CHAPTER FIVE Johanna
CHAPTER FIVE
Johanna
“FANCY” — DRAKE, TI, SWIZZ BEATZ
Present Day
Grayson and Mia’s wedding weekend is finally here.
Six months of planning, decorating, and trying not to tear each other’s hair out—all for this moment. When Mia had asked me to be her co-Maid of Honor with Rylee, of course I said yes.
I love Mia. She’s smart, steady, and—most importantly—she can handle my stupid brother so I don’t have to.
Mostly, I’m thrilled to have a sister-in-law I actually like. What I’m not thrilled about, however, is having to be around him all weekend.
I say that like we don’t live in the same fucking house.
I moved in with the band at Brandon’s when I came back to LA last year to tell Grayson about our mom’s cancer diagnosis.
I’d had every intention of getting my own place once I realized I was planning on staying in LA, but it just… never happened.
Maybe—subconsciously of course—I stayed at the house to keep myself close to Brandon, but even then, we haven’t so much as looked at each other since the wedding planning night at Grayson and Mia’s a few weeks ago.
Brandon had ripped something open between us that night—something that we’d both worked really hard to keep neatly stitched up and buried under six years of mutual avoidance and disdain.
But now? It’s like he doesn’t even remember saying anything at all.
That’s the difference between us. He gets to forget—I get to feel every damn word.
If it hadn’t been my only brother’s wedding, I probably would’ve bailed, because I do remember. I remember everything—every word, every detail, every movement he made. I wish I didn’t.
It’s stupid, and I hate it. I especially hate that even after all this time, I still care what Brandon fucking Jackson thinks.
Apparently when my mother died, I turned into this pathetic, soft excuse for a woman. I’d give anything to have my ice queen persona back, but she’s long gone now.
Something about watching my emotionally stunted older brother escape his disaster of a first marriage to find the love of his life has cracked something open in me I didn’t know still existed.
I’d all but given up on finding happiness—the love that I could’ve had with Brandon but had been too young, too stupid, and too immature to see what was right in front of me. I hadn’t been ready then. I’d blown it up and made sure we couldn’t clean up the wreckage…
…or could we?
The bridal suite at the venue looks like it came straight out of a Pinterest board. Floor-to-ceiling windows flood the room with natural light, bottles of expensive champagne—selected by yours truly—chill in ice buckets, and racks of dresses line one wall like pieces of art.
It’s the kind of scene that would make any normal woman giddy.
But me?
It makes me nauseated. It’s too bright. Too perfect. Too much.
It’s only the rehearsal dinner tonight, but the bridal party is doing a test run of hair and makeup. Stylists bustle in, armed with curling irons and an alarming amount of hairspray, and I stifle a laugh as Mia’s middle sister, Macy, looks like she’s about to burst with excitement.
“Johanna!” Mia calls from her spot in the makeup chair. “Come over here, and bring some champagne.”
I do as I’m told, even though sitting in one of those chairs makes my stomach twist. I’m not a model anymore. I don’t want to be. Even though I know this isn’t the same, the similarities are close enough to sting and remind me of the life I once lived.
I sit down next to Mia and hand her a flute. She catches my eye and gives me that steady smile of hers—the one that almost makes me believe love isn’t completely doomed.
While Mia, her sisters, and I are being poked and prodded by our stylists, Rylee is pacing behind us with curlers in her fiery red hair and her makeup half done, her phone wedged between her shoulder and her ear.
“No, I’ve told you—I don’t care if the breadsticks are artisan, just make sure there’s enough of them, okay?” she snaps before hanging up and tossing her phone onto the nearest futon. “Whose brilliant idea was it to have an Italian menu anyway?”
I smirk before my stylist taps my cheek to make me relax my face so she can keep working. “Yours—but if you want, we can blame it on Gray. It’s his favorite.”
“Everything is Grayson’s fault,” she huffs. “Every complicated detail about this whole thing has been his idea. Who knew he was such a romantic?”
“I did—from my first night in LA when he took me up to the Hollywood sign,” Mia says, blushing wildly.
Rylee waves a dismissive hand. “Yeah, yeah. We know. You’re soooo in love—it’s disgusting.”
“It’s adorable,” Macy swoons from her chair. “He’s totally obsessed with you, Mia. It’s so sweet.”
I sip from my champagne flute, watching them with something dangerously like envy if you look closely enough. The only one in the room who looks even remotely like I do is Makenna—but she always looks like someone pissed in her Cheerios. I guarantee the reasoning behind it isn’t the same, either.
She won’t have to spend the entire weekend avoiding someone she used to love.
“Jo,” Mia says from beside me, pulling me out of my daze. “You’re awfully quiet over there. Everything okay?”
She looks beautiful—glowing, really—and I know I can’t let the pit of nausea brewing in my stomach ruin this weekend for her. This should be the best time of her life. Nothing else matters—only my brother and his favorite person getting the happily ever after they deserve.
“I’m great, sis,” I smile—and I’m trying so hard to mean it. “Let’s get our rehearsal dinner on.”
The hoard of stylists have left until tomorrow. The room smells of the lingering scent of hairspray and champagne. The weekend has barely started, but I know there’s not going to be a single second of it that I don’t have to hype myself up for.
“Are you coming?” Mia’s voice comes from the doorway behind me. “Macy, Makenna, and Rylee already left for the restaurant.”
“You didn’t want to ride over with them in the limo?” I ask as I smooth the silky, plum colored fabric of my knee-length, strapless dress and give my dark curls a final fluff before facing her.
“I said I’d be right behind them,” she says, leaning against the doorframe.
Her dress is an on-brand, dreamy white mini with a sweetheart neckline and three-dimensional floral appliqués that catch light with every movement. It’s perfect for this dinner, and she’s glowing even more than before—the A-line skirt keeps it playful but bridal in every sense of the word.
“Thought we could use the drive so you can finally tell me what the hell’s been going on with you,” she continues.
“There’s nothing going on with me,” I say quickly—and I know she can tell I’m lying through my teeth.
“Johanna,” she huffs. “Ever since the planning night at our house all those weeks ago, you’ve been quiet. You barely talk to anyone anymore. Is it me? Did I put too much pressure on you with the wedding?”
Classic Mia—thinking she’s the problem.
“Of course not, Mia,” I insist. “You know I love you—and I’ve loved working on the wedding stuff with you. I couldn’t be more thrilled that you’re about to be my sister.”
“Exactly!” she exclaims. “You’re about to be my sister. I’m worried about you.”
“Can we just go?” I almost beg with a roll of my eyes. “It’s nothing that can’t wait until after you get married. Let’s just focus on that—please?”
“Fine,” Mia sighs. “You can tell me when you’re ready, but we are going to talk about this sooner or later. Got it?”
“You’re relentless,” I groan.
“How do you think I got your brother to marry me?” She smirks with a sparkle in her eye, extending her hand to summon me towards the exit.
I roll my eyes and a small smile finally breaks through as I take her hand. We head to the town car waiting to take us to the restaurant, and I tell myself for the umpteenth time that I can do this. I can do this for Mia and my brother.
Because I love them—more than I love myself.