florals and fractures

Late afternoons in Napa Valley always feel like an expensive painting. Too serene to be real.

The air is crisp, the sky a clear blue with wisps of clouds drifting lazily, and the grapevines hang heavy with ripened fruit. The De Russo family was hosting a pre-wedding lunch that felt more like a high-society social event: a grand white tent set up in the middle of the vineyard, filled with guests in linen outfits, overpriced sunglasses, and smiles too wide for the cool weather.

I wore a sleeveless ivory dress. Simple but elegant. My hair was left loose, clipped neatly on one side. Next to me, Geraldo in a pale blue linen shirt and slightly cuffed khakis looked like someone who walked out of a Ralph Lauren summer catalog.

“Let me guess,” he said, reaching for a mimosa from a passing tray, “everyone here is trying to figure out whether you’re a telenovela star undercover at someone’s wedding.”

I laughed. “They’re probably guessing that about you. You’re way too charismatic to be just some regular guy.”

He grinned, dimples flashing. “Boyfriend duties include making sure you don’t feel awkward around an over-the-top....family.”

And he was right. Geraldo never left my side. In the last two hours, he’d already chatted with my grandmother in fluent Spanish, laughed with my notoriously snarky cousins, and even got into a discussion with my uncle about Mexico’s earthquake disaster maps because somehow Geraldo knew about that.

Meanwhile, Tiara and Reagan stood in a different orbit. The two of them looked like expensive art displayed in too much light: admired from afar, never touched. Tiara looked flawless in a fitted beige dress, her hair in an elegant updo, one arm constantly looped around Reagan.

Reagan? Cold. Composed. The distance he kept from everyone felt measured. His eyes scanned the crowd now and then, and I caught one, maybe two blank stares that landed on me, then moved on, like wind.

But I didn’t care.

Okay—

Maybe a little. But the caring felt like dust: there, but easy to blow away.

Especially when Geraldo stood in the center of my family and started joking about how he almost triggered the smoke alarm last Christmas trying to make tamales. Everyone laughed. Even Mamá smiled. A wide, genuine smile I hadn’t seen in so long.

“So,” Mamá murmured next to me as we stood near the drink table, “is this the man who’ll walk you to the altar first, not your sister?”

I glanced at her, feigning shock. “Mamá!”

“I’m just asking. Because... God, sweetheart. Look at him. Everyone adores him. Even your Abuela, who never likes anyone, said he’s handsome like a young Jorge Negrete.”

I bit back a smile and looked toward Geraldo, who was now listening intently as my dad talked about a road trip route from LA to Tijuana.

“I don’t know about the altar,” I said. “But I know I don’t want him to leave.”

Her hand gently resting on mine. “That’s enough of an answer.”

And for the first time since Tiara and Reagan’s engagement announcement, I felt something ease in my chest. I didn’t want to be where Tiara stood. I didn’t want Reagan’s hand.

I didn’t want a love that only existed because timing allowed it.

I had something else.

Someone who never hesitated to hold me.

That evening, as the sun dipped low and the music shifted to soft jazz, Geraldo and I slow-danced near the vineyard fence. I leaned into his chest, and for the first time, my mind was completely... quiet.

No shadows.

No past.

Just now.

“Thanks for today,” I whispered.

He kissed my hair. “I’m here for every day.”

:::

The sun was far too bright for the wedding day of someone I once loved.

Inside the dark-brown leather interior of the rental car, Geraldo was slipping his boarding pass into his jacket pocket, giving me the kind of guilty look that was somehow still sweet.

“I can cancel my flight. Really, I can,” he said. “I’ll just tell my team I have to show up at a fancy church as the plus-one of the love of my life.”

I chuckled. “You’re too dramatic for someone who maps earthquake zones for a living.”

He leaned in and kissed the tip of my nose. “Because I’m dating a dramatic artsy girl.”

“Touche.” I squeezed his hand. “Go. Your work matters. I’ll be fine. It’s just a wedding, not a Broadway show.”

Geraldo looked at me for a long moment, like he was trying to see through me. Then he nodded, grabbed his small suitcase, and stepped out.

Before closing the door, he said, “If anything happens, you know where to find me.”

“I do,” I smiled. “And don’t worry. I’m not about to elope out of nowhere.”

He laughed softly, waved, and disappeared into the airport crowd.

:::

By the time I arrived at the church courtyard, the afternoon breeze had turned gentle. The small church, built of white stone with beautiful gothic details, stood graceful among the manicured colonial-style gardens. Luxury cars lined the entrance, and the faint sound of piano music drifted from inside.

I walked briskly, my heels clicking against the gravel path. As I turned the corner toward the church’s back entrance, someone appeared from the other direction.

Tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in a classic black suit. And before I could stop or he could step back, our shoulders bumped.

Not hard, but enough to knock the air out of my lungs.

“Oh—”

“Sorry—”

We spoke at the same time, then froze. Our faces were just inches apart.

My eyes locked with Reagan De Russo’s. His body was still stiff, like always, but his eyes.... those eyes were the same. Dark blue, intense, observant, and far too sharp for someone getting married in an hour.

“Sorry,” I stepped back quickly. “I didn’t see you.”

He didn’t answer at first. Just gave a small nod, eyes scanning me head to toe. “I thought you’d left,”

I raised an eyebrow. “Why would I leave? It’s my sister’s wedding.”

He nodded slowly. “Where’s your boyfriend?”

“Work call. But he sends his best. Said, ‘good luck, man.’”

Reagan’s mouth twitched. Then he took a single step back and said, “Hope you enjoy the ceremony.”

“I will,” I replied.

And I walked past him, my dress catching the breeze, leaving behind a soft trail of rose and iris perfume. My steps didn’t falter, even if my heart... fluttered. But that was just nostalgia.

The evening wind.

And memories I never meant to revisit.

:::

The air in the bridal suite felt too still, like the whole room was holding its breath with us.

The walls were ivory white, lined with fresh flowers and lace accents. A large mirror in the corner reflected Tiara in her wedding dress. A soft, shimmering tulle gown with a sweetheart neckline and a long sweeping train.

But her eyes weren’t glowing. Her face wasn’t lit up like yesterday.

There was no smile. No laughter. Only… emptiness.

I stepped in carefully. “Just you?”

Tiara nodded faintly. “Everyone’s outside. My makeup artist stepped out. I… needed a moment alone.”

I walked closer, brushing a fallen flower petal off the wooden chair before sitting beside her. My hand gently touched her wrist. It was cold.

“You look beautiful today,” I whispered. “The dress is perfect on you.”

Tiara turned slowly. Her lips lifted just a little, but not enough to be a smile. Her eyes shimmered with tears, and her fingers were tightly clenched in her lap.

“In thirty minutes, I’m getting married,” she said.

I inhaled, letting my voice soften. “And everything’s going to be okay, Tiara. It’s nerve-wracking, but..”

“I slept with someone else.”

Her voice cut through mine, sharp and flat like a knife on marble.

The world stopped turning for a split second.

My heart nearly stalled.

I stared at her, speechless. “What?”

Tiara turned to me, her big eyes now glossy with tears. “For the last two years. I… I’ve been in a secret relationship with a film director I once worked with. His name’s Viktor. I met him in my second year of college. He’s so different from Reagan. When I’m with him, I feel alive. But everyone was so proud of me being with Reagan. So I… I never said anything.”

My legs felt weak. I stood slowly, taking half a step back. “Tiara…”

“And he....he came to get me. Viktor.” Her voice began to tremble, hands twisting the fabric of her gown.

I looked around the room like air might be hiding in the corners. My breath grew heavy. “Your wedding is in thirty minutes. Tiara, this isn’t a movie. This is real. Our family, Reagan’s family...everyone’s waiting for you at the altar.”

Tiara shook her head. “I can’t marry someone who doesn’t love me. I’ve faked it long enough.”

I fought the anger slowly crawling up my spine. “Then why didn’t you say something before?”

Tiara looked down. Silent. Then, suddenly, she lifted her head and stared straight at me. “You liked Reagan once, didn’t you?”

The question hit like a sledgehammer. My chest tightened, eyes narrowing. “What?”

“You used to like him. Back when we were teenagers. I knew it. You looked at him like… he was the sun and you were the moon. But you never said a word.”

I straightened my shoulders. “That was a long time ago. It’s over. I’m with Geraldo now, and I..”

“So if I leave, you won’t care?”

“Tiara!” I snapped. “This isn’t about me! This is about you getting married and blowing up everyone’s lives in the room!”

Before she could respond, her phone rang. She picked it up with trembling hands and hit speaker.

A man’s deep voice came through the speaker. “Baby… I’m here. I’m waiting. But if you don’t want to do this, I’ll understand. Still… I hope you come.”

She quickly ended the call, her breath shaky, her chest rising and falling like she’d just sprinted a mile.

I stood frozen, too angry to hug her, too shattered to speak.

She inhaled sharply. “I have to go, Tara.”

I didn’t respond. I just looked at her, trying to understand if this was really happening.

“No, you don’t.” I whispered, shaking my head. “I’m going to step outside. Give you a minute. Don’t screw this up.”

She only looked down.

I walked out of the room, the door closing softly behind me, and stood in the quiet hallway of the church.

My hands were cold. My heart pounding like war drums.

The sound of soft heels approached, and when I turned, my Mom was already there. Her face was calm, but her eyes instantly caught the unrest in mine.

“Tara?” she raised an eyebrow. “What’s wrong? Your knees are shaking.”

I forced a small laugh. “It’s nothing. Tiara’s just… nervous. A little messy.”

She nodded. But I knew, from the way she looked at me, she didn’t fully buy it. “Your father’s going to be furious if something happens today,”

I looked into her eyes. Her face was gentle, but filled with quiet steel.

She, too, could feel the storm on the horizon.

“I’ll make sure everything’s okay,” I said softly.

Even if I had no idea how.