Page 35 of Ava After Midnight

He pulls out my lone black suit. “You’ve got to put your best foot forward. Show her you can fit into her world if that’s what she chooses.”

His meaning sinks in. I strip off the street clothes and reach for the hanger.

The jacket’s snug, the slacks a little too short, but when I button the dress shirt and knot the tie, something in me settles.

Mateo whistles low. “Now there’s a man ready to fight for his woman.”

Damn straight.

My phone is in my hand before I can think better of it. I scroll through my contacts, my fingers hovering over Ava’s name before I hesitate. No. Not her.

I dial the only other person who might actually answer.

Zoe picks up after one ring. “Make it fast, Casanova. Bridal boot camp is in full swing.”

“Where’s the wedding?” My voice is steel.

Silence. Then, cautiously—“Why?”

“I can’t let her do this,” I confess, the truth ripping from me like it’s been caged too long. “I have to see her. I have to try.”

A beat. Then, softly—“St. Regis. Four PM. The Astor Ballroom.”

Relief floods my chest. “Thank you.”

“Don’t make me regret this,” Zoe warns. “Don’t break her heart.”

“I won’t.” And for the first time in my life, I mean it.

A text pings through as I step into my car. It’s from Zoe. A photo of an invitation. Elegant. Embossed.

Astor Ballroom. 4PM.

This is happening.

I grip the wheel, chest tight.

If I do this, there’s no turning back. No erasing it. No pretending it didn’t mean something.

I see her again, trapped in that mirror.

The city whips by in a blur as I speed toward destiny, every second a countdown to something I can’t control. I could turn back. Let her go. Disappear.

But my hands are already tightening on the wheel. My chest tightens with each rapid breath.

Fuck it.

I slam my foot down on the gas. Time to crash a wedding.

Chapter Eleven

AVA

The woman in the mirror looks like a stranger. They’ve transformed me into the perfect bride—hair sculpted into glossy curls, veil cascading in angelic waves, my skin flawless under layers of expensive foundation and strategically placed concealer. Every trace of last night erased.

Except for my eyes.

My eyes still hold echoes of lightning and Spanish whispers.

---