CHAPTER SIX
LUNA
The bridal suite throbbed with its final burst of activity, a crescendo before the silence that would fall when my mother walked into her new life.
She stood in the center of it all, a vision carved from lace and light.
The white gown clung in perfect, sculpted lines, the bodice alive with delicate embroidery that caught the sun streaming in from the terrace doors.
Her skin seemed to glow from within, her face lit by a joy I’d rarely seen so unguarded.
She wasn’t just beautiful; she was luminous.
Around her, the women moved with a shared, unspoken choreography, smoothing fabric, checking hair, straightening jewelry. Their elegant wedding attire swayed like petals in the soft breeze drifting through the open balcony doors.
“Ready, Mum?” My voice was soft, but my heart was beating hard enough that I could feel it in my fingertips.
Excitement for her hummed through me, but threaded beneath it was a quieter, more restless pulse, the knowledge that somewhere out there, Marcus and Riley were waiting.
Waiting to become family I hadn’t chosen.
I’d picked my dress with care. A pale blue that mirrored the Hawaiian sky just after sunrise, its flowing skirt brushing against my calves like the gentlest tide. The fabric was cool and light, a comforting weight against my skin in a day that felt full of sharp edges.
Mum turned to me then, and for a moment, the entire suite seemed to still. Her eyes shone like they had when I was little, when she’d look at me as though I were the only thing in the world she needed. “As I’ll ever be, darling. Are you?”
I let my smile reach all the way to my eyes. “I am. For you.”
She held my gaze for a heartbeat longer, as though the words meant more than I’d intended, then turned back to the mirror for one last glance. Her breath rose and fell in a steadying rhythm, and then it was time.
We left the cocoon of the suite, the air outside warmer, saltier, alive with sound. The women flanked her like a living guard of honor, their laughter and whispered well-wishes curling into the air.
The resort pathways curved gently on our way to the ceremony, stone underfoot still warm from the morning sun.
Tropical blooms spilled over the edges of manicured gardens, their petals bright enough to make the air itself seem colored.
The ocean glittered in the distance, visible between the palms, each crest of a wave catching the light like liquid silver.
Somewhere, far off, a ukulele strummed a few soft notes, the sound riding the breeze.
Tourists, guests and resort staff parted for us, their chatter quieting, their faces softening into smiles.
“Congratulations!”
“So happy for you!”
“You look beautiful, Eleanor!”
Mum acknowledged each one with a graceful tilt of her head, the kind of poise that came naturally to her, her smile never faltering.
I walked at her side, matching my steps to hers, feeling the quiet rhythm of our togetherness. Pride swelled in my chest, for her courage, for her happiness, for the fact that she’d found something new when life could have left her jaded after what happened with my dad.
The joy here was palpable, infectious. It wrapped around me, softening the hard edges of my nerves, even as a faint, restless hum remained at the back of my mind, a reminder that the day wasn’t just about vows and champagne.
Somewhere ahead, the two people who would change the shape of my life were waiting.
The path narrowed as we approached the ceremony site, the sound of the ocean swelling until it seemed to beat in time with my pulse.
It wasn’t just any stretch of beach, it was a hidden cove, tucked away behind walls of emerald palms and hibiscus blooms so red they almost glowed.
The sunlight spilled across the sand in broken shards, caught by the shifting fronds above.
Beyond the curve of the shoreline, the Pacific stretched out in an endless shimmer, each wave curling in with the lazy, confident grace of something that had existed long before us and would exist long after.
One by one, the women who had surrounded my mother all morning peeled away, slipping into the rows of white chairs set in perfect lines facing the sea. Their perfume lingered in the air as they passed, mixing with the briny breath of the tide.
We stopped just shy of the aisle, hidden in the shade of tropical foliage thick enough to feel like a curtain. From here, the murmur of guests drifted to us, a hum of laughter, the low scrape of chairs, the faint clink of glasses.
Mum’s breath hitched almost imperceptibly. “This is it,” she whispered, her voice laced with something that was half excitement, half fear. Her hand found mine, warm and sure, her grip firm enough to tether me.
I squeezed back, feeling the faint tremor in her fingers. “You’re going to be breathtaking, Mum. He’s lucky. So lucky.”
Her eyes lifted to mine, glassy with unshed tears, and for a moment I saw the version of her that existed only for me, not the flawless bride, not the confident woman who charmed everyone in her orbit, but my mother.
Just Mum. “And I’m the luckiest woman alive,” she murmured. “Because I have you. Always you.”
The words sank into me, heavy and warm all at once. She leaned in, her lips brushing my forehead in a kiss so soft it felt like a promise. “Thank you for being here by my side, Luna. You’ll never know what it means.”
My throat tightened, the emotion pressing against my voice. “Always, Mum.”
For a breath, we stood in silence, surrounded by the rustle of leaves, the faint perfume of orchids, the pull of the tide. It felt like the last inhale before a leap.
A figure appeared, the resort coordinator, dressed in crisp white, his presence calm but purposeful. “It’s almost time, Eleanor. Miss Luna, please find your seat now.”
I hesitated, not wanting to let go just yet, but Mum gave me a small nod, her smile steady now. “Go on, my love. I’ll see you in a bit.”
I returned her smile, though my chest felt oddly tight, and stepped away.
The ceremony space unfolded before me in a wash of white and gold.
Rows of chairs draped with gauzy fabric faced an arch wrapped in orchids and trailing ribbons, the ocean framed perfectly behind it like a living painting.
Sunlight bounced off the water, casting moving patterns across the foliage.
Guests shifted in their seats, their voices a low murmur under the rhythmic hush of the waves.
I kept my eyes on the ground as I wove between the chairs, not ready to meet the curious gazes I could feel brushing over me. Even here, surrounded by beauty, I felt the faint burn of being an outsider, the new girl in a celebration built on old connections.
A warm sea breeze swept past, teasing the hem of my pale blue dress as if urging me forward.
And then…
My world snagged.
Just beyond the aisle, in the second row from the front, a figure sat with his back to me.
Broad shoulders stretched beneath the dark lines of a perfectly cut suit.
His hair, dark and thick, caught the light in a way that made it gleam like polished onyx.
Even without seeing his face, my stomach twisted into a cold knot.
Recognition hit low and sharp, the kind that stole my breath before I could deny it.
No.
It couldn’t be.
Not here. Not now.
I stepped closer and closer without meaning to, my pulse pressing in my ears, the rest of the ceremony site blurring into nothing but him. As if he felt me there, his head tilted, just slightly, and then turned.
My breath fractured in my chest.
It was him.
The boy from the beach.
But this wasn’t the flirty and dangerous figure from last night.
This was something sharper. Darker. The crisp white shirt beneath his jacket was blinding against his sun-tanned skin, the open collar hinting at an ease that was anything but casual.
His hair had been tamed, styled so it fell in deliberate waves across his forehead.
And those eyes… those impossible, dark eyes found me instantly, catching and holding with the precision of a trap snapping shut.
The smirk came next. Slow. Intentional. The exact curve of his mouth I’d been trying all morning to forget, curling now with an edge that said he remembered every detail. Every humiliation.
Heat rushed through me. Not the good kind, but the hot, choking kind that made my fingers curl into my palm. My composure shattered, splintering into jagged pieces that cut all the way down. Every mortifying second from last night uncoiled inside me, raw and unrelenting.
He knew.
He remembered.
And he was here.
His gaze didn’t just land on me, it prowled.
A slow, unhurried sweep that started at the hem of my dress, trailed upward over the curve of my waist, and lingered deliberately at the flush on my cheeks. When his eyes locked with mine, that smirk deepened, a silent, merciless acknowledgment of what we both remembered.
I stopped right next to his row.
“Careful, Princess.” His voice was low, intimate, as if the words were meant for my bones, not my ears.
The lazy, husky cadence wrapped around me despite the soft music and the gentle murmur of guests.
“People might start asking why you’re staring at me like you already know what I sound like when you shouldn’t. ”
His words dripped with mockery, but it slid through me like a touch I couldn’t shake.
My cheeks flamed hotter. I hated that I couldn’t school my expression, couldn’t stop the disbelief from showing.
“You.” It came out thin, broken. Barely a breath.
He chuckled. It wasn’t a laugh so much as a promise of trouble, low and rough, stroking along my nerves.
“Surprised?” he murmured, his voice dipping low, smooth as sin. “I’m not. And don’t worry, I’ll make sure you don’t just watch this time.”