Chapter 3
The sedan smelled like leather and faint hotel soap. I hadn't noticed it until the door clicked shut and the sound of the ballroom cut off all at once.
I'd left the veil on. The beaded gown pooled around my knees in the dark, the pearl waistband catching the warm light from the hotel columns outside my window. Five minutes earlier I'd been in a short white dress on that same pavement, holding that same veil in my fist. Now the gown was back on me, the veil back over my hair, my pearl earrings cold against my neck. My hands didn't shake. That surprised me.
My phone sat in my lap. The screen lit up my dress. I stared at the contact name I'd saved three years ago when Dad handed over the operations binder — Martin Reyes, Night Manager, Tagaytay Heritage House. Direct line. He'd answered at 2 a.m. once when a pipe burst on the second floor.
I picked it up. My thumb hovered. I could hear my own breathing in the quiet car, slow and even. Outside, a valet in a white shirt walked past without looking in.
I pressed call.
The inferred dial tone was soft, just a thin electronic hum while it connected. One ring. Two. I felt my shoulders pull back without thinking, the way they did before a board meeting. My mouth found a small, composed smile. Not because I felt happy. Because I knew he would hear it in my voice if I didn't.
Third ring. Then a click.
"Heritage House, this is Martin," he said. His voice was awake, professional.
"Martin, it's Celeste," I said. I kept my voice low and steady. "Celeste Aragon."
A pause. He recognized it. "Ms. Aragon — congratulations. Are you — is everything all right? We're holding the ballroom for you."
"I'm in the car outside the main entrance," I said. I looked out at the columns, the light falling across the pavement where I'd stood. "I need you to freeze the ballroom."
Another pause, shorter this time. I heard a chair move on his end, a pen tapping.
"Freeze — you mean hold service?"
"I mean no music, no processional, no seating," I said. The words came out clean, one after another. "Do not start the ceremony. Tell the coordinator it's an owner hold. Aragon Heritage Group. My name. Nothing moves in that room until I say so. Keep the guests in the lounge with champagne. Tell them there's a short delay for a private matter."
I didn't raise my voice. I didn't explain about Bianca or the gown or the wooden box with the card still sitting on the table beside that ring. I didn't need to. Martin had worked for my family since I was seventeen.
"An owner hold," he repeated. I could hear him writing. "Tonight. On your wedding."
"Yes."
"For how long, Ms. Aragon?"
"Until I walk back in," I said. I adjusted the phone against my ear. The veil brushed my cheek. The sapphire brooch at my chest was heavy and cool through the beads when I breathed in. "I know that's not protocol. Log it under me. I'll sign whatever you need in the morning."
He breathed out. "Understood. I'll inform Ms. Delos Santos and the kitchen now. Ballroom on hold, guests to lounge. No announcement beyond a technical delay. Is there — do you need security at the doors?"
"No," I said quickly. Then I softened it. "No. Just keep the doors closed. I don't want anyone using the room for photos. Especially not —" I stopped. The rest wasn't for a phone call. "Just keep it closed."
"Closed and held," he said. "I'll handle it personally."
"Thank you, Martin."
"Of course. Will you —" He hesitated. "Will you be coming back inside tonight?"
I looked down at my hands. No ring. The pale band of skin where it had been was still visible even in the dark. The car hadn't moved. The driver up front kept his eyes forward, hands on the wheel, parked as instructed.
"I'll call you again before I do," I said. "Stay near the radio."
"I will."
The line stayed open a second longer. I could hear the faint murmur of the lobby behind him, then it was just the quiet car ambience again, the soft hum of the air conditioning and the hotel lights glowing against the window.
I lowered the phone from my ear but didn't hang up right away. I looked at the screen, his name, the call time ticking — 00:42 — then ended it.
May you like
The sedan stayed parked. The engine was off. Outside, the hotel entrance stayed bright and still, columns lit against the night, and the ballroom somewhere beyond those doors was now sitting empty on my word.
I sat back against the leather, veil straight, gown gathered in my lap, phone resting in both hands, waiting.
