Chapter 3 - The Private Dressing Suite
The corridor behind the ballroom was cooler than the main floor, and the carpet swallowed the sound of my heels. I kept my hand low on my belly as I walked, not because I needed support, but because I needed to feel him move. He did, once, a slow roll under my palm that made my throat tighten.
A waiter passed with a tray of champagne and did not look at me. That was a mercy. I could feel the damp on my lashes and knew my mascara had to be smudged. The music from the ballroom followed me, muffled now, strings over the low hum of conversation. Somewhere behind me, Mason was still out there. Dancing.
I saw the small brass sign — Dressing Suite — and turned the handle before I could talk myself out of it.
The room was empty and too bright after the warm dim of the ballroom. A long mirror with bulbs around it, two velvet chairs, a garment rack pushed to one side, someone's clutch left on the counter. The smell of hairspray and clean towels. I stepped inside and turned the lock. The click was louder than I expected, and I stood there a second with my forehead almost against the door, listening to make sure no one had followed.
No one had.
I moved to the counter and set both hands down on the cool surface to steady myself. In the mirror, I looked like someone who had tried very hard to look untouched. Long blonde hair brushed smooth over my shoulders, the off-the-shoulder gown still draped right, but my face gave it away. Red around my eyes. Lips pressed thin from holding everything back.
I forced myself to breathe the way the nurse had shown me at the last appointment. In through my nose for four. Hold. Out slow. My chest hitched on the first try. I started over.
In. Two. Three. Four.
The air caught again, and I watched myself in the glass, watched my shoulders lift too high, too fast. I put one hand back on my belly and the other near my collarbone and tried a third time, slower. This time the exhale came. Shaky, but it came.
That was when I saw the ring.
It caught the vanity light as my hand rested against my skin. Diamond, simple setting. Mason had slipped it on two years ago in his mother's backyard with everyone watching. I turned my hand slightly and stared at it, the way it sat there, familiar and heavy. I had twisted it all night without realizing. There was a faint red mark where the band had pressed in.
I slipped it halfway off, just to the knuckle, then pushed it back down. My fingers were a little swollen from the heat and the pregnancy. The metal felt tight. Real. I did not take it off. I just needed to know I still could move it, that it was a thing I wore and not a thing that held me.
A wave of nausea rose then, low and sudden. I gripped the edge of the counter and bent forward slightly until it passed. Seven months, the doctor had said, your body will tell you when it needs a break. I had nodded like I understood. Standing there under those bright bulbs, sweat prickling at the back of my neck, I understood.
I could not go back to the table. The thought came plainly, without drama. If I walked back out now, I would have to smile at the people at our table. I would have to watch the dance floor. I would have to pretend my evening had not narrowed to that one image of him choosing to stay where he was. My hands were trembling too much to hold a water glass without everyone noticing.
I opened my clutch with stiff fingers. My phone was inside, screen dim. One missed notification from earlier — a photo reminder I ignored. I opened a new text. For a moment I just stared at the keyboard, my breathing still loud in the quiet room.
I typed to the car service Mason's assistant had used all week. Still at venue. Need pickup at side entrance in 20 min. Please confirm.
My thumb hovered over send. Twenty minutes would be enough to fix my face, to breathe normally, to walk out without hurrying past the ballroom doors. I pressed send before the doubt could rise again.
May you like
Delivered. I set the phone face-down on the counter and looked back at myself in the mirror.
I was still in the venue. Still in the dress. Still wearing the ring. But the door was locked, the air was mine for a minute, and the decision not to return sat solid in my chest. I reached for a tissue and carefully blotted under my eyes, trying not to make it worse.
