Page 69 of Only Be Mine

She wrapped a towel around my hair and patted it dry. “So,” she said gently, “do you know how you’d like it styled?”

I opened my eyes and met my own gaze in the mirror - bare, damp, and undecided.

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “Something simple, maybe.”

Simple felt safe. Invisible. Like I could disappear into the day and let it pass over me.

Amy hesitated, then straightened like she’d made a decision.

“No,” she said immediately, arms folding across her chest. “Absolutely not.”

I sighed. “Amy…”

“You can’t just do something simple, Cate. Trevor’s family will never approve,” she continued, undeterred. “His mother will have a coronary.”

I pressed my lips together. Apparently, I wasn’t just marrying Trevor. I was marrying his family’s expectations. Traditions. A standard I hadn’t agreed to but was expected to meet anyway.

“Well then,” I said carefully, “what do you think?”

Her face lit up, delighted by the invitation. “Up,” she said instantly. “Elegant. With a few loose tendrils. Soft curls. Romantic but polished.”

The stylist smiled and began blow drying my hair. Once dry, she curled it, then carefully gathered it up, twisting and pinning it loosely. She angled the mirror so I could see.

I tilted my head, studying the woman looking back at me.

She looked… composed. Finished. Like someone who knew exactly where she was going.

“I don’t know,” I said softly.

The stylist released the pins and let my hair fall free again, dark waves settling over my shoulders. “It really depends on the dress,” she said. “What’s it like?”

“It’s full length,” Amy began. “Spaghetti straps and…”

“Amy,” I said gently, reaching for her hand. I reminded myself to breathe. “I can do this.”

She hesitated, then nodded, squeezing my fingers once. “Okay. I just want it to be perfect.”

So did I.

I just wasn’t sure whose definition of perfect we were chasing anymore.

Chapter 25

Cate

March - Ten Years Ago

Giving up my apartment felt bigger than it should have.

I stood in the doorway one last time, keys heavy in my palm, staring at the bare walls like they might accuse me of something if I left too quickly. I told myself it was practical - why pay rent when I was already spending every night at John’s? But practicality didn’t explain the tightness in my chest.

I could always get another apartment, I reminded myself.

That thought followed me as I packed the last box. As I loaded it into my car. As I carried it into John’s house and set it down beside his things.

Our house.

I told my mom. My sister. Amy. Friends I hadn’t spoken to in months. Every call ended the same way, with laughing disbelief, warm congratulations, and some variation of What took you so long?