I drop my things on the armchair and head to the bathroom, where I turn the shower dial as hot as I can bear. Memories take over, my mind reminiscing of the ways Othello had me hemmed up against this very wall, breaking my back in while his hands gripped my neck.
I shudder at the thought, wishing he were here to give me what I want and need right here and now.
I will miss this shower. And that bed. And that dresser. I will miss how he holds me at night after he rocks my body to sleep with his five-star lovemaking.
I finally step out of the shower, after a good wash, and wrap my hair in a plush white towel. I’m tying the hotel’s complimentary robe around my waist when a sharp sound cuts through the quiet of the suite.
Knock. Knock.
I’m thinking Othello left his key card until I open the door and see Collette standing there, dressed in an elaborate lavender gown with beading and off-shoulder sleeves.
Her posture is straight and commanding, hands clasped in front of her. With her striking silver hair sculpted into flawless Hollywood waves, she looks entirely regal and gorgeous.
Fashion icon.
“Hey, Collette,” I greet in surprise and confusion.
“Marley,” she says properly. “I didn’t mean to disturb you. But do you mind if I come in?”
“Not at all.” I step aside, letting her in and clutching my robe tight.
“Is everything okay? I mean, I heard what happened, but I thought you’d be at the reception.”
“The reception is still being prepared,” her eyes briefly scanning the room before settling back on me. She doesn’t take a seat. She remains standing, her hands still clasped. “We weren’t exactly anticipating an afternoon with no ceremony and no bridal photos.”
My shoulders drop. “Oh, I’m sorry that happened. I know how much this day meant to you, and how excited you were to watch Carina get married.”
“I am a woman who thrives on predictions and flawless execution. To be thoroughly surprised by circumstances completely out of my control...it's a humbling reality. But that’s not what I came to discuss. I felt it was necessary to tell you in person.” She pauses. “The truth is... I owe you an apology."
I blink. "An apology? To me?"
"To you," she admits, a faint, sad smile touching her lips. "When I found out about the arrangement between you and Othello, I shut down on you. I was hurt. I felt handled. And because I have spent the last 40 years of my life masteringcontrol over every outcome, I did what I always do. I shut it down."
“You had every right. And I can’t apologize enough. What I did was so out of character for me. That’s not who I am.”
“I believe you,” she nods with that same grin. “Besides, Othello wouldn't let me think otherwise.”
“What? What do you mean?”
“We talked earlier today. He told me how he’d started the lie out of panic and why you wanted to keep up the charade. He also let it be known that you aren’t a dishonest person, just someone who made a bad decision.”
My heart smiles at this.
“I’ve spent so long trying to curate the perfect narrative. I’ve been doing it pretty much my entire life. With my career, the magazine, and God help me, I’ve been doing the same thing with Carina and this wedding. When you're a mother, you spend so much time trying to protect your children from making mistakes that sometimes you forget they are supposed to become their own people. Separate from your vision."
Is this what my mother was doing? The question hits me like a physical blow. Is she forgetting I’m my own person? Confusing her vision with my own.
I am all too familiar with the suffocating weight of an overbearing mother. I spent my entire life having my choices anticipated, my mistakes managed, and my boundaries completely ignored. And every time, I had resented my mother for it, labeling her control as selfishness. But hearing it from Collette shifts the perspective. Maybe my mother isn’t trying to erase me. Maybe she is simply blinded by her own protective fear, forcing her own dreams onto a canvas that was never hers to paint.
“I have no clue what it’s like to be a mother, but I get it. I do. And I appreciate you coming here to talk to me.”
Collette arches an impeccable eyebrow, looking me over from my towel-wrapped hair down to my bare feet.
“I assume you’re getting ready for the reception. Or perhaps you were planning on making a very bold style statement tonight?”
We laugh, the sound bright and unexpected. The gesture alone fills my heart and proves that the storm has passed and we are back on good terms.
“Oh, no,” I admit with a sheepish smile. “I was getting ready to binge-watch Love is Blind and order room service.”
