1. Eliana #2
The accident had changed more than I liked admitting.
So had everything that came after it. I looked away from the mirror before I could start thinking too much.
My dating life hadn't exactly improved with age either.
The last few men I'd gone out with had managed two dates at most before disappearing into whatever mysterious hole emotionally unavailable men apparently lived in.
Maybe I was losing my charm. Maybe thirty-five was when women became invisible.
The thought was ridiculous. Still, it stayed with me.
I picked up my phone and called Dad.
He answered after the third ring. "Eli, my dear! Are you ready?"
"Almost, Dad."
"Almost?" he said, teasing.
I sighed, "I've been busy, Dad. Honestly, I almost forgot."
"Eli..."
"I know. I know, I'm going."
He laughed quietly.
I asked, "Are you absolutely sure you don't want to come?"
He paused for a few seconds before answering. "Your cousin's wedding isn't exactly my scene, dear."
"You're family."
"So are you. You're attending means I'm attending."
"It doesn't work that way. You should be there. Aunt Margaret, Camilla… they'll miss you."
He sighed. "I'll be fine here."
I knew what he meant. Camilla loved him.
Aunt Margaret loved him. But the rest of the guest list would be filled with people who lived in a world completely different from ours.
People who had never accepted us because my mom, Helena Carter, the Carter family’s eldest daughter, had dared to marry an ordinary man like Daniel Hart, my dad.
My father had spent years running a small restaurant which was my mother's dream business. He wasn't a celebrity, a producer, or the owner of some enormous company.
He was just Dad.
"I wish you would come," I said.
"I know, dear." His voice softened. "Go. Have fun. You deserve one evening where you don't think about work."
I smiled. "I'll try."
"That's my girl," he said, lovingly.
I smiled. "Love you, Dad."
"Love you too, dear."
The call ended.
After hanging up, I glanced down at my mother's pendant around my neck. My fingers found it naturally. I'd worn it for years. I didn't remember a time when I hadn't.
For a moment, I stood there silently, holding the pendant. Then I slipped my shoes on, grabbed my purse, said my goodbyes to Cookie, and headed outside.
The early-spring air in Richmond was cool without being cruel. March had finally begun surrendering to spring, leaving behind damp earth, budding trees, and the faint promise of warmer days.
My cab moved through the city while I watched the world pass through the window.
People walked along the sidewalks wrapped in light jackets. Trees were beginning to show small hints of green. The sky was pale blue, washed clean after the previous night's rain.
For the first time that morning, I let myself breathe.
Maybe Dad was right.
Maybe I needed something new.
Maybe tonight would give me the inspiration I couldn't find sitting alone in front of a blank screen.
I smiled at the thought. Then the extravagant wedding venue appeared ahead. And the moment I saw the rows of luxury cars, security guards, photographers, and flashes of cameras waiting outside, I knew one thing.
My quiet evening had officially disappeared.
I paid the driver, stepped onto the cobblestone driveway, and smoothed my palms over the deep-green fabric of my dress. "Well," I muttered under my breath, "fake confidence it is."
The estate looked less like a wedding venue and more like something lifted from an old European film.
White marble fountains sparkled beneath the afternoon sun, fresh flowers climbed every stone archway, and a quartet played near the entrance while elegantly dressed guests drifted across the gardens with champagne flutes already in hand.
Somewhere overhead, a drone hovered, filming the celebration.
I surely was amazed. But it wasn't really unexpected.
After all, Camilla wasn't simply getting married. She was marrying Hollywood's latest golden boy, and every entertainment magazine in America had been covering the wedding for weeks.
The Wedding of the Year.
America's Favorite Actor Finally Says I Do.
Celebrity Guest List Revealed.
Apparently, I'd walked straight into the center of the internet.
A photographer lowered his camera as I passed, clearly mistaking me for someone important. His expression visibly dimmed when he realized I wasn't famous.
"Sorry," he said awkwardly before immediately aiming his lens past me toward a reality TV star stepping out of a limousine.
I couldn't even be offended. At least he'd apologized.
Inside the entrance hall, conversations floated together beneath glittering chandeliers.
Everywhere I looked, someone seemed familiar.
A famous singer laughed beside an NFL quarterback.
A bestselling thriller author chatted with an Oscar-winning actress.
A designer whose dresses I'd only ever seen on magazine covers adjusted someone's train while assistants hurried around her.
Meanwhile, I was mentally calculating whether Cookie had enough birdseed for tomorrow.
One of us clearly belonged here.
It just…wasn't me.
My fingers found the silver pendant resting against my collarbone, an old habit I'd never managed to break. Years of absentmindedly rubbing it whenever I felt nervous had worn the metal smooth beneath my fingertips.
"Eliana?"
I turned so quickly my hair slipped over my shoulder. "Aunt Margaret?"
Before I could react, she wrapped me in one of those hugs that only certain women knew how to give, the kind that smelled faintly of expensive perfume and somehow still felt like home.
"Oh, sweetheart."
I hugged her back just as tightly. "I've missed you."
"I've missed you more."
When she finally pulled away, she cupped my face between both hands, studying me with the affectionate scrutiny only mothers and aunts seemed capable of. "You've gotten thinner."
I groaned dramatically. "I knew that was coming."
She laughed, patting my cheek. "And those glasses still make you look like you're about to assign homework."
"I literally teach literature."
"Which proves my point."
I laughed with her, and for a moment the overwhelming glamour around us disappeared. It became just us. Just family.
Then her smile softened. "You have your mother's warm brown eyes. They always remind me of her. She would've loved seeing you in this dress."
Her words stirred a quiet ache in my heart that I kept hidden for years. I looked away before my expression betrayed me. "It's been a while."
After Mom died, everything had scattered. Family dinners disappeared. Holiday traditions quietly stopped happening. People we'd grown up surrounded by slowly stopped calling, until birthdays became smaller and familiar faces became strangers.
Only Aunt Margaret and Camilla had stayed.
No matter how messy life became. No matter how broke we got or how many birthdays we couldn't afford to celebrate. None of it ever mattered. We had each other.
"We're still here," Margaret said, squeezing my hand as though she'd somehow heard every thought I'd kept to myself.
I nodded and squeezed back. "We are."
Her expression brightened instantly. "Now come before your cousin starts a nationwide search."
I gasped dramatically. “Oh no.”
“Oh yes!” she mimicked, bursting into laughter.
She looped her arm through mine and guided me deeper into the estate. "She's asked about you at least six times."
"Come on! I'm not that late. Am I?"
"You're forty-three minutes late."
I glanced at her sideways. "You counted?"
She gave me a look. "I raised a daughter."
Fair point.
The bridal suite occupied an entire wing overlooking the gardens, and the hallway buzzed with hairstylists carrying curling irons, makeup artists balancing palettes, assistants rushing past with garment bags, and photographers insisting they needed "one more candid."
It was chaos. A very expensive chaos to be precise.
Margaret pushed open the double doors. "There she is."
Camilla spun around so quickly her veil nearly smacked one of the makeup artists in the face.
"Eli!" She practically flew across the room. Before I knew it, she'd thrown her arms around me hard enough to make me laugh. "You actually came."
"I was especially invited by the bride. I had to."
"You are late though," she complained, pouting.
“My fault. I thought that’d be today’s theme,” I teased.
She pulled back, holding me at arm's length as she looked me over with exaggerated seriousness. "Oh my God."
I raised an eyebrow. "What?"
"You look gorgeous." I glanced down at myself. "I look like someone borrowing your dress."
She shook her head immediately. “You look like my cousin.” Her smile softened, and I caught the faint glisten in her eyes. “My beautiful cousin.”
Emotion caught me off guard. I nudged her shoulder. “Careful. You’ll ruin your makeup,” I teased.
“Nuh-uh! That’s Theo’s job tonight!” she shot back with a grin.
“My goodness! Happy honeymoon, my sister,” I said, laughing.
“Don’t worry. Your time will come soon,” she assured me.
We both burst out laughing. It felt easy. The way it always had with Camilla. Even after years of seeing each other less than either of us wanted.
She looked breathtaking in her fitted ivory gown. Sunlight poured through the tall windows behind her, catching the delicate embroidery until she almost seemed to glow.
"You nervous?"
Camilla inhaled dramatically, placing a hand over her chest. "I'm somewhere between crying, fainting, and marrying the love of my life."
"Healthy combination."
"Terrible combination, you mean."
"I'd say it's working."
She laughed, shaking her head at me. And I already knew I would remember this moment long after the wedding was over.
Around us, the makeup artists hurried through their final touches while photographers continued documenting every smile.
One of the bridesmaids caught my eye through the mirror. "So you're Eliana."
"My favorite cousin," Camilla answered before I could.
"I thought I was your favorite," another bridesmaid complained.
"You got demoted five seconds ago."