Mom didn’t get on the plane. No sign of her.
My chest caved in. The night air suddenly felt thin, like someone had vacuumed it straight out of me.
Orla leaned over to read it. She didn’t say anything, just slid her hand up to the back of my neck and held me there, reassuringly like she always did.
“She promised,” I muttered, bitterness scraping my throat. “She swore this time was different.”
Her thumb brushed along my jaw softly. “Ty…you can’t carry that weight tonight. You hear me? Tomorrow’s ours.”
I let out a noise that resembled a laugh, my forehead dropping to hers. Christ, she deserved so much better than me standing here, unraveling over the same old wounds.
“I hate that I believed it. Even for a second.”
“You believed it because you wanted to,” she whispered. “We all did. That’s not weakness.”
We just stood there under thenavy-black sky for a while, the cool stone at her back, her warmth pressed into me. Every part of me wanted to drag her upstairs, superstition be damned, and hold her all night. Instead, I kissed her like it was the only thing tethering me to solid ground.
“Go on,” I finally rasped. “They’re waiting. I’ll be here tomorrow.”
Her eyes searched mine, shining. “Promise me you won’t let her ruin this for you.”
I swallowed, nodding. “Promise.”
She gave me one last kiss, then slipped away, leaving me cold against the wall. Alone now, with nothing but the stars overhead and that hollow ache in my chest.
Tomorrow, she’d walk toward me in the dress she’d chosen and I’d be damned if I let anyone, especially my past, steal that from me.
Chapter 65
Orla
The morning lightspilt through the tall windows of the bridal suite pale and golden, cascading against the stone walls, catching on the vases of flowers and ribbons that seemed to have multiplied overnight. The place looked like a bomb had gone off in a florist’s. Champagne flutes, half-drunk and lipstick-stained, cluttered the table by the window. Garment bags hung from every hook. My dress,thedress, waited in pride of place, gleaming amid the chaos.
My stomach twisted so tightly I wasn’t sure if I was going to cry or throw up. Probably both.
“Would you look at her?” Gwen’s voice cut across the room. She was already zipped into her ivory bridesmaid dress, hair flawless, phone in hand like she was running a military op. “She’s got that bridal glow. Any second thoughts, Orla Bloody Reed? This is your last chance to leg it.”
Kate gasped from the armchair, a flute of orange juice balanced in one hand, her bump rounding beneath a silk robe. “Gwen, don’t say that! Anyway, they’re already married, she wouldn’t get far. She looks like an angel.”
I laughed, nerves bubbling up like champagne. “An angel about two seconds from vomiting all over her own shoes.”
“Don’t you dare,” Kate warned, eyes wide. “It took me ages to find those.”
Their laughter quelled the feeling in my stomach, just a little. I glanced back at the gown and exhaled slowly. I was finally about to get the moment.
My makeup was finished, soft and glowy, my hair had been swept into a sleek low bun. Tyler was used to seeing me bare-faced and undone, so it felt right to meet him as a more polished version of me today. The girls carefully helped me into my dress, the three of us barely breathing until that final button was done up.
“Okay,” Gwen said, too smug to be trusted. “I’ve got something for you.”
I arched a brow. “Should I be worried?”
“Not from us,” she said quickly, grinning. “We were under strict orders to hand this over once you were in your dress.”
From behind her back, she produced a small velvet box and passed it to me with all the reverence of someone handling crown jewels. Inside, nestled against silk, was a pair of pearl-and-emerald drop earrings that stole my breath.
“Oh…” My fingers trembled as I lifted them, light catching on every facet. “They’re stunning.”
“Wait,” Gwen said, sliding a folded note into my hand. “There’s a note.”
