Chapter 19 #2
I give her a thumbs-up. “Good enough.” Then I look at myself in the mirror.
“Do you think this glam squad can transform me from swamp creature to passable humanoid?
" I tilt my head, examining my reflection.
"If not, I'll just embrace my final form as Bride of Frankenstein meets rejected Star Wars droid.
The tabloids can run with 'Beauty Tames the Beast: How Max Kensington Married a Woman with the Facial Symmetry of a Picasso Painting.' So, of course, I’m the beast in this scenario, while Max is the beauty, so flipping the script! I’ll start a support group for the aesthetically challenged spouses of the genetically blessed. " I flutter my eyelashes dramatically.
Lexi's voice cuts through Celeste's spiral.
"Would you listen to yourself? You're beautiful.
Sure, maybe the Diet Coke IV drip and three-hour sleep schedule have you looking a little rough around the edges, but that's temporary.
What isn't temporary is that Max hit the jackpot with you, not the other way around. So enough."
I nod. My friends know their roles. Tally calls me "Skeletor" and I call her "Thunder Thighs," though we both know she's a knockout and I clean up pretty well when I try.
Olivia's the one who reminds me I'm worth something when I forget.
And Lexi? She's the reality check—the one who grabs my shoulders and tells me to get it together.
She's right this time. A few months ago, I was Celeste 1.
0—five-mile runs, downward dog at dawn, perfect sleep schedule, and a fridge full of kale.
Now I'm running on four hours of sleep, Diet Coke, takeout containers, and whatever wine is on sale.
Between my insane work hours and the low-grade panic of marrying a man who despises me—a man whose cologne makes my pulse quicken despite everything—I've become someone I barely recognize.
I force a smile. "Thanks, everyone." My stomach churns as I glance at the clock.
"Is it too late to request general anesthesia?
Or maybe there's some memory-wiping service I could hire afterward—like that Jim Carrey-Kate Winslet movie where they zap away all the bad stuff?
" I tug at my sleeve, unable to meet anyone's eyes.
"Because the way I'm feeling right now, this whole thing is going to be a train wreck.
There's just no way this ends with me keeping my dignity intact. "
Five minutes later, my suite becomes beauty central.
The hairdresser attacks with products, applying some ridiculously expensive masque that smells like bottled luxury.
The makeup artist examines my face with bomb-squad focus—fair enough, given my raccoon eyes and blotchy skin.
My bridesmaids - Tally, Liv and Lexi - circle in burgundy off-shoulder gowns, offering champagne and chatter to distract me.
I focus on my breathing—four counts in, seven hold, eight out—and hope I make it to "I do" without passing out.
“So, tell me about Max’s house,” Olivia asks. “After all, this is where the shindig will take place. What’s it like?”
I shake my head. "No clue. I've never set foot in the place.
You'd think with all his money, his mansion would be plastered across every tabloid spread from here to TMZ, but I haven't seen it anywhere.
Probably too high-brow for the gossip rags—more like Architectural Digest territory.
Not that I've had time to flip through those either. "
Tally's face lights up. "Oh my GOD, I've seen his house in Architectural Digest." She lunges forward, gripping the table.
"Thirty-thousand square feet of Mediterranean perfection practically hanging off a cliff.
Stone walls like a fortress, those arched windows framing the ocean.
" She slaps the table. "That courtyard with the fountain and lemon trees!
Portuguese tiles worth a fortune. And the master bath—" she's practically hyperventilating “not only makes my entire apartment look like a storage closet, but has a tub carved from a single marble slab.
The infinity pool—" her voice drops to a whisper "—just melts into the Pacific. "
I let out a nervous "Oh," followed by uncontrollable giggles.
"When Max suggested having the reception at his house, I pictured string lights and intimate gatherings, not some Malibu fortress with infinity pools and disappearing glass walls.
" I twist my engagement ring. "I should've known better.
A Kensington wouldn't live in a normal home where neighbors can actually see your yard.
" My smile fades. "I just wanted that ordinary life—patchy lawns, barking dogs, and Sunday neighbors dropping by with beer. "
Tally rolls her eyes. "Honey, please. His 'house'?
" She makes air quotes. "It's practically the Getty Museum.
We're talking marble columns, infinity pools, and a cobble-stone driveway that could double as a Formula One track.
There will be Lamborghinis, Bentleys, Aston Martins in that driveway today and those will be the cheaper cars pulling up.
Some of the cars will cost more than your lifetime salary and mine put together.
The fountain in front spouts champagne on weekends—I'm barely exaggerating. "
Olivia shoots Tally a look as I gasp for air.
The room tilts, my vision tunnels. She grabs the paper bag from my purse—the one I packed just in case.
Four hundred guests wait at the church. So much for Max's "small, intimate gathering.
" I count breaths against the crinkling paper.
One-two-three in. One-two-three out. Five minutes later, the pressure eases. Crisis averted—for now.