Chapter 142 145

Chapter 142 145
“Ma’am?” I turn to find one of the hotel managers giving me a polite smile. “You’re here for the Hargrove wedding, I presume?”

I resist the urge to correct her. Hargrove-Lawrence wedding. My sister deserves equal billing.

“I want to see the bride before the ceremony,” I tell her.

“Oh, I’m afraid that won’t be possible—”

“I’m her sister.”

“Oh,” the manager says, her brown eyes going wide. “Olivia Lawrence?”

I nod. “That’s me.”

She smiles politely. “Well, then, please follow me.”

I breathe a sigh of relief. I’d half-expected to be informed that Mia had no desire to meet with anyone while she was getting ready.

As we ride the massive, golden elevator up to the seventieth floor of the hotel, I feel a stab of sadness.

I should have been with Mia from the moment she opened her eyes today. I should have been the one organizing things for her, helping her get dressed, telling her that nerves were just par for the course. We should’ve been sharing champagne and giggles and tears and hope, and then I should’ve been right at her side while she said “I do” to the love of her life.

Instead, I’m arriving an hour before the wedding, ensconced at the very bottom of the guest list, worried that Mia might order me to get the hell out the moment she sets eyes on me.

The manager holds the door open. I step through.

The room beyond is massive and luxurious, which I expected. What I’m not expecting is to see so many other women flitting around.

Mis is sitting on a round, white-cushioned settee that’s almost completely hidden underneath the layers of her lace wedding dress. A flock of assistants scurry around her, fussing with her hair and her dress and her makeup.

There’s so much going on that Mia doesn’t see me at first. But I don’t mind that. I want to be able to look at her—admire her—before I have to figure out what to say.

The dress is elaborate. The lace runs up her hands and snakes up her neck, revealing only little flecks of skin here and there. The bodice is tight-fitting at the torso before flowing out into a perfect A-line skirt that’s worked through with more of the fine, shimmering lace. Her hair is an intricate weave of silky tresses, held in place with pearly clips.

As I move forward, the women part naturally. Mia’s eyes lock onto mine. She looks surprised to see me here, but she hides it behind a smile.

“Livvy.”

“Mimi,” I say with a genuine smile. “You look absolutely beautiful.”

She glances down at herself. “You don’t think it’s too much?”

“Is there such a thing on your wedding day?” I ask.

She gives a little giggle. It strikes me that I’ve never actually seen her like this—so completely and utterly happy. It betrays the fact that she’s been waiting for this day for a long time, despite the whole “independent woman who don’t need no man” spiel she used to give me when I was younger.

“Can I get you anything, dear?” an older lady asks.

She’s a big woman, but she’s sheathed herself in a gorgeous dress that glistens when she moves. Her hair is shot through with a fashionable gray.

“I’m good. Thanks, Aunt Marisol,” Mia says before turning to me. “Marisol, this is my sister, Olivia. Liv, this is Donald’s aunt.”

“By marriage,” Marisol adds with a wink. “It’s why I’m clearly so young.”

“Of course,” I say with a polite smile.

“You are certainly a stunner,” she says, giving me a critical once-over. She turns back to Mia. “I didn’t even realize you had a sister.”

I try to let the comment roll off my back. Especially since Marisol is looking at me once again with a teasing little twinkle in her eye.

“How old are you, darling?” she asks. “Twenty, twenty-one?”

“Twenty-five,” I say self-consciously, aware that more and more of the women milling around are paying attention to this conversation.

“Mm,” she says with a conspiratorial nod. “I know at least three very eligible young men who are going to be in attendance at the wedding. I can introduce you to them afterwards.”

My answer is immediate and instinctive: “I’m married.”

Mia’s eyes go wide. I see the ripple of displeasure scathe across her features. She looks away from me immediately when I try to meet her gaze.

“Married?” Marisol exclaims. “Really? So young?”

“It’s… new,” I say, blushing.

“Well,” she hums, “he’s a lucky man.”

Thankfully, someone calls to Marisol just then and she walks away, clucking impatiently. I, for one, am intensely relieved.

I wait for some snide jab from Mia, but she surprises me by patting the empty space next to her. She has to move her dress to make room for me, but I manage to sit down without stepping on her hemline.

“The dress has a train,” she tells me. “It’s ten feet long.”

“Whoa.”

She laughs again. “I know. But the plans were so elaborate. I just felt like the dress needed to suit the occasion.”

“Good call.”

A couple of little girls run past. They’re all wearing blush pink dresses with full skirts. Each one has a little flower crown resting on their heads.

“It’s going to be a big entourage,” she explains, following my eyes. “I have ten flower girls and eleven bridesmaids.”

I cringe at the mention of bridesmaids. She notices immediately because she turns to me with a sad little sigh. “I would have asked you obviously,” she says. “But with everything going on—”

“Say no more,” I say quickly, mostly to keep myself from breaking down. “I understand.”

She nods. “The two little ones over there are twins. Maxine and Caroline. They’re the youngest of the flower girls.”

“They’re all Donald’s relatives?” I ask.

“It was my idea,” she says, sounding slightly defensive. “There was no one from my side of the family that I wanted in the wedding party.”

I wince again, though I do my best to hide it. Mia is looking elsewhere and doesn’t notice this time.

“Most of them are Donald’s nieces or grandnieces. A couple of cousins, godchildren, that kind of thing.”

I nod. “You’ll make a beautiful group walking down that aisle.”

“I’m nervous.”

For good reason. It’s not a very gracious thought, but I can’t stop it, and I feel instantly guilty for thinking it.

At the end of the day, I want Mia to be happy. Safe and happy.

But if it comes down to one of the two, I think I’d prefer her to be safe.

I scan the room again. The flower girls are clustered in the corner, all of them twittering with excitement and giggles.

All but one.

The one in question is older than the others, but not quite old enough to fit in with the bridesmaids. She has a somber expression on her face. A kind of distance in her eyes, a weariness way beyond her years.

She looks up and meets my gaze, then glances away again just as quickly. She’s a beautiful young woman. Fourteen, maybe. Her eyes are light, either blue or green, I can’t quite tell. She gazes forlornly out of the window while the rest of the wedding party circulates around her.

She looks as though she’d rather be anywhere else.