Chapter 2
The ring didn't make a sound when I let it go.
It was supposed to. In every movie it clatters or pings against wood and everyone turns to look. Mine just dropped the half inch from my fingers into the dark wooden box and settled against the cream card that read Substitute Bride. The diamond caught the fairy lights overhead for a second and then went dull. My hand hovered there a heartbeat too long, empty, lighter than I expected. I could still feel the ghost of the band on my finger, a cool circle that wasn't there anymore.
I didn't close the box. I slid it forward across the small table they'd set for the card and the ring. Just enough distance that it wasn't in my hands. Enough that it was no longer mine to hold. My veil shifted with the movement and brushed my shoulder, and the beaded waist of my gown knocked softly against the table edge. Behind me, the ballroom kept breathing. The string lights, the white flowers on the arch, Rafael's hand still halfway extended like he hadn't decided whether to reach for the box or for me. I didn't look at him again.
My name is Celeste Aragon. That morning I'd stood in the bridal suite and let my mom's pearl waistband be fastened around this gown and had the antique sapphire brooch pinned at my chest with shaking fingers. Five minutes before I was supposed to walk, I'd learned Bianca was already wearing it.
I turned and walked.
The aisle was white petals and guests in rows. No one stood up to stop me. Someone whispered my name and then swallowed it. My heels clicked on the ballroom floor, then hit the marble at the edge of the carpet and the sound changed. I pushed through the side service door the coordinator had left cracked for the servers. It shut behind me with a soft thud and cut the warm light in half.
The hallway was cooler and empty. Service carts lined one wall, a mirror I didn't look into, the faint smell of coffee from a kitchen cart. My veil trailed behind me and the beads on the gown made a faint hiss with every step. I walked to the private dressing suite at the end of the hall, the one with my name on a small printed card in the door slot. Inside, the air smelled like hairspray and lilies.
The garment bag was hanging where I'd left it at seven that morning, zipped, with a sticky note on it in my own handwriting: For photos after - short dress. I'd bought it for the exit, for dancing after the ceremony, off-shoulder white, simple, knee-length, nothing beaded, nothing that belonged to anyone else. I laid my veil carefully on the vanity chair and unclasped the pearl earrings, set them down one by one. Then I reached behind me and pulled the zipper of the beaded gown down. The sapphire brooch caught the light one last time before I lifted the gown over my head and stepped out of it. I left it pooled on the ottoman, waistband and brooch facing up, like it was waiting for someone to claim it.
The short dress slid on easy. Cool fabric, no weight. I stepped into the nude heels by the door, the ones I'd been saving for the hotel steps. In the mirror my hair was still long and wavy, my face still made up, but my neck was bare without the brooch. I looked, for the first time that day, like myself and not like a bride someone else could dress up.
I didn't cry. My hands were steady. I picked up the veil from the chair, not to put it back on but to carry it, and left the gown where it was.
The side corridor led to the east entrance, the one without guests, just white columns and glass and a stretch of pavement that faced the parking lot. When I pushed the door open, daylight hit me hard. It was bright out, the kind of Tagaytay noon that makes the white facade glare. The black sedan was already there, the driver standing at the front with his hands clasped, rear door open and waiting. I didn't remember calling for it, but the hotel had been told to keep a car ready for the bride.
I walked the last few feet to the sedan. The pavement was warm through the thin soles of my heels. The white hotel wall rose behind me with its columns, and the open door of the car reflected the sky.
May you like
At the door I stopped. The veil was still in my hand, sheer and heavy with its comb. I lifted it off with one hand, one slow movement, and held it out away from my body. The wind caught the edge and lifted it before it settled again. I stood there beside the open rear door in the short off-shoulder dress, nude heels on the pavement, veil in my hand, not on my head. The driver didn't ask where I was going. He just waited.
I didn't get in yet. I stood in that daylight and let the ballroom stay behind that wall, with the wooden box and the card and the ring still sitting on the table where I'd left it.
