Caroline turned to me then.
“Holly,” she said turning to me. “Thank you. For… everything.”
For once, I had to force my voice not to wobble.
“You’re welcome,” I said. “You look incredible.”
But it was the brooch pinned on her dress,the brooch, that made my breath catch. She wore it fully aware of the storm it had caused. She understood the history threaded into its surface, the decades-old love story hidden beneath the diamonds, the secrecy and heartbreak it had carried through generations.
And still she chose to wear it, not out of obligation, but with a deliberate respect.
As the morning light caught on the brooch, it felt less like an heirloom and more like a piece finally returning to its story.
“You’re glowing,” I said honestly.
She touched her stomach. “I feel a bit sick.”
“That’s completely normal.”
Caroline laughed, her face relaxing into a smile.
Cleo poked her head in. “The photographer’s ready for the dress shots. He’s pacing like a man one coffee away from a meltdown.”
Luca Valentino floated around Caroline like a stylish hummingbird, snapping shot after shot with breathless reverence. Dress hem. Veil drape. A close-up of her eyelashes “for texture.”
I took that as my cue to slip out of the bridal suite when Luca disappeared completely into what he called his “artistic flow.”
Groom’s suite next.
Always the wild card.
Halfway down the corridor I could already hear voices through the door, muffled bickering, something falling over, someone groaning dramatically.
So… typical groom energy.
I knocked once.
“Come in!” Elaine called warmly.
Of course she was in there.
The woman was the human equivalent of a soothing cup of tea. If anyone could keep a room of panicking men from burning the place down, it was Elaine Quinn.
I pushed the door open.
James stood in front of the mirror, wrestling with his bow tie like it was a hostile creature trying to attack him. His suit jacket was already undone, his hair slightly mussed, and a sheen of absolute terror coated his forehead.
“I swear,” he muttered, glaring at his reflection, “this thing fit a few days ago.”
Elaine stood behind him with her sewing kit open on the desk beside her and a thermos of tea at her elbow. Her outfit was simple and neat, a pale green dress, tiny gold pendant she always wore, with a simple matching fascinator. No pearls. No diamonds. No airs. Just… style.
“James,” she said gently, with the patience of a saint, “if you tug that thing any harder, it’ll snap, and we’ll have to glue it on.”
“I’m sweating,” he protested.
“You’re nervous,” she corrected. “And also sweating, yes, but that’s normal. Sit, sweetheart.”
He obeyed instantly. Elaine’s powers were unmatched.
