Chapter 4
Door closed. Not locked. Just closed, and that felt different.
I stayed on floor another second. Patterned rug rough against knees. Bouquet still there, white roses tipped sideways, baby's breath scattered. Single shoe on side like it had been kicked. I couldn't look at it long.
Older woman knelt. Burgundy lace rustled. Double pearls clicked.
"Up," she said. Quiet. Not kind, not cruel. "We fix this now."
I nodded. Didn't have words. Scalp throbbed where he'd gripped.
She stood, went to doorway, opened it three inches. Groom still there, shoulder against frame, white shirt wrinkled, sleeves still rolled. He watched me. Didn't move.
"Makeup bag," she told him. "And veil pins. Now."
He blinked. Jaw tight.
"She fell," he said. Low voice, meant for hallway. "Tell planner she caught heel. Rug tripped her."
Older woman didn't answer right away. Just looked at him.
"Bag," she repeated.
He turned away. Footsteps down hall.
She closed door again.
En-suite light hurt. Small bathroom off LOCATION_X, white tile, floral wallpaper continued inside. Same warm bulb. She guided me by elbow. I caught myself on sink.
Mirror showed me. White lace long-sleeve dress smeared at knees. Veil crooked, tulle torn at edge. Hair updo half-pulled. And face - makeup streaked, eyes red, lipstick smudged. Then I leaned closer.
Bruise forming at scalp hairline. Left side, just under hair. Red-purple crescent where fingers dug. Skin tender, swollen. Thumb mark clear.
I touched it. Flinched.
"Don't," older woman said behind me. She'd brought folding chair from bedroom, set it by sink. Makeup case open on counter. Not artist - herself. Hands steady. "Leave hair. I cover."
She pulled small brush, foundation, powder. Worked like she'd done it hundred times for galas.
"Tilt," she said.
I tilted. Breath shallow. Her brush cold on skin. She dabbed, not rubbed. Layered powder over mark. Color faded but ache stayed underneath. I watched bruise disappear in mirror while still feeling it pulse.
"Better," she murmured. Not to me. To reflection.
Doorway voice again. Groom back. Didn't enter. Spoke through crack to someone behind him - planner, I heard clipboard tap.
"Yeah, she's fine," he said. Easy tone now, practiced. "Bride caught heel on rug. Little scare. We need five minutes then photos continue. Tell photographer we're on track."
Silence outside. Planner said something I couldn't hear.
"We got it," groom answered. "Mom's helping her. All good."
He used word mom. Meant older woman. I stored that. He controlled story while watching me in mirror, eyes checking if I would correct him.
I didn't. Not then. Lips pressed.
Older woman glanced toward door, then back to me. She straightened veil with pins. Tulle pulled, smoothed. She brushed rug lint from my skirt, hands quick.
"You stand now," she said. "Walk shows nothing."
I stood. Dress fell again. Bare feet still - one shoe missing. She picked it up from rug, slipped onto my foot. Didn't ask. Just did. Heel clicked tile.
On rug, bouquet waited. She lifted it, shook gently, reset roses. Baby's breath had shed. One small sprig lay separate on patterned rug, white buds thin as air.
She offered bouquet. I took with both hands.
Her eyes flicked to sprig, then away - fixing my veil back. She didn't see it or didn't care.
I bent, fingers brushed rug, palmed sprig. Quick. Pushed into pocket sewn inside dress skirt - hidden pocket for lipstick, now held this. Stem cold against thigh. Private record he couldn't narrate away.
Groom opened door wider. Leaned in. Looked me over - face powdered, veil straight, bouquet held.
"Good," he said. Relief real. Thought control regained. "See? Perfect again."
Older woman capped powder. Nodded once at him, like transaction complete.
I stared at mirror one last time. Girl there looked restored. White lace clean, color even, veil draped right. Only eyes gave away something - too still, too wide. And under powder, throb kept time.
I held bouquet tighter. Sprig pressed through pocket fabric.
I didn't speak. Just breathed, small pause before answer he expected.
May you like
"Okay," I said.
He smiled. Mistook it for agreement.
