best friend Nina froze with a hairpin between her fingers.
I met Celeste’s reflection in the mirror. “I like it,” I said.
Celeste tilted her head. “Of course. It is your day.”
The words were sweet. Her mouth was not.
At the church, she rearranged the memorial table twice. During family photos, she pulled Victor away because “Dad’s side needs him.” When the photographer asked for a portrait of just the bride and groom, Celeste stepped into the frame and laughed, “One with the original woman in his life first.”
Victor gave me an apologetic squeeze.
“She is just emotional,” he murmured.
I wanted to believe him. I wanted the day to pass without a scene. So I swallowed each small humiliation the way brides are expected to swallow discomfort: quietly, beautifully, without staining the dress.
By the time we reached the reception hotel, I was tired in a way champagne could not fix.
The ballroom waited at the end of a long corridor lined with cream walls and gold sconces. Beyond the double doors, I could hear plates clinking, guests laughing, the band testing a cymbal. The coordinator, a woman named Elise with a headset and the calm of a surgeon, arranged everyone for the entrance.
“Parents first, then bridal party,” she said. “Newlyweds last. You two pause at the doors. I give the signal. The sparklers go up. You walk straight through to the dance floor.”
Victor nodded. “Got it.”
He looked handsome in his black tuxedo, nervous and bright-eyed. For a moment, despite everything, I remembered why I had said yes to him.
He was the man who brought soup to my office when I worked late during tax season. The man who learned my grandmother’s old card game because she could not remember the rules but loved dealing the cards. The man who kissed the scar on my wrist from a childhood fall and said every mark on me deserved tenderness.
He took my hand.
“Almost done,” he whispered.
“Almost started,” I corrected.
He smiled, and for one fragile second I believed the worst of the day was behind us.
Then Celeste appeared from behind a column.
She had changed shoes. Her hair had been loosened from its clip and now fell over one shoulder in polished waves. In the dim corridor, she looked less like a guest and more like someone waiting for a cue.
“Victor,” she said.
Elise glanced at her clipboard. “Family entrances already happened.”
Celeste ignored her. Her eyes stayed on Victor.
“You promised me.”
Victor’s smile fell so quickly it frightened me.
“Celeste, not now.”
“Yes, now.” Her voice shook, but not with sadness. With anger. “Dad should have walked me into a room like this someday. He should have danced with me. He should have seen one of us have a beautiful night without pretending the empty chair does not exist.”
My fingers tightened around Victor’s.
“We honored him at the ceremony,” I said softly. “The candle, the photo, the reading—”
Her eyes cut to me.
“I was not speaking to you.”
The coordinator drew a breath. “We need to keep moving. The guests are waiting.”
Celeste stepped closer to Victor.
“She gets the white dress,” she said. “She gets the photos. She gets the song. She gets the name.
