Chapter 109 Chapter 109
“Too stiff.”
“Too shiny.”
“Too royal.”
“Too pageant.”
“Turn around.”
“Walk.”
“Sit.”
“Can you breathe?”
“Blink twice if you’re trapped.”
I laughed so hard I almost tripped stepping down. Dress two was worse. Dress three weighed more than a small child. Dress four made me look like decorative frosting. Somewhere around dress six, Alina’s eyes started getting glassy, and she kept pretending she had something in her eye. Tina handed her tissues without comment. Rosetta squeezed her knee.
“You’re crying already,” I said.
“I’m just hormonal with happiness,” she said.
“Sure.”
Between changes, the boys rated dresses like judges on a talent show.
“Strong start, weak finish,” Kevin said.
“You are banned from fashion,” Shea told him.
Andrew gave one dress a scorecard number, and I threw a shoe at him from behind the curtain. The room felt good even though it was loud, supportive, and zero tension. No one pushed me. No one rushed me. Every no I said was accepted immediately. Wealth made space; that was the difference I kept noticing. Nobody here needed me to pick fast. They wanted me to pick the right one.
Halfway through, Hannah came in quietly. She slipped into the back of the room without announcement and gave me a small wave when I noticed her in the mirror. Neutral Hannah was observing. At least she was being honest; she didn't hate me, nor did she like me. She was in the middle, and I didn't think she would try to create problems.
“You came,” I said when I stepped down.
“I wanted to; I’m sorry. I know what I did and said in the past was wrong; I just…” she trailed off.
“That’s okay,” I said, and she almost smiled.
While the others were arguing over sleeve length, she stood beside me at the mirror.
“You’re good for him,” she said quietly.
“For Zaiel?” I asked.
“Yes,” she said with a sigh.
“How?”
“He rests differently; he’s more like the brother I grew up with and not the cold CEO and distant brother,” she said, and that surprised me more than praise would’ve.
“Thank you,” I said quietly.
She nodded once, then went over and sat with her mother. I guess she wanted to say it before the wedding. Dress nine made the room go quiet—not loud quiet, but real quiet. The kind where people leaned forward instead of talking. I looked at myself and didn’t say anything.
This dress wasn't the one, but it felt close to the one. Like standing near the right answer without touching it yet. Alina pressed her fingers to her mouth.
“Oh,” Aunt Rosetta whispered.
Michelle sat down slowly, which was dramatic for her. I stepped down after a minute and changed without asking for opinions. My heart was beating too fast, and I needed space from mirrors. Mara helped unhook the back.
“You’re circling it,” she said gently.
“I felt that too.”
“We’ll keep going.” She said with a smile.
“Yes.”
We took a lunch break inside the salon: tiny desserts, fruit trays, and sparkling drinks. Nobody wanted to leave the momentum bubble. The cousins replayed their favorite disasters. Damon ranked the worst dresses. Kevin tried to steal a macaroon tower and got caught. Alina held my hand again while I sat beside her.
“You’re happy?” she asked softly.
“I am,” I said.
“Good. That’s all I wanted,” she said, patting my hands.
“You aren’t worried about style?” I asked cautiously.
“I raised a son with taste,” she said. “He picked you. I trust his judgment.”
I laughed. “That was emotional logic.”
“It was correct logic,” she said.
The second round went faster and cleaner. My reactions got sharper. My no came quicker. My "yes" lasted longer, and then one dress went on. When I looked up. I didn’t say a word, didn’t smile, and didn't make any jokes. I just took a deep breath, and I guess the entire room felt it. No one said anything for almost ten seconds; I guess they understood this was it.
Alina started crying for real this time; she wasn't pretending. Aunt Tina cried with her, and Aunt Rosetta wiped both their faces like a professional.
“Okay, yes,” Shea whispered. Michelle just nodded slowly, like a verdict delivered.
Hannah gave one small approving tilt of her head. I stepped down and touched the fabric once, grounding myself.
“I’m not deciding today,” I said softly.
Mara smiled. “You don’t have to.”
But I knew; I already knew. And I wanted the knowing to stay private a little longer. Because when I walked toward him in it, that was when it became real. Not here and that made the secret feel sweet. The wedding week didn’t feel real. It felt like someone pressed fast forward on my life, and I was trying to keep up while smiling for pictures and pretending I wasn’t low-key overwhelmed half the time. Not in a bad way. Just… everything was happening at once. The house move was done, my dad was settled in, wedding planners basically lived in my phone, and Alina had entered what Michelle called ceremonial general mode.
Which meant nobody was allowed to breathe incorrectly around her color palettes. I was currently sitting cross-legged on the floor in our living room surrounded by invitation samples, seating charts, and ribbon swatches that all somehow looked identical but apparently were extremely different in the wedding world.
Zaiel was by the window reading emails like he always did in the mornings, coffee in one hand, tablet in the other. The sunlight hit him in that unfair way that made him look like he belonged on magazine covers instead of arguing with security directors and corporate boards.
“You’ve been staring at that same ribbon for the last ten minutes,” he said, not looking up at me.
“I’m comparing the shades.”
“They’re all white,” he said.
“They’re different whites,” I retorted.
“That sounds fake,” he said.
“It isn’t. One is pearl white, and one is ivory.”
“That sounds like marketing,” he said.
I threw the ribbon at him, and he caught it without flinching. He finally looked at me and smirked; he was trying not to laugh.
“You’re stressed,” he said.
“I’m focused.”
“Same thing in your language,” he said, and I rolled my eyes. “You’re stealing my lines now,” he said. He came over and crouched down in front of me, picking up a stack of seating cards and flipping through them slowly like he was reading a novel instead of guest placement politics.
“You put Andrew next to Damon,” he said.
“Yes, why? Shouldn't I?"
“They’re going to start a betting pool during dinner,” he murmured.
“They’re going to do that even if they’re not together,” I said with a sigh.
He set the cards down and brushed my hair back behind my ear in that absentminded way he had started doing lately. Like touching me had become muscle memory.
“You were happy yesterday,” he said quietly.
Dress shopping, the memory hit warm.
“I was,” I admitted.
“Mom cried?” he asked.
“Multiple times. She called me her daughter again.”