The past week have been hectic, to say the least. But I would say it's worth it.
Weddings have a way of starting before they actually begin.
It starts with noise... wayyyy too much of it. Voices overlapping, doors opening and closing, heels clicking against tile, the hiss of steam from a garment steamer that's been on too long. It smells like hairspray and coffee and nerves. Someone is crying in the bathroom. Someone else is laughing too loud in the kitchen.
And somehow, through all of it, my sister is calm.
Terrifyingly calm.
She sits in front of the mirror in a silk robe, hair half-curled, makeup barely started, sipping tea like today isn't the biggest day of her life. Like there aren't a hundred tiny details hanging in the air, waiting to go wrong.
I stand behind her, arms crossed, watching her reflection.
"You're being suspiciously chill," I say.
She smiles at me in the mirror. "I already had my breakdown. Tuesday. You missed it."
"Rude," I mutter. "I cleared my schedule for that."
She reaches back and squeezes my hand. "I'm ready, Roxy."
The way she says it, steady, unshaken, hits me harder than I expect.
Ready.
I nod, swallowing. "Good."
The room fills quickly after that. Our mom flits in and out, issuing instructions no one follows. Mayven arrives like a burst of energy, already dressed, already emotional, already crying about the vows she hasn't even heard yet.
"You look hot," she tells me immediately, hands on my shoulders.
My makeup was bold, but not too bold to outshine my sister. Smoky eyes and deep red lipstick.
"Thank you," I say. "I'm functioning on caffeine and spite."
She grins. "As usual."
My dress hangs on the closet door, wrapped in a garment bag.
The dress was a rich burgundy, deep and glossy, catching the light in soft flashes of wine-red. Cut in a sleek, floor-length column, it skimmed her body neatly, fitted at the waist before falling straight and fluid to the ground.
One shoulder was left bare, the neckline slanted sharply across her collarbone. The other held a sculpted satin drape that flowed down her arm, adding movement without softness. A narrow slit at the back allowed easy steps, subtle and controlled.
Elegant.
It's not bridal, not flashy. It feels… intentional. Like me.
My hair fell in soft waves, parted deeply to one side, smooth and carefully set. I tucked one side behind my ear, letting the rest frame my face without effort.
Mason is picking me up in two hours.
I haven't thought too hard about that. On purpose.
The ceremony is outdoors.
The venue is all white stone and greenery, soft arches wrapped in florals that actually are the right shade of ivory, my sister shoots me a smug look when I notice. Rows of chairs stretch out under the open sky, sunlight filtering through tall trees like it's been choreographed.
Guests start arriving as we finish getting ready. The air hums with anticipation, with that strange collective joy weddings create—even for people who don't believe in forever.
I help my sister into her dress.
The wedding dress was pure ivory, light catching in layers of soft tulle that fell into a full, sweeping skirt. The bodice was fitted and delicate, embroidered with intricate lace that traced floral patterns across the fabric, climbing gently over the waist and along the neckline.
Thin straps framed her shoulders, leading into a deep but graceful V, the lace sheer enough to feel airy rather than revealing. From the waist down, the skirt bloomed outward, light and weightless, the lace thinning as it descended, scattered like petals drifting through fabric.
It was timeless without being traditional, romantic without excess. Soft, luminous, and unmistakably hers.
She turns to me.
She looked breathtaking.
"Don't," I warn. "If you cry, I cry. And if I cry, this face is ruined."
She laughs, then softens. "Thank you. For everything."
I shrug. "You're stuck with me anyway."
She pulls me into a careful hug. "I'm glad it's you standing with me."
So am I.
Mason arrives right on time.
I hear his voice downstairs before I see him, familiar and steady, and my stomach does something annoyingly noticeable.
When I walk out onto the landing, he looks up.
And stops.
He's dressed in a charcoal suit, crisp and understated, tie dark blue—close enough to my dress to feel intentional without being obvious. His hair is neatly styled for once, but still unmistakably him.
"Wow," he says. "Okay."
I arch a brow. "Use your words, Rockwell."
He smiles, slow and real. "You look incredible."
I incline my head. "Acceptable."
He offers his arm. I take it. We had a discussion with trying not to be at each other's throats for the day.
He leans down to whisper in my ear. "I bought something for you." And in his hand revealed a box.
I looked at him confused.
"Earrings suits you Blaise, you just don't wear them a lot."
I opened the box and it was a pair of gold earrings. Daphne dangle in gold leaves with small blue gems as the leaves.
"Why did you?" I asked, genuinely caught off guard. Mason didn't do grand gestures. He did quiet ones. And somehow, that felt worse.
He helped me to put it on.
"Thank you."
He smirked at me.
That cocky bitch-
The ceremony is beautiful in that quiet, aching way.
My sister walks down the aisle glowing, Derek barely holding himself together at the altar, he was definitely crying. Their vows are sincere and imperfect and deeply them. There's laughter. There are tears. Even I feel something loosen in my chest as they promise forever like it's something you can build instead of survive.
Mason stands beside me, respectful, still. When everyone stands, he shifts just enough to give me space, then settles again.
It doesn't go unnoticed.
When they're pronounced married, the applause feels like a wave crashing over us all. Joy, loud and overwhelming and contagious.
I clap until my hands sting.
The reception is held under a large tent strung with lights, tables set with candles and greenery, music already playing softly in the background. It's warm, but not uncomfortable. The kind of evening that feels like it wants to be remembered.
Mason and I find our table near the dance floor.
"You holding up?" he asks.
"Shockingly," I say. "I haven't even insulted anyone yet." Not even him
He chuckles. "Growth."
Dinner passes in a blur of speeches and clinking glasses. Mayven's toast is heartfelt and slightly unhinged. Our mom cries openly. Derek's best man nearly drops the microphone.
At some point, Mason leans closer. "Felix texted."
My attention sharpens despite myself. "Oh?"
"He said to tell you congratulations to your sister. And that he's sorry he couldn't make it."
I nod. I already knew. He'd warned me days ago, work emergency, unavoidable. I'd told him it was fine.
It was.
Mostly.
"Did you text him back?" I ask.
"Yes," Mason says evenly. "I said you understood."
"Thank you," I say quietly.
He meets my gaze. "You don't owe me anything, Blaise."
"Maybe stop calling me that?"
"Never."
The first dance draws everyone's attention. My sister and Derek move together like they've been practicing for years, laughing softly, completely lost in each other.
It's… nice.
Not painful. Not bitter.
Just nice.
When the song ends, the DJ invites everyone to the floor. People rise eagerly, couples forming, groups gathering.
Mason looks at me. "Want to?"
I consider it. The lights, the music, the day heavy with meaning.
"Yeah," I say. "I do."
We don't rush. We step onto the dance floor naturally, no performance, no pressure. His hand settles at my waist, familiar now. Mine rests on his shoulder.
We sway.
It's easier this time. Less guarded.
"You clean up well," I tell him.
"So do you," he replies. "You seem… settled."
I huff softly. "Careful. That's a dangerous word."
"Maybe," he says. "But not a bad one."
The song isn't about forever. It's about staying. Choosing. Trying.
It fits.
As we move, I catch glimpses of people from our past, old classmates, teachers, familiar faces softened by time. I don't feel like I'm running from any of it.
I feel like I've made peace.
Later, after cake and laughter and too many photos, I step away for air.
The night is cool, stars faint but present. I lean against a stone wall, breathing in quiet.
My phone buzzes.
Felix: Hope it was beautiful.
I type back without overthinking.
Me: It was. I wish you were here.
A pause.
Then—
Felix:Me too.
I smile, pocketing my phone. But right now I didn't want to. For some reason, I wanted to focus on Mason.
Footsteps approach.
Mason stops beside me, hands in his pockets. "You okay?"
"Yeah," I say. "Just needed a second."
He nods. "I'll be inside."
"Hey," I add, stopping him.
He turns.
"Thank you. For coming with me. For not making it weird."
A small smile curves his mouth. "I promised myself I wouldn't."
I watch him head back toward the light.
I don't feel torn.
I feel… aware.
Inside, my sister laughs, radiant and married and sure.
Would I find something like that one day?