Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Scarlett
Jane holds up a navy dress with a fitted bodice and flowing skirt.
"What about this one?" She says.
I'm standing in my bedroom in just my bra and underwear, surrounded by half my closet spread across the bed. The rehearsal dinner is in two hours, and I still haven't decided what to wear.
"Too formal," Sarah says from her perch on my dresser chair.
"It's a rehearsal dinner, not the actual wedding."
"True." Jane tosses it aside and reaches for another option.
"How about the emerald one?"
I examine it. Sleeveless, knee-length, elegant but not overdone.
"That could work."
"Try it on," Sarah commands.
I slip into the dress, and Jane zips me up. The emerald fabric hugs my curves perfectly, the color bringing out my eyes. I turn to face the mirror, and both of my friends make approving sounds.
"That's the one," Jane declares.
"You look stunning."
"Miles won't be able to take his eyes off you," Sarah adds.
I smooth my hands down the fabric, studying my reflection. Tomorrow is my wedding day. Tomorrow I become Miles's wife. The thought should fill me with joy, but that same restless anxiety from last week creeps back in.
"Come sit." Jane pats the chair in front of my vanity.
"Let me do your hair."
I settle into the chair while Jane works on pinning my blonde hair into a loose updo, leaving a few strands framing my face. Sarah handles my makeup—natural but polished, emphasizing my eyes.
"So," Sarah says as she applies mascara with careful precision,
“Are you nervous about tonight?"
"A little." I keep my eyes closed while she works.
"It's strange. Everything's happening so fast now."
"That's how it always feels right before a wedding," Jane says, securing another pin.
"But tomorrow is going to be perfect. You and Miles are going to be so happy."
I want to believe her. I want to feel the certainty in her voice reflected in my own heart.
"You'll finally meet Dax tonight," Sarah mentions casually.
My eyes open. "Right. Miles's brother."
"The mysterious media mogul," Jane adds with a smile.
"I'm curious to see what he's like in person."
I am too, though I'm not sure why. Miles has barely mentioned him over the years. An older brother he's not close to, living a completely different life in New York.
"Okay, makeup done." Sarah steps back to admire her work.
"You look gorgeous."
Jane finishes with my hair and spins the chair so I can see.
"What do you think?"
I look polished, put-together, exactly like a bride should look the night before her wedding.
"It's perfect. Thank you both."
"That's what we're here for." Jane squeezes my shoulder.
"Now shoes. The black heels?"
"Definitely the black heels."
Twenty minutes later, we're ready. I grab my clutch, check my reflection one more time, and we head out. The hired car is waiting downstairs to take us to Marcello's.
As we settle into the backseat, Jane reaches over and takes my hand.
"You okay?"
"I'm fine." I squeeze back.
"Just ready for tomorrow to be here."
The lie tastes familiar on my tongue.
***
Marcello's is an upscale Italian restaurant tucked into a quiet street in the Gold Coast. The hostess leads us through the main dining room to a private space in the back—a beautiful room with exposed brick walls, soft lighting, and a long table set for about fifteen people.
Guests are already gathering. I spot my parents immediately. My mother is talking to the restaurant manager, no doubt complaining about something. My father stands beside her looking resigned.
"Scarlett!" Mom spots me and waves me over.
"There you are. I was just telling them that the table arrangement seems cramped. Do you think we'll all fit comfortably?"
"It looks fine, Mom." I kiss her cheek.
"Everything looks beautiful."
"If you say so." She smooths her dress, scanning the room.
"Where's Miles?"
"I'm sure he'll be here soon."
My father hugs me. "You look lovely, sweetheart. How are you holding up?"
"Good, Dad. Really good."
I make my way around the room, greeting relatives and friends. Miles's mother Barbara is near the bar, talking with one of Miles's groomsmen. She looks elegant in a champagne-colored dress, her dark hair styled perfectly.
"Scarlett, dear." She turns and embraces me warmly when I approach.
"You look absolutely beautiful."
"Thank you, Barbara. So do you." I've met her a handful of times over the past year—once when she visited Chicago, and when Miles and I flew to Florida for a weekend. She's always been kind, if a bit reserved.
"How was your flight this morning?"
"Smooth, thankfully. I'm staying at the Waldorf Astoria. The hotel is gorgeous." She takes a sip of her wine.
"I can't believe tomorrow is the big day. My baby is getting married."
"I can't believe it either."
"Where is Miles?" she asks, glancing around.
"I haven't seen him yet. He texted earlier that he was running a few minutes late."
As if on cue, Miles walks into the private dining room. He's wearing a dark suit, his tie slightly crooked. His hair is messy, and his eyes are a bit unfocused. Has he been drinking already?
"Sorry, sorry." He makes his way to me, kissing me quickly. "Traffic was terrible."
"You okay?" I whisper.
"Fine. Just a long day." He turns to his mother, hugging her.
"Hey, Mom."
"Hello, darling." Barbara studies him with concern.
"Are you feeling alright?"
"I'm great. Really." He pulls out his phone, checks the screen, frowns, then pockets it again.
I'm about to ask him what's wrong when the energy in the room shifts. Someone new has walked in. I turn toward the entrance and my breath catches.
A man stands in the doorway, and the entire room seems to orient itself around him.
He's tall—well over six feet—towering, with a commanding presence that draws every eye.
His suit is perfectly tailored charcoal gray, fitted to emphasize broad shoulders and a lean, but muscular and powerful frame.
Salt and pepper hair is styled back from his face, and even from across the room, I can see the piercing blue of his eyes.
This is Dax Blackwell.
He moves into the space with quiet confidence, scanning the room until his gaze lands on Miles. And then, briefly, on me.
The eye contact lasts only a second, but I feel it like a physical touch.
"Dax!" Miles calls out, waving him over.
"Come meet Scarlett."
Dax approaches, and I'm struck by how different he is from Miles. Where Miles is boyish and approachable, Dax is sharp and controlled. Where Miles is casual, Dax is precise. They're both handsome, but in completely different ways.
"Scarlett," Miles says, slipping his arm around my waist, "this is my brother Dax. Dax, my fiancée Scarlett."
Dax extends his hand. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you."
His voice is deep, measured, each word deliberate. I take his hand, and the moment our palms touch, something electric shoots up my arm. His grip is firm, warm, his fingers wrapping around mine with controlled strength.
"You too," I manage, hoping my voice sounds steadier than I feel.
"Miles has told me about you."
"Has he?" A hint of amusement flickers in those blue eyes.
"All good things, I hope."
"Of course." I withdraw my hand, though part of me doesn't want to.
"It's nice to finally put a face to the name."
He's still looking at me, his gaze intense but not uncomfortable. It's like he's reading me, cataloging details, seeing more than I want him to see.
"These are my best friends," I say, gesturing to Jane and Sarah hovering nearby.
"Jane and Sarah. They're my bridesmaids."
"Ladies." Dax shakes their hands, and I don't miss the way they both light up under his attention.
"We've heard so much about you," Jane says, her voice slightly breathless.
"All good things, I hope," Dax repeats with a small smile.
Sarah laughs a little too loudly.
"Of course."
Miles's phone buzzes, and he pulls it out again, frowning at the screen.
"I need to take this. Work. I'll be right back."
He walks away, leaving me standing with Dax, Jane, and Sarah.
"So, you flew in from New York?" Jane asks.
"Yesterday morning." Dax's attention shifts to her, and I feel the absence of his gaze like a loss.
"I'm staying at the Waldorf Astoria."
"That's where the wedding is tomorrow," Sarah offers helpfully.
"I know." His eyes flick back to me.
"Convenient."
I should say something. Make conversation. Play the role of gracious bride-to-be. Instead, I'm acutely aware of how close he's standing, the scent of his cologne—something expensive and woodsy—the way his presence seems to fill the space.
"We should find our seats," I say finally.
"I think they're about to start serving."
"Of course." Dax steps aside, gesturing for me to lead the way. As I walk past him, I swear I feel his eyes on my back.
The seating arrangement places me between Miles and my father, with Barbara on Miles's other side and Dax beside her. Directly across the table from me.
Which means I have a perfect view of him throughout the entire meal.
The first course arrives—a burrata appetizer with heirloom tomatoes and basil. Conversation flows around the table, light and easy. My mother is talking to Barbara about the wedding flowers. My father is chatting with one of Miles's groomsmen.
And Dax is watching me.
"Scarlett," Barbara says, leaning slightly toward me, "Dax was just telling me about the new podcast network he acquired. I thought you might find it interesting, given your PR background."
I turn my attention to him. "Oh? What kind of podcasts?"
"True crime, investigative journalism, some political commentary." His voice carries easily across the table.
"We're expanding our digital media footprint. Podcasting is the fastest-growing sector right now."
"That makes sense. Audio content is huge." I find myself leaning forward, genuinely interested.
"Do you handle the PR in-house, or do you work with an outside firm?"