His eyes settle on the veil. Without a word, he crosses the three feet of linoleum and gently takes hold of my hair.
“It’s pinned,” I tell him, my voice trembling.
“I can see that, Pipes.”
“There are like a hundred of them.”
His fingers move with a dexterity that shouldn’t belong to hands that large. He locates the first pin and works it loose.
“Hold still,” he tells me.
I flinch as a pin scrapes my scalp. “Ow.”
“I’ve got it. Just breathe.”
He works with more patience than I deserve, extracting the pins one by one. I shut my eyes, leaning into the warmth of his hands because I’ve used up every ounce of my dignity, and I have nothing left to prove.
Finally, the veil comes free. He holds the cloud of white for a second before setting it on the edge of the sink.
I look at myself. Without the tulle, I just look like a woman in a wedding dress at a gas station. It’s a more honest version of the truth.
I still can’t take a full breath.
“What do you want to do, Pipes?”
The question is simple. The answer isn’t.
He’s looking at my reflection, waiting for me to catch up to my own life.
“I guess… I guess I need to go back.”
“Okay.”
“Or maybe I don’t?”
His eyebrows lift. “Okay.”
I turn to face him. He’s watching me with those steady, gray eyes. I realize then why he always carries that stillness. He doesn’t feel the need to fill the silence he doesn’t own.
“Can you just make the choice for me?” I ask, the words tumbling out. “Right now. Just tell me what to do.”
He holds my gaze for a long beat before shaking his head.
No.
Right. Of course not. Because I’m the only one who can decide. Hasn’t that been the whole problem? How long has it been since I made a choice that wasn’t a performance? I chose the “right” man and then remade my entire personality to fit the negative space around him. I called it a compromise. I called it growing up.
I start pacing. It’s a three-step-turn kind of bathroom, but I do it anyway.
“I just left my own wedding,” I say, the panic rising again. “I stood in front of three hundred people, and I ran. What kind of person does that? I’ve been planning this for eighteen months.We have a lease, Griffin. All his things are in that apartment. Allmythings are in that apartment.”
Three steps. Turn.
“Everyone was there. His mother. God, his mother is going to have a field day. She’s never thought I was enough for him, and I just handed her the win on a silver platter.”
Three steps. Turn.
“And my family… Mom is going to be devastated. She cried twice before breakfast because she was so happy.” I’m crying properly now, the tears hot and messy on my cheeks. “I should go back. I should call Ezra and explain that I just had a moment, and we should talk about this like adults, and he’s going to be—”
