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A blanket was draped over her, tucked around her shoulders with care, and for one blissful, disorienting moment, Ali considered closing her eyes and sleeping until tomorrow. Her body still felt heavy, like it hadn’t quite caught up to itself yet.

“Hey,” Charlotte whispered, nails trailing across the back of her neck and the base of her hair in a slow, grounding sweep.

Ali jolted, eyes fluttering open, fighting the sleep that clung to her. Her mouth moved, mumbling something altogether unintelligible.

“You didn’t answer my texts,” Charlotte said, no immediately detectable note of the fury Ali half-expected. “It’s time to get ready for the rehearsal dinner.”

“Whattimesit?” Ali mumbled, propping herself up on one elbow and rubbing at her eyes.

“We’ve got about fifteen minutes before we need to leave,” Charlotte said, already moving toward the closet and pulled out the dress Ali planned to wear.

“Fif—fifteen!” Ali shouted, jolting fully awake, limbs flailing as she tried to extricate herself. “What happened to the rehearsal?”

“You were sleeping so good. I couldn’t wake you up,” Charlotte murmured, passing by with Ali’s shoes in hand.

Ali swung her legs over the edge of the bed, heart thudding. The morning came back to her all at once, raised voices, tight faces, and tension thick enough to choke on. She stumbled to her feet and moved to the bathroom, scrubbing her face under cool water.

“I’m sorry,” Ali said, the words slipping out before she could stop them.

“For what?” Charlotte asked from the closet.

Ali stared at the bathroom counter, at what had once been her perfectly organized makeup bag and was now just… chaos in the form of polished metal, bright plastic, and labels blurring together.

“Everyone’s mad,” she said, the cap on her internal anxiety loosened, letting it seep through. “Everyone’s fighting. I keep thinking maybe I should’ve minded my own business and not followed Victoria. But then I think it needed to come out. But did it have to come out at the wedding? Then this morning, I just threw a grenade into brunch and left. Now we’re going to be late. You hate being late.” Her words sped up, breath shortening, struggling to find anything. “And I need you to know I’m actually chronically late unless it’s important or work-related. But you’re important, so I try really hard. When you aren’t around, I set like six alarms!”

Her eyes stung as her fingers fumbled through the bag.

“Fuck,” she muttered. “Which one of these is mascara?”

Charlotte’s hand appeared in her field of vision, calm and steady, plucking out the mascara and a tube of dark green eyeliner.

“No, I can’t wear colored eyeliner,” Ali blurted, trying to grab it back. “I’m trying to be classy.”

Charlotte lifted it out of reach and fixed her with a look, one hand coming up to grip Ali’s jaw, holding her steady.

“Listen to me.”

Ali’s mind went quiet. Just like that.

“Families fight,” Charlotte said.

“But—”

“No.” Charlotte’s tone softened but didn’t waver. “Listen. My family fights. We get loud. Sometimes, we yell. That doesn’t mean we stop loving each other.”

Ali searched her face, looking for doubt, for frustration, for blame but she didn’t find any.

“None of what’s happened the last two days is your fault. You hear me?”

She could see the lingering pain, a mix of blame and guilt swimming in those ocean eyes. But after last night she suspected it was mostly directed inward.

“It’s not yours either.”

Charlotte shook her head, her hand falling away. “I should have seen it. I should have protected her.”

“You couldn’t have known,” Ali countered, fighting the urge to grab Charlotte’s hand and glue it back to her face. But she learned, when Charlotte was feeling vulnerable she needed to be the one to initiate contact. “You’re not psychic.”

“I knew her,” Charlotte said, a hard edge lining her tone. “Every version. I knew what she was capable of. And then with you… I should have done better.”