered over the call button.Just tell her. She’s your best friend. She’ll understand. She’ll be happy for you.
But would she? Would any of them understand why we chose to do this alone, why we robbed them of the chance to be there for one of the most important moments of my life?
A knock on the door made me jump so hard I nearly dropped the phone.
My heart slammed against my ribs. Owen? Had he come up instead of waiting? Had my message freaked him out enough that he needed to see me in person?
I crossed the room on unsteady legs and pulled the door open.
