Chapter 2

Three a.m. Something in the living room wakes me up.

I crack the bedroom door open an inch.

Willa is curled up on the couch in one of Sean's white dress shirts, bare legs tucked under her, sipping a glass of warm milk. Sean is crouched on the floor in front of her, rubbing her foot.

"Princess. How many times do I have to tell you. Don't walk barefoot on the tile."

"You call me at midnight saying your foot hurts, I tear across town like a maniac — you remember we have a big day tomorrow, right?"

Willa giggles and snuggles deeper into the cushions. "Awww. Tomorrow I get to call you husband. I'm allowed to be a little nervous."

Sean flicks her forehead. "Call me whatever you want. Go to sleep. I have to head back and get ready."

She tilts her head. Blinks up at him.

"You came all this way. Aren't you gonna check on my sister?"

"She threw up in the bathroom for an hour today. She's not okay with this, Sean."

His step falters.

"She's fine," he says flatly. "She's not as soft as you. She'll throw up, she'll get over it."

"And she's running point on the whole wedding tomorrow. She knows the venue better than anyone. Let her sleep."

He reaches over and tweaks Willa's nose.

"You. Stop worrying about other people. You're the bride tomorrow. Bed. Now."

Willa laughs and swats his hand. "Okay, okay. Go, go."

I stand behind the door. Watching them. And all I feel is sad. And ridiculous.

Six months ago, Sean and I had just gotten engaged.

My parents weren't happy with the wedding fund he'd offered. They wanted more.

They told me to go squeeze Sean for it.

I said no. I screamed at my dad in the kitchen.

He took off his belt and beat me with it. Beat me until I couldn't stand up.

That night was late too. Just like this one.

I couldn't take the pain. I called Sean.

He listened. Then he said, "You know how your folks are, baby. They want money, I'll send it. Just don't fight them. I'll come get you tomorrow."

Tomorrow.

I lay on the bathroom floor in my own blood until sunrise.

He never came.

Because I was never the one he'd tear across town for at three in the morning.

I'm about to slip back to bed when Willa's voice rises again.

"Oh — and we have to thank my sister for putting this whole wedding together! Isn't she a saint?"

I freeze.

"She picked champagne gold as the main color. But you talked her into blush pink for me. Sean — it's literally my dream wedding."

Sean's voice goes soft. "As long as you love it."

My chest twists. Hard. Right where I thought it had finally stopped hurting.

For three months I ran around this city. Every wedding planner. Every florist. Every venue. I did it all.

Then one night Sean said, casual, "Pink would suit a wedding better, don't you think?"

I stayed up till dawn redoing the whole color scheme.

I thought he was just being sweet. I thought I was making my groom happy.

Turns out —

The whole wedding was someone else's show.

And I'm not the bride. I'm not even a guest.

I'm staff.

Tomorrow's job: greet the guests, manage the timeline, keep everything running. Smile. Don't make a scene.

I walk back to bed. Numb. Lie down.

Willa's laughter drifts through the wall. Muffled. Soft.

I can't get it out of my head.