The Rehearsal Dinner

The night before the wedding.

I stood in front of the mirror in my childhood bedroom, staring at the woman looking back at me. Same face. Same eyes. Same engagement ring on her finger. But everything else had changed.

Tomorrow, I was supposed to marry Damon.

Tomorrow, I was supposed to say "I do" to a future I no longer wanted.

Tomorrow, everything would change.

I slipped into my dress for the rehearsal dinner a simple black number that hugged my curves. I twisted my hair into a loose bun. I applied red lipstick.

I looked like a woman who had everything.

I felt like a woman who had nothing.

"Clara! Are you ready?"

Mia's voice floated up the stairs. She'd arrived early to help me get ready, all smiles and excitement. She had no idea. She had no idea what I'd done. She had no idea who I'd become.

"Coming!" I called out.

I took one last look at my reflection.

"Just get through tonight," I whispered to myself. "Just get through tonight, and everything will be okay."

It was a lie.

But I didn't have anything else.

The rehearsal dinner was at the venue.

The ballroom was transformed, lit by hundreds of candles. Long tables were draped in white linens. Flowers spilled from every vase. The guests were arriving, dressed in their finest, champagne flowing freely.

Damon was at the center of it all, laughing and shaking hands. He looked like the perfect groom.

I stood beside him, smiling and nodding. I said the right words. I made the right gestures.

I felt like I was drowning.

"Clara, you look beautiful," Damon said, kissing my cheek. "I'm so lucky to have you."

I almost laughed.

You have no idea.

"Thank you," I said instead.

He squeezed my hand and turned to greet another guest.

I needed air.

I excused myself and slipped out onto the terrace.

The night air was cool against my skin. I gripped the railing and took deep breaths, trying to calm my racing heart.

I heard the door open behind me.

"Clara."

I didn't turn around.

I knew that voice.

"Not now," I said. "Please. Not tonight."

He stepped closer. His hand found my waist.

"Elias—"

"Look at me."

I shook my head. "I can't."

"Clara. Please."

I turned.

He was standing in front of me, his grey eyes burning with intensity. He was wearing a black suit, perfectly tailored. His silver hair was swept back. He looked like a man who never lost.

But his expression was anything but controlled.

"I can't stop thinking about you," he said. "I can't stop wanting you. I've tried. I've tried to stay away. But I can't."

"Elias, I'm marrying your son. Tomorrow. In twelve hours, I'm going to walk down that aisle and I'm going to say yes."

"I know."

"Then why are you here?"

He stepped closer. He was so close I could feel the heat radiating from his body.

"Because I need to know," he said. "I need to know if you feel this too."

"I can't feel anything. I'm getting married tomorrow."

"That's not an answer."

"It has to be."

He reached up and touched my face. His fingers traced my jaw, featherlight.

"Clara," he said softly. "Tell me you don't feel this. Tell me you don't feel something when I touch you. Tell me you haven't thought about that night every single day since it happened."

I tried to speak. I tried to lie.

I couldn't.

"It doesn't matter what I feel," I whispered. "It doesn't matter what I want. I'm marrying your son. I can't—"

"Then don't."

I stared at him. "What?"

"Don't marry him." His voice was rough, desperate. "Don't marry a man who doesn't see you. Don't marry a man who makes you feel invisible. Don't throw away your life for someone who doesn't deserve you."

I shook my head. "I can't. I've planned everything. My family, his family everyone is here. I can't just—"

"You can." He stepped closer. "You can walk away. You can choose yourself. You can choose something different."

"Different?" I laughed bitterly. "Different is sleeping with my fiancé's father? Different is destroying everyone's life because I couldn't keep my legs closed?"

"Don't." His voice was sharp. "Don't do that. Don't make this about something cheap. This isn't just about sex."

"Then what is it about?"

"Lena—"

"Clara," I corrected. "My name is Clara."

"Clara." He said my name like it was a prayer. "I see you. I see the real you. I see the woman who's been drowning for years. I see the woman who's been invisible to everyone. And I can't stop seeing her."

I was shaking.

"You don't even know me," I said. "You don't know anything about me."

"I know you're terrified. I know you're lonely. I know you think you're all alone in this world and no one sees you. I know because I feel it too."

Tears welled in my eyes.

"Why are you doing this?" I whispered. "Why now?"

"Because I can't let you make the biggest mistake of your life without telling you the truth."

He kissed me.

I didn't stop him. I kissed him back, hard and desperate.

When we pulled away, I was crying.

"What do we do?" I asked.

"I don't know," he said. "I just know I'm not ready to lose you."

He kissed me again.

The door opened.

"Clara?"

Mia's voice.

We broke apart. I wiped my face. I smoothed my dress. I walked back into the ballroom, trying to look composed.

"There you are," Mia said. "The toast is starting."

"Coming," I said.

I didn't look back.

I stood at the head table, holding my glass of champagne. Damon was beside me. His arm was around my waist.

I lifted my glass.

"To the bride and groom," someone said.

I smiled.

I drank.

And I prayed no one could see what I'd become.