Chapter 37
Ava
Harrison holds the door for me, and we step into the church.
He pockets his hands as we stroll down the center aisle. “It’s empty.”
“They’re just camera tests,” I say. “Nothing final. Anything they don’t like gets fixed.” I shrug. “And I don’t need glam for this. I usually do my own makeup anyway.”
I slide my sunglasses up into my hair and take a slow look around, letting the space settle.
“Don’t you at least need… I don’t know. Some kind of lighting crew?” Harrison asks. “It’s pretty dark in here. Even influencers bring that giant glowing donut.”
He holds his hands out like he’s about to catch a soccer ball.
I let out a small laugh. “No glowing donut is ever going to look as good as natural candlelight,” I say, steering his attention toward the altar.
The actor playing the priest moves carefully through the space, lighting candles one by one, reverent and unhurried.
“Oh no.” I nod toward the priest. “The studio must not have all its funding yet. They’ve got actors doubling as prop masters.” I lower my voice. “Either that, or he’s very method.”
“What kind of method?” he whispers back. Then, softer, “And why are we whispering?”
I smile. “You’re the perfect blank slate for my off-off-off Broadway acting class.”
His brow lifts. “Why am I suddenly afraid?”
“Bwa-ha-ha,” I laugh under my breath, suitably unhinged. “Come on.”
We move toward the front, and I catch the priest’s attention. “Hi.” I give a small wave. “I’m Ava. This is Harrison. Are we the first ones here?”
He blinks at us. “Oh, for the wedding?”
“Yes,” I say easily. “That’s right.”
“I think you’re a little early,” he says, with a small laugh.
He’s right. I am.
But after confessing my worst sins to Harrison and bracing for the full weight of his judgment, I really need to speed this day along.
The doors behind us open.
I turn just as a man with a camera slung around his neck peeks into the church.
I wave him over. “We’re down here.” He slips inside and jogs toward us.
I tug Harrison down and murmur into his ear, “Just go with me on this, okay? Myra said these are just camera tests. Technically, they don’t even need Pierce in the shots. If they shoot from the back or wide, it should be fine.”
He gives a short shrug. “Anything that keeps that asshole out of my vicinity.” His gaze flicks around the church. “Do I need a script?”
“No. These scenes are usually improvised,” I say. “We’ll follow the priest’s lead. Consider it your first acting class.” I give a small, encouraging clap. “It’ll be fun.”
He exhales once, then straightens his tie. “Where do you need me?”
The priest studies us. Me. Then Harrison. Then the photographer hovering nearby.
His gaze settles back on me, thoughtful. “Well,” he says slowly, “if you’re ready to go…”
He positions me to one side, Harrison to the other, then gestures to the photographer. “Witness,” he says, assigning a double role without missing a beat.
Most actors would protest that it’s not their job. This guy doesn’t. He’s got future director energy written all over him.
I haven’t worked with this photographer before, so I extend a hand. “Ava.”
His face lights up as he takes it, shaking a little too enthusiastically. “Oh, I know who you are, Miss Alvarez. I’m a huge fan. Your biggest. You have no idea what this means to me.”
I give him my practiced smile. The one I use when someone is trying to jiggle my arm out of its socket.
Harrison steps a little closer, clearly unsettled by the sudden intensity of this man’s fandom.
I shoot him a look. The kind that says do not embarrass me.
He gets it and offers a hand. “Harrison.”
“Chad.”
They shake, and Chad’s attention snaps right back to me like Harrison never existed. “I’ll make you look incredible,” he promises, already stepping backward, camera lifting.
I exhale slowly.
Let’s just get through this.
Everyone takes their places. The priest opens a stately Bible to a suitably official page and begins, “Dearly beloved—”
“Should we hold hands?” I ask, glancing between the priest and the photographer. “Would it make a better shot?”
The photographer nods eagerly. “That would be perfect.”
Harrison and I take each other’s hands. I wish he weren’t frowning so hard. It doesn’t matter for the shot. The photographer is shooting him from behind, angling me just right.
But I hate disappointing people. It’s stupid, but I do. And disappointing Harrison makes something twist low in my gut.
“Do you, Harrison,” the priest says, glancing between us, “take Ava—”
He continues, settling into the familiar cadence of movie vows. With each line, Harrison grows more distant, more closed off.
“—in sickness and in health—”
“I need a minute,” Harrison says, breaking our hold.
“Is everything all right?” I ask, already knowing it isn’t.
The priest pauses. Chad lowers his camera.
Harrison doesn’t look at me. “I’m sorry,” he says, already stepping back. “I just—” He shakes his head once. “I need a minute.”
Then he’s ripping off his tie and disappearing through a side door.
The priest and the photographer both look at me. I shrink where I stand.
This isn’t about professionalism. Or optics. Or what anyone here thinks.
I don’t care about any of that.
I care about Harrison.
In a few short days, he’s treated me better than men who’ve had years to do the same. He’s never looked at me like I’m a transaction.
He looks at me and makes me feel beautiful.
Wanted.
Cherished.
Until I ruined it by telling him the truth.
But I can’t lie to him.
I won’t.
I stare at the door he disappeared through and start counting.
One Mississippi. Two Mississippi…
If he feels this much disdain for me, why am I doing this to myself?
I should let him go. Make it easier on both of us.
End it here and now. It was always going to end this way.
And it’s not like he’s needed for the shot. Pierce is coming. He’ll be here any minute now.
Exactly. I can just stand here, tap my foot, and wait for Pierce.
That would be the smart thing.
Or I could chase after a broody lumberjack and sacrifice the very last of my dignity.
Then there’s option three. I could leave.
Myra would be thrilled.
Kali would make all the arrangements.
I could hightail it back to LA and pretend New York never happened at all.
Chad lifts his camera again. The shutter clicks, right in my face.
I raise a hand, blocking the lens, as I bolt for the door.
“Not now, Chad.”