I’m on top of it all. But inside, I am fraying. Because this is so clean. So orchestrated. So phony that it sets my teeth on edge. I’m almost ashamed I ever wanted this life.
Moments later, Alexis has lost one shoe the way my boys do sometimes.
“How do you lose one shoe?”
“I don’t know. Find it,” she says, half-interested.
As soon as I find the shoe tucked beneath the floor-length curtain, Candy has started crying for no identifiable reason.
“Honey, what’s going on?”
She sniffles. “I don’t know.”
“I can’t help if you won’t tell me?—”
“Wedding jitters.”
I frown. “You’re not getting married.”
“I thought everyone in the wedding party could get wedding jitters.”
“Not to my knowledge,” I tell her slowly. “What’s actually bugging you?”
“I don’t like the makeup the stylist did.”
“And you thought if you cry and ruin it, they’ll have to do it again?”
She smirks a little. “Maybe.”
“Just tell them you want something else, Candy. They don’t care. They’re getting paid to be here.”
“Oh.” She straightens and wipes her face. “Really?”
I nod. “Go on, take one of their stations. They’ll be right with you.”
“Okay.” She smiles, no sign of crocodile tears to be found.
I’m halfway through a cleansing breath when Brie whispers, “Do you think she knows?”
“Knows what?”
“About…everything.”
Everything? “What’severything?”
“Oh. You don’t know.” She goes from whispery gossip to a polite smile. “Never mind. You’re doing great.”
It sounds like a warning. And I realize something slowly, uncomfortably. This isn’t just a wedding. It’s a lie. All of it. The façade of perfection, the behind-the-scenes bullshit Brie just hinted at, the caked-on makeup, the blown-out hair. Every inch is a performance, like we’re putting on a play.
Amber drifts back into the bridal suite like she owns the oxygen. She doesn’t interrupt. She doesn’t bark orders. She just hovers. And hovering is worse.
I’m standing by the mirrored vanity, adjusting Faith’s bouquet ribbon, when Amber leans casually against the counter beside me. “You look tired,” she says quietly.
“I’m fine.”
“Of course you are.” She studies my reflection instead of my face. It’s strategic. Makes it feel intimate without being confrontational. “Damian must appreciate the moment today. You should make him feel special to soothe his ego.”
My fingers still. “What?”
