3. Skylar
SKYLAR
“I look like a preteen who just discovered eyeliner!” Allie screeches as she plucks a set of fake lashes from her eyelid.
“Keep your voice down,” Emory scolds. “We’re in a courthouse.”
“Well, it’s your fault I look like this,” she retorts.
“I think you look beautiful,” I offer, taking in the tiny gems lining my own eyelids as I glance at myself in the courthouse bathroom mirror.
Emory may have gone a little overboard. Like me, she’s not well-versed in the world of makeup.
I’ve only ever seen her wearing a thin layer of gloss and maybe a sweep of mascara.
She’s got me beat, though. I barely wear lip balm unless it’s a special occasion.
As the maid of honor in a no-frills wedding, Emory has taken her duties pretty seriously.
She’s been sending me videos of makeup and hair tutorials every day for the past week.
It also hasn’t helped that she recently discovered Euphoria and has been binging it when it’s slow at the hospital.
Come to think of it, that definitely explains the geometric pink and blue eyeshadow that goes all the way up to her brow line.
Allie huffs, muttering to herself as she applies mascara to her natural lashes.
Despite the pit of dread whirling around in my stomach, I can’t help but feel a little lighter being around these ladies.
Emory and Allie have been friends since college, but they welcomed me in with open arms when Allie joined the paper as our food writer last year.
Even though Allie left and ultimately opened up her own restaurant, we still keep in touch.
She may be a little rough around the edges, but there’s no one else I would rather see marry my best friend.
They’re stupidly in love. Like that kind of all-encompassing, knock-down, drag-out love you see in movies.
As with anything worth a damn in life, they didn’t have an easy road, but they made it here, and I’m going to do everything I can to help make it special for them, including facing the ghosts of my past. Or rather, a ghost, singular.
Allie finally turns around, and Emory and I both gasp.
She’s absolutely gorgeous. In true Allie fashion, she’s wearing a white mini-dress with a tulle skirt, black fishnets, and Converse sneakers.
Her hair is half up in a crown braid, the rest of it cascading down her back in dark waves.
Her ocean blue eyes sparkle behind the black-rimmed glasses she replaced after fixing her eye makeup.
Ashton is going to flip when he sees her.
“Holy shit,” Emory blurts.
“Is it—too much?” Allie looks down at herself. “Should I take the skirt off?”
I can’t help but let out a soft giggle. I’ve never seen Allie this flustered.
“Don’t you dare change a thing,” Emory squeals. “It’s perfect.”
Allie’s lips turn up into a slight smile. “Okay, then. Let’s do this.” She sweeps by me, leaning down to speak softly into my ear. “Thank you. This means everything to him.”
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
She smiles again, wider this time. It’s almost the same one she gives Ashton when she thinks no one is looking—almost.
Allie opens the door, and I start to follow, but Emory grabs my wrist. “I think my eyeshadow got smudged. Can you help me, Sky?” She looks back to her best friend. “We’ll meet you in there.”
“Sure,” I say as Allie nods and slips out the door.
Emory’s all over me the second we hear the soft click of the door closing.
“Okay, so this is super last minute, but I’m throwing them an after-party.
I’ve been meaning to call you all day, but Rowan’s been teething and only let go of me when Luke got home.
And yes, before you say anything, I know they said no reception.
Ashton said he’d rather celebrate by eating in peace.
Which, honestly…gross. I wasn’t born yesterday.
” She rolls her eyes, shaking her head before getting back to the task at hand.
“But it’s just going to be a few people at the Daffodil.
Allie’s staff is handling the appetizers, I ordered a few cases of champagne, and the happy couple can leave whenever they want. ”
I blink.
An after-party. At the Daffodil. Short for Daffodil Provisions—the restaurant Allie opened after she left the paper last year.
Champagne.
Appetizers.
“Why aren’t you saying anything?” Emory asks, nibbling on her bottom lip. “You think it’s a terrible idea?”
I sigh. This is yet another event that I will miss out on in my effort to avoid Declan Astor.
We’ve played this carefully constructed game of social chicken for years now.
I’ll be within a few feet of him for ten—maybe fifteen—minutes during the ceremony, and then he can go to the after-party, and I’ll be on my merry way home to my couch and a fridge full of leftover Thai food.
I look back up at Emory, realizing I still haven’t responded.
“It’s a great idea, Em. Ash is super close with his siblings. I’m sure they would love to celebrate with him.”
Emory lets out a breath. “Yes, exactly. That’s how this whole thing started. His sister apparently got wind of the whole elopement situation and insisted we do something after. I sort of threw it together this morning before Luke left for work.”
I open my mouth to give her an excuse for not being able to go, but she keeps speaking.
“Anyway, I’m going to head over to the Daffodil right after the ceremony and make sure everything is good to go. Can you get Allie and Ash there?”
“Oh, I—”
“You can make up an excuse, like you left something at the restaurant the other day, so they’ll let you in even though it's closed.”
“That’s—”
“Please, Sky.” Emory looks at me, her hazel eyes doing that puppy-dog thing, and I finally understand how Luke, her fiancé, is completely helpless when it comes to her.
I blow out a breath. “Okay.”
I’ll get them there and slip out while everyone is distracted.
Emory turns, a self-satisfied smirk plastered on her lips. “Great, let’s go.”
I brace myself as we walk down the hallway toward the small room in the courthouse that is reserved for weddings.
My heart thuds as we turn the corner, but when we finally enter the room, it’s just Ash and Allie standing with the officiant.
Ashton is beaming as he stares at Allie, who smirks back at him, with love reflecting in her ocean eyes.
“Looks like we have our witnesses,” the older man says, checking his watch with a weary sigh.
Ashton turns toward us, enveloping Emory in a hug before doing the same to me. “You both look beautiful. Thank you for being here.”
Allie told us we could wear whatever we wanted today, which Emory took as free rein to buy us matching blush mini dresses. I’m not sure what’s gotten into her. She’s usually a T-shirt and leggings girl when she’s not wearing her scrubs.
Ashton breaks our hug and that’s when I feel him.
Even after six years, I can sense when he walks into a room.
I must have stumbled, because I realize I’m clutching Ashton’s arm like it’s the only thing holding me up.
Ash shifts his body, allowing me to see the man in question standing only feet away, and my soul almost leaves my body.
Holy shit. I shouldn’t be shocked, because it’s not like I don’t know what he looks like after snooping around on Ashton’s Instagram.
I haven’t dared to go near Declan’s account.
Knowing me, I’d accidentally like something.
Still, pictures have not done the man justice.
His once-dark hair is now dyed blonde, but his natural roots give him an edgy look.
He has the same espresso eyes, the same lip ring—the one he made me go with him to get when he was sixteen.
He was nervous, so I held his hand. I flex mine now, the memory of his touch ghosting my palm.
He’s taller than I remember, his black suit hugging the dips and curves of his body. A new thorny rose tattoo runs down his neck and disappears into his collar. He only had his lacrosse number on his wrist back in high school, but I guess he doesn’t mind needles anymore.
A pit forms at the bottom of my stomach thinking about someone else holding his hand while he got that tattoo, but I shake the thought away just in time for Declan to turn his head.
That’s when I notice the dark purple bruise surrounding his left eye.
My heart sinks like it used to when I would see him hurt. Back when he’d climb through my window…
“You okay?” a voice whispers.
I realize I haven’t let go of Ashton, and my nails are digging into his arm, creating little half-moons on his skin.
“Shit, I’m sorry.” I back up, giving him space and walking over to where the girls are standing.
Ashton says something to Declan, but I can’t make it out.
All I see is Declan nodding out of the corner of my eye before taking his place next to his best friend.
Our best friend. The officiant starts reading off his script.
The entire time, Declan’s gaze is cast downward, like he can’t even bring himself to look at me.
Fuck him.
If I have to stand here staring at the way his dress pants strain against his thighs and the glisten of that stupid fucking lip ring, the least he can do is spare me a glance.
I clear my throat and four sets of eyes turn to me while the officiant continues rattling off his speech.
I wave them off, shaking my head, but I still feel eyes on me.
That’s when I see him, his gaze slowly and deliberately raking over me.
I guess I got my wish. But when his eyes land on my arm, something changes.
They darken before he looks away, settling back on the officiant.
The man is now asking if Allie and Ashton have vows.
They do, of course, and they’re beautiful, but it’s hard to pay attention when every so often I catch Declan looking at me. Although he’s not really looking at me. He’s still staring specifically at the brace on my wrist.
What the fuck?