Chapter seventeen
The Next Day
Earlyafternoonlightpoursinto Marisol’s suite in long ribbons of gold.
Her room occupies the corner of the castle’s east wing, a sprawling space meant for royalty and, apparently, now repurposed for bridal chaos. Two walls of floor-to-ceiling windows overlook the gardens below, where hedges form careful geometric patterns and a gravel path winds to the chapel.
The glam squad arrived an hour ago and have transformed the sitting room into a command center. Curling irons warm on marble trays. Makeup palettes lie open like tiny artist studios. Racks of dresses stand along one wall, silk and chiffon catching the light whenever someone passes.
Marisol sits in the center of it all.
Her robe is ivory silk embroidered with small flowers along the collar. A hairstylist works a curling wand through her dark hair while another kneels beside her with a tray of pearl hairpins arranged in careful rows.
Over by the wardrobe, her wedding gown hangs alone on its rack.
The dress is pure fantasy. Ivory silk fitted through the bodice before exploding into layers of floating tulle. Hand-stitched blush and pale-blue flowers trail along the train, catching the light each time the fabric moves. A seamstress stands nearby, steaming the skirt with the care usually reserved for museum pieces.
Or, a Disney princess wedding.
Marisol always said if she waited long enough to marry Julian Monroe, she was going to do it properly. Seventeen years apparently qualifies as long enough.
The rest of us orbit around her. The supporting cast in a particularly glamorous production.
Miranda inclines against the window, sipping coffee while scrolling through her phone. Lupe sits in a makeup chair nearby while a stylist blends soft color along her cheekbones. Véronique studies her blue gown in the full-length mirror.
Sera and Soleil claimed the velvet sofa near the balcony doors. It’s a throne built for two. The girls watch themselves in the mirror propped on the wall as a stylist stands behind them weaving their dark curls into intricate braided crowns.
“This is the best day of my life.” Soleil is practically vibrating with excitement.
Sera rolls her eyes. “It’s Mom and Dad’s wedding.”
“It’s our wedding too,” Soleil declares with absolute certainty.
Marisol laughs, barely turning in her chair. “You’re not wrong, my sweet girl. I’ve been planning this since before you were born. Now we’ll all finally get to experience it.”
The stylist lifts a small dish of glittering pins. “More sparkles?”
“Yes,” the twins answer in perfect unison.
I glance over from the window with mock surrender. “Elegantsparkles.”
The girls beam like royalty as the first glinting pin disappears into Soleil’s braid.
I sit beside them while someone finishes spritzing the soft waves in my hair. My freshly-steamed dress hangs beside the twins’, a blush-colored gown with a flowing skirt and matching ballet flats.
Pausing for a moment, I simply take it in. Everything carries a quiet kind of joy. Laughter rises and falls around me, familiar voices weaving together.
Gratitude settles quietly in my chest.
Life doesn’t often slow down enough for all of us to be in the same place at the same time. Work, cities, flights and responsibilities scatter everyone in different directions. Gatherings with all five of us are rare.
Yet here we are. My oldest friends. Their families. The twins who have grown up so fast they’re suddenly old enough to stand beside their mother on her wedding day.
Marisol and Julian have taken an unconventional path to get here. Seventeen years of love, arguments, children, and life before finally deciding to throw the wedding they always joked about. We’re joyfully witnessing a love story we all helped write.
I’m proud to be here for this moment and the chance to stand beside my best friend while she finally gets her princess day.
Not to mention the unexpected gift the past few days have given me.
