Page 123 of Rush

Lover

The morning arrives—and so does the weather. Perfect. A clean, endless sky without a single cloud.

Wedding day.

In Philippa’s suite, the bridal party readies itself—Avery, Sienna, and me. My sister stands at the center of it all like a queen, her chestnut hair swept into a sleek twist, her gown cascading around her in waves of tulle, silk and lace. Tiny beads shimmering in the light. She looks elegant like something torn from a bridal editorial.

Avery fusses with Philippa’s veil while Sienna adjusts her neckline in the mirror. I stand near the window, staring out at the gardens, smoothing the silk of my dress and sipping a mimosa—because God knows I need it.

I’m not even sure why I’m nervous. It’s not my wedding. But I don’t want to do anything that might fuck it up.

Our dresses are stunning—champagne satin that shimmers. Simple but elegant. Off-the-shoulder, cut just right to make us all look like ethereal goddesses. Not my usual style, but standing beside Philippa dressed like this…we look more like sisters than we ever have before.

“Elena, stop fidgeting,” Philippa says without glancing at me, a teasing lilt in her voice.

I smirk at her reflection. “Hard not to when I’m stuffed into this thing like a prize turkey.”

Sienna snorts. “Please. You look hot and you know it.”

From across the room, Avery chimes in, “You know who’s looking hot this weekend?”

“Who?” Sienna asks, blotting gloss in the mirror.

“Broderick.”

My breath catches mid-sip.

“If you’re into that sort of thing.” I cough, trying to recover.

Cool. Casual. Not jealous.

“That sort of thing?” Sienna scoffs. “Elena, you need your eyes checked. The man was sculpted by the gods.”

If only she knew how divine his sculpted dick felt inside me yesterday.

Philippa catches my eye in the mirror—a knowing glance. No judgment. Just a quiet warning.

“I mean, yeah…I guess. Never really noticed,” I say with a shrug.

“Oh, come on, Elena,” Avery groans. “It’s been, what, almost two months since things ended with Alexander?”

The sound of his name strikes something in me, a chord I can’t unhear.

“Time to move on, sweetie,” Sienna says, reapplying her lipstick. “Unless you were serious about being a lesbian with Riley.”

“Avery, Sienna—leave her the fuck alone,” Philippa snaps, not even looking up as the makeup artist dusts powder across her face.

They both recoil. The queen has spoken.

I shoot her a grateful look. She winks back, and it warms something small and tender in my chest.

Our relationship has made strides these past few days, and for all the drama we’ve weathered, it feels like we’re finally in a good place.

I narrow my eyes at Avery, but she just sips her champagne, smiling coyly behind the flute.

Bitch.

“Alright, ladies.” Yasmin’s voice floats in from the hall, clipboard in hand, all business as usual. “It’s time.”