33.0 #3
He tilted my chin back toward him. "Amira... I thought it was obvious." His thumb brushed my cheek, warm and slow. "I thought we were already there. I wasn't—God, I wasn't laughing to make you feel stupid."
"Well," I muttered, "it didn't feel great."
His forehead pressed to mine, voice low and careful. "I'm sorry. Truly."
Something in my chest loosened and pulled tight at the same time.
I stepped back before I folded. "I'm taking a shower."
"Amira—" His voice followed me, threaded with something that sounded suspiciously like worry.
"Just... give me a minute," I said, not turning around.
He let me go, but the room felt thick with everything we hadn't said yet.
I stayed in the bathroom longer than necessary. When I finally came out, lights were dim and Brooks was on his side of the bed, eyes closed but too still to be asleep.
I slipped under the covers without meeting his gaze.
We lay there, inches apart, breathing the same air and pretending it didn't feel like a mile.
I didn't touch him.
He didn't reach for me.
And eventually, the stiffness in my chest dissolved into sleep.
Morning arrived before I was ready for it.
Texas sunlight pushed through the Airbnb curtains too bright, too warm, too honest. For a second, I didn't even know where I was. Then I felt the bed shift — Brooks moving quietly, gently, trying not to wake me.
My eyes cracked open.
He was sitting on the edge of the mattress pulling on sweatpants, his jaw tight like he didn't sleep much either.
He looked over when he saw me stir.
"Morning," he said softly. His voice was careful, wrapped in apology.
I nodded. "Morning."
He hesitated like he wanted to say more — then didn't.
Tati's wedding day wasn't about us, and we both knew it.
"Breakfast should be downstairs," he murmured instead.
He cleared his throat. "It's nine. Tati mentioned yesterday you girls were getting to the venue around ten."
I nodded. "Right."
He waited a beat, as if hoping I'd say more. I didn't.
So he stood, walked to me, and pressed a soft kiss to the center of my forehead — gentle, but not quite familiar, like he was trying not to overstep.
"I'm gonna check on Alina," he said.
"Okay."
He left the room quietly, closing the door halfway behind him.
I exhaled once, deep and shaky.
I breathed out slowly and moved through my morning routine almost on autopilot — brushing my teeth, tying my hair into a low bun, swiping a little moisturizer on my face.
When I stepped into the hallway, the house was already alive with the familiar kind of wedding-day chaos.
Sam stumbled out of her room holding her forehead.
"Why did we drink like we didn't have responsibilities today?"
Mya emerged behind her with one lash half detatched.
"Speak for yourself. I'm thriving."
"The queen cannot bounce back like she did at twenty-one," Heather said, walking past in pajama shorts and a bonnet. "I feel like shit.@
Tati burst out of her room last — robe flying, hair pinned up on one side, eyes wild like she'd been up since sunrise. "Ladies let's get going."
We finally spilled out into the driveway — sweats, robes, sunglasses, and iced coffees — looking exactly like a group of women who had partied the night before.
Brooks stood by the door holding Alina's little backpack and Miles's suit jacket for later, giving me one more quiet look.
Soft.
"Text me when you get to the venue," he said.
I nodded. "I will."
Then we climbed into the SUV Tati had booked for the bridal party.
The doors shut.
And just like that, it was wedding day.
The rest — the tension, the questions, the almost-fight — stayed behind with the house.
The ride to the venue was a blur of half-awake groans and iced-coffee slurps. By the time the SUV pulled into the long driveway of the garden venue, the mood shifted — from hungover chaos to something warm, buzzing, electric.
The building was huge — tall windows, white stone, draped greenery, and flowers everywhere. It looked like a Pinterest board had come to life and kissed Texas.
The second we stepped out, we were swept toward the bridal suite by a coordinator wearing a headset and sneakers.
Inside was pure magic.
A makeup artist guided me into a chair.
"You're Amira, right? The maid of honor?"
I smiled. "Yes.
The room filled with giggling and hairspray. Sam and Rylan brought in more coffees. Brittany filmed everyone for her "wedding weekend vlog."
It felt like family.
The best kind — loud, flawed, hilarious, chaotic.
At one point, Tati sat beside me in her robe, playing with her hands the way she did when she was overwhelmed.
"You okay?" I asked quietly.
She nodded fast. "Yeah. I'm just... happy. And terrified. And sweaty."
I laughed. "You're going to be the perfect bride."
She squeezed my hand. "Thank you for being here. Seriously."
"I wouldn't miss it," I said, meaning every word.
The room shifted then — from chaotic to purposeful.
Makeup brushes slowed.
Curling irons unplugged.
Last-minute touch-ups turned everyone into softer, glossier versions of themselves.
The photographer popped in, snapping candid shots while Tati posed dramatically on the couch, bouquet hugged to her chest. The coordinator clapped her hands once, loud enough to pull every bridesmaid out of their haze.
"Ladies — ten minutes until lineup!"
A ripple went through the room.
We slipped into dresses, adjusting straps, smoothing skirts.
Sam zipped Heather.
Mya adjusted Tati's veil.
By the time we stepped into the hallway, the nerves settled into something gentler — excitement, joy, that delicious before-the-moment glow.
Tati linked her arm with mine and whispered, "Okay. Let's do this."
We walked together toward the garden doors, the faint hum of guests drifting inside. The air smelled like roses and sunset and Texas heat fading into night.
The coordinator guided us to our places.
"Bridesmaids in position," she said into her headset. "Flower girl ready — ring bearer ready — music cued."
Alina peeked back at me from the top of the aisle, her tiny face serious with responsibility, Miles standing stiffly beside her like this was the most important job of his life.
The doors opened.
And just like that —
The sun dipped just enough to paint everything gold when we stepped outside.
Rows of white chairs.
Candles in glass cylinders.
Flower petals lining the grass aisle.
A soft RB instrumental floating through the air.
It looked like a dream.
Alina came marching out with her basket held high, curls bouncing with every step, petals flying more upward than downward — like confetti.
Miles, in his tiny tux, followed with the ring pillow clenched like an NFL ball.
The entire crowd melted into a unified awe.
And of course—
the cameras.
Soft clicks.
Phones tilted.
People whispering.
Some of the attention was for the wedding.
Some... wasn't.
I felt it.
The tiny shift in energy when people recognized my face.
Or glanced between me and the place where Brooks stood with the groomsmen, handsome in black, smile small but steady.
I didn't let it shake me.
Not today.
Tati appeared at the top of the aisle with her father, veil glimmering in the sun, bouquet full and heavy with white roses.
She looked breathtaking.
Seth's face crumpled into the sweetest mix of awe and love I'd ever seen.
Vows were exchanged — hers funny and tender, his soft and steady — both of them crying halfway through. They kissed with the kind of joy that felt like it lifted the air around us.
I felt my own heart swell — happy for her, proud of her, nostalgic.
Tati and Seth walked back up the aisle hand in hand, the crowd cheering, petals flying.
And just like that —
She was married.
By the time the sun fully disappeared, the courtyard had transformed into a different kind of magic.
The reception glowed like something out of a movie — warm lights strung overhead, champagne glasses glinting, soft laughter floating through the venue.
A few hours had passed since the ceremony. We'd eaten, danced, cried, danced again. Alina had fallen asleep somewhere between Before I Let Go and the line dance, and Tati's mom took her and Miles back to the house.
Now the party had slipped into its softest moment — the late-night RB portion of a wedding where couples hold each other a little closer and the whole room sways like one beating heart.
I stood near the edge of the floor, watching Tati and Seth melt into each other during a slow dance. Watching the lights glint off her veil. Watching everything she'd ever wanted finally belong to her.
And still, beneath all that joy...
I felt the sting.
Felt Brooks's earlier laugh replay in my chest, dragging my mood with it.
That's when a warm presence settled behind me.
I didn't turn.
Didn't have to.
Brooks.
His cologne brushed my cheek first — clean, subtle — before his voice followed, low enough to curl down my spine.
"Amira."
He stepped around me, bow tie undone, shirt sleeves rolled, forearm veins visible in a way that made my stomach flutter. He held out his hand, palm open, waiting.
"Dance with me."
I hesitated — petty, stubborn, tipsy.
He didn't move.
He waited.
Slowly... I placed my fingers in his.
He pulled me against him gently, one hand at my waist, the other holding mine like it anchored him.
The music shifted — John Legend, soft and slow, a song meant for heartache and forgiveness.
"You're still upset," he murmured, forehead brushing mine.
"I'm not."
A quiet exhale, warm against my lips. "Yeah... you are."
He guided my chin back toward him. "Tell me what you're thinking."
My voice barely made it out. "I don't want to feel like I'm in something with you that only I'm naming."
Something in him cracked open.
"Baby," he whispered, "we're way past girlfriend and boyfriend."
My breath hitched.
He pulled me closer, our bodies molding together like they'd been meant to fit.