“IT’S NOT SYMMETRICAL!”
I nearly drop the veil I’m steaming. My heart slams into my throat as I run into the bathroom, disaster scenarios flooding my brain. Fire. Blood. Torn dress.
She’s staring at her face in the mirror like it betrayed her, leaning so close her breath fogs the glass.
“My eyebrows,” she whispers, voice thick with horror. “Look at them.”
I look. They’re… eyebrows. Perfect eyebrows, actually. Better than mine have ever been.
“The left one is half a millimeter higher!” Her finger jabs at the mirror, leaving a smudge.
“Ivy. Breathe.” I step closer, gentle.
“I can’t breathe! I have 13 million followers, and they’re going to notice and—” Her chest is heaving now, eyes too bright.
“Hey.” I grab her shoulders, firm but careful not to wrinkle the robe. “Look at me.”
She does. Mascara already smudging at the corners, threatening to run. Her bottom lip trembles.
“Nobody’s going to notice your eyebrows.”
“But—” Her voice cracks.
“Know what they’re gonna notice? How happy you look. How Mason can’t stop staring at you. How freaking gorgeous this entire estate is. How beautiful you are, inside and out.” I squeeze her shoulders gently, trying to ground her.
“But the photos—” She’s still staring at her reflection, critical.
“Forget the photos.”
Her eyes widen, snapping to mine in the mirror.
“I mean—we’ll get beautiful photos. But that’s not why you’re doing this, right?” I turn her to face me properly, away from the mirror and its cruel magnification.
She’s quiet. For so long, I start to really regret yelling ‘forget the photos.’ What kind of wedding planner am I? Her breathing is shallow, rapid. Then she whispers, “I’m scared.”
“Of what?” I soften my voice, my grip.
“What if people think—” She stops, swallowing hard. Her hands are twisting in her robe.
“You of all people know better than to care about what people think. There are always going to be a few haters.” I wait until she meets my eyes. “But you and Mason?”
She smiles involuntarily when I say his name. It transforms her face, chasing away the anxiety.
“You and Mason are going to have a beautiful wedding and an even more beautiful life together.”
She inhales slowly, nodding. Her shoulders drop from where they’ve been hunched near her ears. “Thanks, Poppy.”
“Anytime.” I grin, relieved.
Something in her face shifts. The influencer mask cracks, and I see the real Ivy underneath—vulnerable, uncertain, human.
“Where’d you sleep last night?” she asks suddenly, tilting her head.
My hands freeze on her shoulders. Heat floods my cheeks. “What?”
“Dean mentioned you helped with Muffin during the storm.” Her tone is carefully casual, but her eyes are sharp in the mirror now.
“Oh. That was… nothing.” I busy myself adjusting her robe, smoothing nonexistent wrinkles.
