Page 6 of Closer

Chapter 4

Lilian

I blink, staring at the mirror, at the man standing behind me.

It can’t be. It’s not possible.

“Sebastian.”

I’m losing my mind. The stress of this day is getting to me, making me see things that aren’t there.

His image doesn’t waver. Is this real?

Slowly, I stand, my legs shaking beneath me. I grip the edge of the mirror to steady myself, my eyes never leaving his reflection.

It’s been over seven years since things ended between us. But not a day goes by that I don’t think about him. Don’t replay our last moments together.

He’s different than I remember. Older, more mature. His jaw is sharper, his shoulders broader. But his eyes… those captivating green eyes that always seemed to see straight into my soul… they’re the same.

I’m afraid to blink, terrified that if I do, he’ll disappear. That this will all be a cruel trick of my imagination.

I reach out a trembling hand, my fingertips grazing the cool surface of the mirror. Tracing the lines of his face, the strong slope of his nose,and the curve of his lips. Wishing I could feel his warm skin beneath my touch.

The voices outside grow louder, the sound of footsteps approaching.

No. Not yet. I tear my gaze away from Sebastian’s reflection, my heart leaping into my throat. I need more time. Even if it’s not real, I need a little more time with him.

I turn back to the mirror, ready to beg him to stay, to not leave me again.

But he’s gone.

Ha. I slump to the ground. I’m going crazy.

The space behind me is empty, no trace of him ever being there.

A watery laugh escapes me. Of course. Of course, he’s not really here. He’s probably off living his best life, not giving me a second thought. And why would he? I’m the one who didn’t tell him about Jason.

I’m really…

A sharp knock on the door startles me out of my thoughts. I quickly wipe at my eyes, trying to erase any evidence of my momentary lapse into fantasy.

Ricarda bursts in, her face pinched with annoyance. “What are you doing? You’re smudging your makeup!”

“Give me a minute.”

“Another?” She pants. “We don’t have another minute. The ceremony is about to start.” She snaps her fingers at the makeup artist. “Fix her up. Quickly.”

The artist rushes over, brushes in hand. I sit still, letting her work her magic.

“Is everything okay out there?” I ask.

Ricarda waves a dismissive hand. “Of course. Usual pre-wedding mishaps. The caterer brought the wrong cake.”

“The wrong cake?”

Ricarda laughs, the sound high and false. “It’s nothing to worry about, dear. A minor hiccup. We’ll have it sorted out in no time.”

I narrow my eyes at her. She’s lying. I can tell by the way she won’t meet my gaze, the way her hands flutter nervously at her sides.

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