She sat at a corner table overlooking the water, her robe a pale champagne silk that caught the light, her blonde hair smoothedback into a perfect twist as if the day’s events couldn’t ruffle her. A cup of coffee rested in her hands, steam curling in delicate threads, and she smiled when she saw me, serene, composed, untouched by jet lag or anything as petty as nerves.
“Morning, darling.” Her voice was the kind that made you want to lean closer. Soft. Certain. “Sleep well?”
I hesitated. Just a flicker, but it was there.
“Mostly.” I curved my lips into something that looked like a smile and prayed she wouldn’t see the truth behind it. I wasn’t about to tell her about my midnight wanderings… or the boy who’d made me wish I’d stayed locked in my room. That encounter was already sealed away, deep and private, where it would stay. “Jet lag’s still a bit of a thing.”
“Understandable,” she said with a sympathetic tilt of her head. “But you look lovely. Come, sit. I’ve ordered fresh fruit and pastries for you.”
I slipped into the chair opposite her, the sea wind brushing against my bare arms. The table was already set, bright wedges of pineapple, papaya so ripe its scent curled upward, a basket of golden croissants still warm enough to melt the butter.
We ate in an easy rhythm, her voice filling the space between the quiet clink of cutlery. She spoke with a bubbling excitement she rarely showed, her eyes catching the light when she described the hours ahead.
“The bridal suite is ready,” she announced, her voice a soft rush of anticipation. “We can head there after this. All the ladies will be joining us. It’ll be a morning of champagne, pampering, and getting ready. It’s going to be beautiful.”
Her happiness warmed me, smoothing the edges of last night’s memory. This, her joy, was why I was here. Not for strangers. Not for the flicker of danger I’d tasted in the boy’s smile.
For her.
For her new beginning.
And mine.
After breakfast, we made our way through the resort’s labyrinth of hushed corridors and sunlit terraces toward the bridal suite. The path curved along the upper level, giving me glimpses of the lagoon below, its turquoise glass surface broken only by the slow drift of paddleboards and the occasional shimmer of a diving fish.
The suite sat at the far end of a private wing, a set of double doors carved with curling vines and fitted with golden handles. When my mother pushed them open, light spilled out like water, flooding the hall and pulling me inside.
It was enormous. A sanctuary of soft ivory walls and polished hardwood, the air fresh with the crisp scent of lilies and orchids arranged in crystal vases on every surface. Floor-to-ceiling windows framed the ocean beyond, sunlight bouncing off the sea and scattering diamonds across the ceiling. The space had been transformed into a kind of bridal atelier. Makeup stations lined one side, their mirrors glowing with warm bulbs; sleek hair tools gleamed atop linen-covered counters; racks of silk and lace dresses hung in careful rows, their skirts brushing the polished floor.
“This is beautiful, Mum,” I breathed, unable to hide the awe in my voice. My eyes moved from the sweeping curtains to the delicate silver trays holding champagne flutes, each glass beaded with condensation.
“Marcus insisted.” A flush of rose spread across her cheeks, making her look almost girlish. “He wants everything to be perfect.” Her gaze caught mine, and in that moment she looked incandescent. “And it will be, darling. It truly will be.”
The words held a quiet certainty that made my chest ache.
My phone buzzed against the inside of my dress pocket.
The sound sliced through the air like a blade.
For a heartbeat, I forgot how to breathe.
It wasn’t just a notification. Not anymore.
My had slid into my pocket, dragging my phone out slightly. My gaze slid to the screen.
The number that stared back at me was too familiar.
The smile on my face faltered, almost slipped, but I caught it, forcing it back into place. My heart, though, didn’t listen. It beat too fast, too loud, a drum against my ribs.
Not now. Not here.
“Luna, darling, your dress is over there.” Mum’s voice cut through the static in my head, light and proud, waiting for a reaction.
I tore my eyes from the glowing screen, from the message waiting like a snake coiled and patient. I nodded, unable to say anything that would make her notice the tremor in my voice.
I’d read it later. When I had a second alone.
The suite began to fill. First a trickle of footsteps in the hallway, then bursts of cheerful voices. My mum’s friends arrived in pairs, the air shifting with their energy, laughter weaving into the background hum of the ocean outside. They embraced her one by one, congratulating, teasing, talking over each other with the kind of ease that comes from years of shared memories.
