The stylist hesitates. “Are you sure?”
I nod once. Firm. Final. “I’m sure.”
They gather their kits and leave, heels clicking away, the door shutting softly behind them. The room exhales. Silence settles, thick and private.
Vivian moves immediately, stepping behind me. “Let me help you with the dress.”
Her hands are gentle as she smooths the fabric down my back, adjusts the waist, fixes a barely-there crease that doesn’t need fixing. When I lift my eyes, our gazes meet in the mirror.
She smiles—but it’s careful. Searching.
“You’re not the type of woman to accept something like this without a fight, Sienna,” she says. “It’s making me wonder why you’re so…quiet about it.”
I laugh, light and easy, the kind that convinces people.
“It’s an alliance,” I say. “I owe it to my family.”
The words taste flat. Necessary.
I hate that I’m lying to her. Vivian has held my hair while I cried. She has seen me furious, reckless, and heartbroken.
But this truth isn’t for sharing.
This one is mine.
She studies my reflection a second longer, then nods. “Okay.” She smooths the dress over my hips again. “It’s beautiful.”
“Yes,” I agree.
There’s a knock at the door.
“Come in.”
Aunt Isla, the closest relation I have to a mother, enters the room. I really don’t like to think about my mother, especially since I lost her very young, but in moments like this, I miss her so much. If she were here, none of this would have happened.
Aunt Isla, my father’s youngest sister, looks radiant in silk and diamonds, joy softening her sharp features. She looks at me like this—fully dressed, composed—and her smile widens.
“You look perfect,” she says. “Everyone’s waiting.”
“Give me a few minutes,” I reply.
She nods, satisfied, already turning back toward the celebration. The door closes behind her.
Vivian sits on the edge of the bed beside me, the mattress dipping slightly. We sit in silence for a moment, the distant sound of voices and music floating up through the walls.
“You know,” she says quietly, “marriage doesn’t always have to be a cage.”
I look at my reflection again. Calm. Immaculate. Unreadable.
“No,” I say. “Sometimes, it’s a stage.”
She laughs softly, missing the edge beneath my words.
“Come on,” I say. “Let’s go.”
Together, we leave the room.
The moment I step into the backyard, the air changes.
