Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Scarlett
The Waldorf Astoria lobby is buzzing with activity when I arrive at ten AM. Guests are checking in, bellhops are moving luggage, and somewhere upstairs, my wedding is being set up.
I opted to spend last night at my apartment rather than stay at the hotel.
I needed one more night in my own space, surrounded by familiar things, before everything changed.
Now, wheeling my overnight bag behind me, I head straight for the elevator that will take me to the top floor where my bridal suite is waiting.
The suite is enormous. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlook the city, sunlight streaming in and illuminating the sitting area where Jane and Sarah have already set up camp. There's coffee, pastries, fruit, and champagne chilling in an ice bucket.
"There she is!" Sarah jumps up from the couch.
"The bride!"
Jane rushes over and hugs me.
"How are you feeling? Did you sleep?"
"Barely." I set my bag down and accept the cup of coffee Sarah presses into my hand.
"But I'm here. Ready to do this."
"You're going to be the most beautiful bride." Jane squeezes my shoulder.
"Come on, sit. Eat something. Hair and makeup will be here in twenty minutes."
I sink into the plush couch and take a croissant from the spread. My stomach is in knots, but I force myself to eat. Today is my wedding day. I need energy.
"Your suite is incredible," Sarah says, gesturing around the space.
"This whole floor is gorgeous."
"Jane and I are on the eighth floor," Sarah adds.
"Which is nice, but nothing like this. Top floor treatment for the bride."
I glance around. The suite has a separate bedroom with a king bed, a full bathroom with a soaking tub, and this expansive living area. Everything is pristine, elegant, perfect.
There's a knock at the door. Sarah answers it, and the hair and makeup team sweeps in with their equipment—lights, mirrors, cases full of products.
"Good morning, bride!" The lead stylist, a woman named Monica, beams at me.
"Are you ready to get gorgeous?" She says.
"As ready as I'll ever be."
They set up their station by the windows, the natural light perfect for makeup application. I settle into the chair they've brought, and Monica drapes a cape around my shoulders.
"We're going to make you stunning," she promises, running her fingers through my hair to assess the texture.
"Classic updo with some loose pieces framing your face. Elegant, timeless, romantic."
Her assistant starts working on my makeup. Foundation, concealer, contouring. I close my eyes and try to relax into the process. Jane and Sarah are chatting behind me, their voices a comfortable background hum. I'm only half-listening until I catch a snippet of their conversation.
"I mean, he's definitely the most attractive man I've ever seen," Sarah says, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.
"Right?" Jane agrees.
"Those eyes. That presence. And the way he carried himself—"
"Like he owned the room," Sarah finishes.
They're talking about Dax.
"I kept thinking, how are they even brothers?" Jane continues.
"Miles is great, don't get me wrong, but Dax is on a completely different level."
My jaw tightens. The makeup artist notices.
"You okay, hon? Need me to stop?"
"I'm fine," I say quickly. "Keep going."
I force myself to tune out Jane and Sarah's commentary. I focus on the sensation of brushes on my face, the gentle way Monica is pinning sections of my hair. This is my wedding day.
An hour later, my hair and makeup are finished. Monica spins the chair so I can see myself in the mirror.
I barely recognize the woman staring back at me. My hair is swept up in an intricate updo, a few blonde tendrils curling softly around my face. My makeup is flawless—dewy skin, smoky eyes, perfectly pink lips. I look like a bride.
"You're gorgeous," Jane breathes, coming to stand behind me.
"Absolutely stunning," Sarah adds.
Monica smiles with satisfaction.
"Now let's get you into that dress."
The wedding gown hangs on a padded hanger near the window, the ivory lace catching the sunlight. Jane and Sarah carefully lift it down while Monica helps me step out of my robe.
The dress is a masterpiece. Fitted lace bodice with delicate beading, a sweetheart neckline, and a flowing skirt that pools at my feet. Jane and Sarah work together to help me step into it, then slowly zip up the back.
"Oh my God," Sarah whispers.
I turn to face the full-length mirror, and my breath catches. The dress fits perfectly, hugging my curves before flowing out in elegant waves. The lace detail on the bodice catches the light, thousands of tiny crystals sparkling.
"This is really happening," I say softly.
Jane's eyes are already watering.
"You look like a princess. Miles is going to lose his mind when he sees you."
There's a knock at the door. Sarah answers it, and my mother walks in.
She stops dead when she sees me. For once, there's no criticism, no anxious commentary. Her hand comes up to cover her mouth, and genuine tears fill her eyes.
"Scarlett," she breathes.
"Oh, sweetheart. You're beautiful."
She crosses the room and takes my hands, careful not to wrinkle the dress.
"I know I've been difficult about this wedding. About everything. But looking at you right now..." Her voice breaks.
"I'm so proud of you."
The unexpected emotion catches me off guard. My own eyes start to well up, and Jane immediately rushes over.
"No, no, no crying!" she says firmly.
"We just spent an hour on that makeup."
My mother laughs through her tears and dabs at her eyes with a tissue.
"You're right. I'm sorry."
The photographer, who's been quietly documenting everything, steps forward.
"Can we get some shots of you in the dress? By the window?"
I move to where she directs, the dress swishing around my legs. The photographer clicks away, capturing every angle.
"Beautiful. Now with your mother and bridesmaids."
Jane and Sarah flank me, and my mother stands beside me. We smile for the camera, and I try to feel the joy I'm supposed to feel. This is my wedding day. I'm surrounded by people who love me. I'm wearing my dream dress.
Why does it feel like I'm playing a part in someone else's story?
"Bouquet time," Monica announces, retrieving the arrangement from its box.
The florist outdid herself. Cream roses mixed with eucalyptus and delicate white ranunculus. I take the bouquet in my hands, the weight of it grounding me.
"Final touches," Jane says, adjusting my veil. She secures it in my updo, the sheer fabric cascading down my back.
Sarah hands me my earrings—simple diamond studs, a gift from Miles for our one-year anniversary. I put them in with shaking hands.
"There." Jane steps back, surveying me.
"You're ready."
I look at myself one more time in the mirror. The bride staring back at me is perfect. Hair, makeup, dress, flowers. Everything is exactly as it should be.
The hotel corridor outside the bridal suite is quiet, elegant, carpeted in deep burgundy. My father is waiting when we emerge, looking handsome in his tuxedo.
His eyes widen when he sees me.
"Scarlett. You look..." He clears his throat, emotion thick in his voice.
"You look just like your grandmother did on her wedding day."
I kiss his cheek.
"Thanks, Dad."
From somewhere below, I can hear music drifting up. The string quartet. They're playing classical pieces, gentle and romantic. Guests must be arriving, taking their seats in the ballroom.
"The ceremony starts in fifteen minutes," my mother says, checking her watch.
"I should head down."
She hugs me carefully, mindful of my dress.
"I love you, sweetheart."
"Love you too, Mom."
She disappears down the corridor toward the elevator, leaving me with my father, Jane, and Sarah.
"How are you feeling?" my father asks gently.
"Nervous," I admit. "But good. Ready."
The lies are getting easier.
Jane fusses with my veil one more time.
"You're going to be amazing. Miles is so lucky."
Sarah grins. "In about thirty minutes, you'll be Mrs. Blackwell."
Mrs. Blackwell. The name sounds foreign, like it belongs to someone else.
We wait in the suite listening to the music.
"You know what?" I say suddenly.
"I don't want to wait up here anymore. Let's go down."
Jane exchanges a glance with Sarah.
"Are you sure? The coordinator will come get us when it's time."
"I know. But I want to be closer. I want to see everything."
"Okay." Jane links her arm through mine.
"Let's go."
We take the elevator down to the conference level, then walk through the elegant corridors toward the ballroom. The music gets louder with each step. Chopin. Beautiful and melancholic.
The ballroom doors are open, and I stealthily peak around the wall.
I can see inside from where we stop in the corridor just outside.
The space is breathtaking. Tall ceilings, crystal chandeliers, cream roses everywhere.
Guests are seated in neat rows, dressed in their finest. At the front, beneath an arch dripping with flowers, the officiant stands waiting.
The groomsmen are lined up on the left side. Eric, Miles's best man, looks uncomfortable in his tuxedo. The other two groomsmen shift on their feet.
But there's a space where Miles should be standing. The space is empty.
My heart starts to race. "Where is he?"
Jane squeezes my arm.
"I'm sure he's just running late. Getting ready with his guys."
Minutes pass. The music continues. The guests are all seated now, turning in their chairs to look toward the entrance, expecting the ceremony to start.
At that very moment, Christina, my wedding coordinator, appears from around the corner. Her face is pale, her expression stricken.
"Christina?" I call out.
She hurries over, and I can see panic in her eyes.
"Scarlett, I… I was looking for you—" She glances at my father, at Jane and Sarah.
"Miles isn't here."
The words don't make sense. "What?"
"He never showed up to wardrobe or hair." Christina's voice is shaking.
"We've been calling him, but he's not answering."