27. Katerina
Chapter twenty-seven
Katerina
I've never seen a venue space look quite this stark the day after a wedding.
Even the walls seem to exhale, now that the tables are stripped to their bare surfaces and the chairs stand stacked like sentinels awaiting transport.
Yesterday it was all alive: music and color, conversation rising and falling, the tense joy of people stepping into a new chapter.
Now the quiet feels almost too big to fill.
I find a table near the windows, one that's still set up only because the florist's arrangements remain on the windowsill.
Bowls of wilted white roses, next to an abandoned tangle of baby's breath gone a bit dry at the edges.
On the table itself, there's only my notebook, a travel mug of coffee, and a neat line of leftover place cards awaiting disposal. One last puzzle to solve.
I sink into the folding chair, crossing my legs.
I'd planned to do a meticulous final pass of the wedding notes: which vendors get official thank-yous, which caterer invoices need verifying, the deposit refund for the DJ.
This is usually my favorite part, the quiet after the storm where I congratulate myself on another perfectly executed event.
I open the notebook, pen poised, but can't seem to focus.
Because last night still hums through my body.
The argument with Bex on the path. That sense of dread when she said, "Take your time," in a tone that felt less like permission and more like a boundary.
My throat still feels thick with it. I went back to my cottage afterward, tried to replay the conversation with rational distance. No luck.
I press a palm against my coffee cup, absorbing the warmth as though it holds a remedy.
Not that it does. I let my eyes roam around the venue, taking stock of the Christmas garland drooping a bit from the arbor.
Even in daylight, the pine greenery is flecked with dust from all the dancing and festivities last night.
A small red bow has come undone on the left side, listing sideways, looking slightly ridiculous.
I should get up and fix it. I should do something. But instead I just stare at it, the memory of that night in New Orleans flickering behind my eyes. Truths I haven't faced, pressing at the quiet.
Footsteps behind me pull me out of the spiral.
I blink and turn, half expecting a staffer.
Instead, Sofia approaches, wearing casual jeans and a striped linen blouse.
Her hair is braided, and she has that post-wedding glow that people always have the day after they marry someone they genuinely love.
She carries a mug of tea, presumably from the inn's lounge. Her eyes sparkle with curiosity.
Sofia doesn't ask if she can sit. She sets the mug on the table and lowers herself into the chair opposite me, exuding a kind of contentment that makes my chest tighten with affection.
I close my notebook, uncertain why, a reflex to hide my thoughts.
Sofia sees it, obviously, and raises her eyebrows.
"So," Sofia begins, her voice gentle yet unwavering, "I know about you and Bex."
My internal response is immediate alarm. I keep my face as neutral as I can muster. "I..." I pause, clearing my throat. "You... do?"
A small, knowing smile crosses her face. She traces the rim of her mug with her thumb. "Not all the details. But enough. I talked to my sister earlier today. She didn't confirm everything explicitly, but she didn't deny it, either. Plus, I'm not blind. Something's been going on since New Orleans."
My stomach twists. Part dread, part relief. I'd known, intellectually, that this moment might come. Sofia is both my closest friend and Bex's sister. There was no way to keep them in separate orbits forever. I close my eyes briefly, inhaling. "So you're... upset?"
"Upset?" Sofia's brows shoot up as if the suggestion offends her.
"No. Surprised by the timing, maybe. You've always been so private, Kit.
But I'm not upset, exactly." She taps her fingers on the table.
"I'm your friend, but I'm also Bex's sister.
I'd like to understand what's really going on.
I don't want to guess or rely on half-confessions. "
My gaze drifts to my coffee mug, the black plastic lid scuffed from travel. This is my chance to shape the narrative or bury it. I think about the conversation with Bex last night. I think about how exhausted I feel from evading, planning, reclassifying.
Resolve catches me by surprise. I take a breath.
"It started in New Orleans. Or maybe earlier.
We half-knew each other's existence for years, but never like that.
We just ended up in this wild bachelorette night for your wedding, and things escalated.
We spent time together. It felt different.
Real. Then we came here, and it was impossible to pretend we didn't feel something. "
I hesitate, picking my words carefully. I won't tell Sofia about the marriage. That secret is still locked behind too much fear. "We both thought it was a fling at first, or maybe an attraction, but it kept going. We decided not to say anything until we figured out exactly what we wanted."
Sofia's expression softens. "I can see that."
I swallow the knot in my throat. "We didn't want to overshadow your wedding. It wasn't supposed to be about us. But I don't know. The more we tried to keep it quiet, the bigger it got. I'm not sure if that makes sense."
Sofia's mouth curves into a fond smile, though her eyes are suspiciously bright. "Kit, let me do you a favor and confirm that yes, it makes sense. I've known for two years that if you two ended up in the same room without a buffer, sparks would probably happen."
My protest dies on my tongue. I want to say that's impossible, but the memory of that New Orleans bar, and the tension we tried to ignore, offers a strong counterpoint. I exhale slowly. "I didn't see it coming."
Sofia releases a small laugh. "You wouldn't. You spent half your energy ignoring every sign. Bex probably did, too, in her own way." Her expression grows gentle again. "The only reason it surprises me is how quickly it all happened. But that doesn't mean it's not real."
I study her, searching for any hint of censure or disapproval. I find none, just a warm acceptance beaming from across the table. That acceptance leaves my heart raw.
Sofia places her palm flat on the notebook.
"I love you," she says simply. "I love my sister, too.
I want you both to have a real chance at this, if that's what you actually want.
So I need to say something. Maybe it's a big-sister speech, or maybe it's a best-friend speech, but it's definitely not neutral. "
I brace myself. "Go ahead."
Sofia inhales, leaning forward a fraction.
"Please don't protect yourself out of this one.
I've seen you do that in every part of your life, for as long as we've known each other.
You see something you want, like the idea of filming documentaries, or the idea of moving beyond your comfort zone, and you build a list of reasons it won't work.
You walk away before you can fail. I can't watch you do that with Bex. "
I don't realize how hard it hits until my throat tightens.
I close my eyes, letting the words sink in.
Because it's true, in a sense. That's exactly how I learned to survive my parents' constant expectations and subtle dismissals: never give them reason to see me fail.
So I planned, strategized, withheld. I'd done it with wedding planning for years.
I'd even done it with Bex, ending every conversation with disclaimers.
We need more time. We need a plan. This might be the worst possible moment.
"Sofia," I say at last, trying to keep my voice steady, "it's not that I want to push her away.
I'm just scared of what happens if we go public.
My parents might disapprove. Her parents might disapprove, or maybe not.
The wedding was chaotic, I was working. It never seemed like the right time to stand up and say: This is real. I always had an excuse."
I expect Sofia to respond with immediate reassurance. But she hesitates, curiosity flicking in her gaze. "Kit," she begins more gently, "speaking of bigger things, are you sure you've told me all of it?"
My pulse kicks. I wonder if my face betrays the secret. I glance at the windowsill full of flowers, then force my eyes back to her, summoning a calm I don't really feel. "Why do you ask?"
Sofia's lips curve in a sad half smile. "I heard a strain in your voice. And you said you tried to keep it quiet, but it's gotten bigger. That doesn't just sound like an unexpected fling. It sounds more complicated."
I force a laugh that comes out brittle. "You're reading into it. I'm just overwhelmed."
Sofia doesn't look fully convinced, but she lets it slide. After a moment, she turns her palm upward, as though physically setting down her suspicion. "Well, if there is more, I'm here. You can tell me. I'm on your side."
My heart thumps, remembering Bex's voice in my head: We have plenty of language for it.
We're married. A wave of adrenaline rushes into my bloodstream.
I shouldn't reveal that. I'm not ready for the fallout.
But maybe I can test the waters. "If something happened that was bigger than what you're imagining," I say slowly, "something I haven't told you yet, would you be angry that I waited? "
Sofia studies me with careful eyes. "That depends enormously on what it is."
I swallow. The marriage license. The ring in my carry-on. The memory of that shaky, impulse-laden decision. I realize I don't have the courage to confess it. Not right now. "Okay," I say, my voice barely above a whisper. "Understood."
Sofia gives me a soft, warm look that reminds me uncomfortably of Bex's expression sometimes. "Just don't hide from yourself," she repeats. "You and Bex, you deserve to figure this out."
I feel tears burn at the corners of my eyes.
I blink them back, sitting straight. "Thank you," I manage.
I let my gaze land on the half-finished coffee.
I don't know what else to say. I'm relieved that Sofia isn't angry, and partly relieved I haven't told her the full truth.
But my chest feels heavy with everything unsaid.
Sofia sits a moment longer, turning the tea in her mug. Then she gives my forearm a gentle squeeze. "I'll give you some space. We're heading out tomorrow, so Jordan and I have to finalize some honeymoon details. But I'm around if you need to talk."
I nod. "Thanks. And I'm so happy for you." I try to focus on something safe. "The ceremony was gorgeous."
Sofia's eyes light with a newlywed shine. "It was more than I dreamed," she says softly, then rises from the chair. She pauses once more, searching my face. "Take care of yourself, okay?"
I nod, forcing a small smile. I watch her exit the stripped-down venue, leaving a stillness in her wake.
I lift my pen to the notebook, meaning to work through vendor wrap-ups, but I write only a short list before I stall: discuss the final invoice with the florist, confirm deposit returns, check the photography timeline.
Then a fourth line, three question marks, nothing else.
An accidental representation of everything I don't want to face.
I close the notebook and go outside to unhook a bow that's come loose from the garland on the arbor, retying it, dusting off the pine, letting the small practical task center me for half a minute.
But my thoughts keep racing: If something happened that was bigger than what you're imagining, would you be angry that I waited?
Of course Sofia would be shocked. Possibly furious.
Possibly supportive. I grip the edge of the arbor, remembering the warmth of Bex's body next to mine in New Orleans, that impulsive vow we shared half laughing, half serious.
The ring is still in my carry-on. The marriage license is buried in my notebook.
I carry both back to my cottage and, for the first time since Hollyvale, unfold the license fully on the small table by the window.
Our names. The date. The officiant's signature scrawled with a flourish.
The faint imprint of the chapel's address on Burgundy Street.
I'd known the marriage was real, but seeing it in the quiet daylight makes it different.
Heavier. I can imagine a half dozen paths forward, annulment, telling everyone, waiting to see what we feel once we part ways, and each one leaves me breathless.
But in all those futures, my chest constricts at the idea of letting Bex slip away.
The memory of her saying I told my parents about us, not everything, but something real, stabs at me.
Bex is done disguising how she feels. Meanwhile I'm digging my heels into an endless to-do list, as if more tasks could buffer me from the risk of heartbreak.
I fold the license carefully back into my notebook, like archiving a crucial artifact, because that's what it is. My phone buzzes, a short text from Skye asking me to review final invoice numbers, and I answer it because that's the one thing I know how to do: keep moving.
I never shake that uneasy hollow in my chest through the rest of the afternoon, checking off tasks with mechanical efficiency, telling myself I've done the best I could.
Sofia was calm. Bex needed more time. Right?
But when I pass the big wooden star at the edge of the property, still dark in the daylight, I feel a pang of longing so acute it makes my ribs ache.
Joy that happens anyway, because someone decided it would.
If only it were easy to decide. If only it didn't mean risking the avalanche I've spent my whole life avoiding. Maybe I'll speak to Bex tonight, if I have the courage. Because, as Sofia so kindly reminded me: ignoring the ache doesn't make it less real. It only makes the heartbreak more inevitable.