"That's not what I asked."
I fold a sweater. Set it in the suitcase. "I'm packing. It's not complicated."
Oliver crosses the room. Sits on the edge of my bed. Right next to the suitcase. Close enough that I can smell his cologne. Something woodsy. Familiar. Safe.
"How are you?" he asks.
"Fine."
"Nell."
I stop folding. Look at him.
His brown eyes hold mine. No judgment. No pity. Just Oliver. My best friend since third grade. The only person in this world who knows every ugly, broken piece of me and loves me anyway.
"I'm terrified," I admit. "I'm marrying a man I've never seen. Moving into a house I've never visited. Becoming part of a family that could kill mine with a phone call."
Oliver nods. "That's fair."
"I don't even know what he looks like. I don't know if he's kind or cruel. I don't know if he'll—" I stop. Swallow. "I don't know anything."
"Have you tried looking him up? Social media? News articles?"
"The Sartoris don't exactly have Instagram accounts."
"Fair point." Oliver reaches out. Takes my hand. His palm is warm. Steady. "You don't have to do this."
"Yes, I do."
"You could run. I have savings. We could disappear. Start over somewhere?—"
"And leave Gianna? Claudio? Papa?" I shake my head. "I can't. You know I can't."
Oliver's jaw tightens. He wants to argue. I can see it in the way his shoulders tense. But he knows me too well. Knows that once I've made a decision, nothing changes my mind.
"Then I'll be here," he says. "Whatever you need. Whenever you need it. You call me, and I'll come."
"Oliver—"
"I mean it, Nell. I don't care who your husband is. I don't care how powerful his family is. You're my family. You always have been."
My throat tightens. I squeeze his hand.
"Thank you."
He squeezes back.
The door opens again.
Gianna stands in the doorway. Her blonde hair hangs limp around her face. Her eyes are red. Swollen. She's been crying.
My heart cracks.
"Gi." I release Oliver's hand. Step toward her. "What's wrong?"
She doesn't answer. Just stands there. Looking at the suitcase. At the clothes. At the evidence of my departure.
"You're really leaving," she whispers.
