Page 36 of Ava After Midnight

“Hold still, darling.” The makeup artist dabs another layer of concealer onto my neck, hiding the evidence of something I’m not sure I want to forget. “Almost done.”

Jade groans from the couch, nursing her third coffee. “Why is everything so loud?”

“Because some of us decided tequila was a good idea.” Zoe adjusts my veil, but her eyes keep flicking toward the door, her phone gripped tight like a lifeline.

I barely hear them. My scalp aches from hours of heat and tension, from the desperate attempts to smooth and tame. But it rained last night.I dancedin the rain last night. The curls didn’t hold, and in the end, the stylists gave up. My hair is pinned up inan elegant bun, soft tendrils escaping the edges. Not perfect. Not pressed. Not how Matthew likes it.

And yet, when he steps into the room to check on me, his smile doesn’t waver.

“You look beautiful,” he says, eyes skating over my face, my body, skipping over my hair like he refuses to acknowledge the disappointment.

A strange, bitter amusement rises in my throat.

He sees what he wants to see. He always has.

Matthew’s fingers smooth down the lace of my sleeve before landing lightly on my wrist. “I thought we agreed you’d wear it down,” he murmurs, as if it’s a joke. As if my hair is a minor inconvenience and not something he’s actively resented since our engagement photoshoot.

“I changed my mind,” I say, voice tight.

He exhales through his nose, a patient smile curling his lips. “It’s fine. You’re fine like this.” A quick glance at my mother. “Right, Mrs. Williams?”

Her approving gaze sweeps over me, lingering on the high bun, the carefully pinned veil. She likes me like this. Controlled. Composed. “Much better,” she agrees, smoothing my dress, adjusting my veil like I’m a doll on display. “Now, let’s not keep everyone waiting.”

Matthew leans in, pressing a dry kiss to my cheek. “Almost perfect,” he murmurs before disappearing back into the chapel.

I swallow the lump in my throat, but the taste lingers—regret and something dangerously close to self-loathing. I should run. I should fucking run.

But I don’t.

“Ava?” Zoe’s voice slices through my spiral. “You okay? You look a little...”

“Fine.” The lie tastes like ash. “Just nervous.”

She squeezes my shoulder. Her phone buzzes, and she practically jumps, checking it with a barely concealed urgency.

“What’s going on with you?” I whisper as my mother drags Mia off to handle some crisis.

“Nothing!” Too quick. Too bright. Her gaze darts to the door again.

Before I can press, Jade staggers over, looking marginally more human. “We need to talk about last?—”

“Places!” The wedding coordinator’s voice rings out. “Five minutes till processional!”

My heart seizes. This is it. This is happening.

Unless…

“Wait.” I grab Jade’s arm. “What were you going to?—”

“No time!” My mother materializes, herding bridesmaids like glamorous sheep. “Positions, girls!”

Zoe checks her phone again, muttering under her breath. Something like, Where the hell are you?

The chapel doors loom ahead, carved wood and an unspoken promise. Through them, the string quartet begins to play the same sterile, classical selections Matthew and his mother painstakingly chose.

It’s music fit for a perfectly curated life.

Nothing like the thundering bass, the sweat-slick skin, the whispered Spanish of last night.

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