Chapter Three

The girls and I are getting ready at the Maravilla Grand, one of those glossy high-rise hotels that leans shamelessly into old-world glamour and modern decadence all at once. Chandeliers glitter in every hallway. The lobby smells of bergamot and money. Everything sparkles... the mirrors, marble, people.

Our suite is on the thirty-first floor, overlooking Biscayne Bay. The view stretches wide and bright; the water dotted with white sails and late morning sun bouncing off the surface like a dance of light. The windows stretch from floor to ceiling, the kind that make you forget the world outside is watching. Inside, the suite is massive. Two bedrooms, a lounge, a dining area, and a walk-in dressing room with too many mirrors and the plush white carpet that dares you not to spill your champagne.

The makeup artist has already set up, arranging brushes like surgical tools and opening eyeshadow palettes like tiny treasure chests. The hairstylist works quietly in the corner, curling Lala’s hair with practiced ease. Music plays softly from a speaker... some ‘vibey’ Miami house track that keeps the mood light without stealing the moment. Everyone’s in satin robes, sipping mimosas, trying to act normal. No one says a word about last night... Not while strangers are in the room.

Dawn scrolls through her phone and mutters under her breath. “My ex just posted another shirtless selfie. It’s the fifth this week. Someone needs to confiscate that man’s access to lighting.”

Amelia laughs and throws a grape at her from the fruit tray. “Maybe he’s trying to win you back through thirst traps.”

“He couldn’t win me back with Beyoncé tickets,” Dawn says.

Bethany is sitting cross-legged on the bed, watching the stylist tug a curling iron through her hair. “This suite is so extra. I feel like we’re in a music video.”

“That’s because we are,” Jenna replies, popping a strawberry into her mouth. “This is the part before the beat drops and we set something on fire.”

Lala smiles in the mirror. “Just don’t set my hair on fire.”

Jenna glances over and shrugs. “No promises.”

There’s laughter again, soft and fizzy, and I let myself enjoy it. It feels good to hear them laugh... even now... especially now. I move to the dressing room, robe sliding against my skin, and run my hands along the row of outfits we brought for this day. White dresses. Gold accents. Glittering heels. But I pass them all.

I slip into the black lace, and it claims me like it has been waiting. Soft in some places, almost absent in others, with sheer panels that frame bare skin at my waist and along my thighs. The neckline dips just far enough to hold a gaze, while the back falls open to the curve of my spine, crisscrossed in laces that feel meant for secrets. Every line shapes to me, the hem spilling to the floor and curling at my ankles in a slow, smoky sweep.

This isn’t a dress for a bride. It’s a dress for a woman who knows exactly what she’s doing and exactly who’s watching. When I step out of the dressing room, the room falls quiet for a beat. All eyes turn toward me.

Bethany places a hand on her chest. “Holy hell.”

“You look like vengeance,” Lala whispers.

“Hot vengeance,” Amelia corrects.

“Slay the groom at the altar for vengeance,” Dawn adds.

Jenna whistles low. “That motherfucker is gonna shit a diamond when he sees you. If he doesn’t fall over, I will.”

I smile, just a little. “Let him.”

Jenna raises her mimosa. “To badass bitches in black.”

We all clink glasses.

The makeup artist quietly dabs powder along my jaw, pretending not to listen, but I see the way her eyes flick toward the mirror. I sit still while she works on my face. My skin is glowing, my cheekbones sharp, my lips brushed in a soft rose. Nothing too bridal. Just enough to make someone stare.

Outside, the sky is a perfect blue, but inside, we are women dressed like secrets, and the day is just beginning for us. There’s a knock at the door, soft but urgent. It opens slowly, and my mother steps inside, clutching her small silver clutch with both hands. Her earrings sparkle against her neck, her expression calm, but her eyes give her away.

“Darlin’,” she says gently. “It’s time.”

Something about those words stirs a ripple inside me. It feels like standing at the edge of something long and irreversible.

I take one last look in the mirror. The dress still fits like defiance. My hair falls in soft waves down my back, and the perfume I dabbed behind my ears rises with the warmth of the room. I turn away from the glass. My girls are already standing. We gather around with no need to say anything. Amelia holds out her hand first. Lala takes it. Bethany links hers with Dawn. Jenna slides in beside me, her grip firm.

We form a circle, eyes closed, shoulders touching.

For a moment, there’s just breath, and then Amelia starts softly. “God, please give Fiona strength. Give her peace. Let today bring clarity, not chaos. Guide her steps and protect her heart.”

Each voice follows, weaving into the next. Some speak softly; some barely whisper. But the prayer moves around the circle like light, steady and kind. When we finish, there’s silence.

Jenna’s the first to raise her head. She cracks her neck like she’s getting ready for a fight and mutters, “Let’s go mess this motherfucker up.”

Dawn turns to her, eyes wide. “Jeez, Jenna. We literally just spoke to God. Can you stop swearing for five minutes, please?”

Jenna shrugs. “God knows me.”

Amelia’s mouth twitches. “I think God’s looking away on purpose.”

Bethany fans herself with her hand. “Okay, okay, enough. We’ve got a wedding to crash. Or... to attend politely.”

I lift my chin. “Alright, girls. No time for this. Let’s go.”

They move as a unit, gathering their things, fixing straps, smoothing hems. One by one, they step out of the suite, heels clicking against the marble floor. They head downstairs first, leaving me with my mother for a moment longer.

I am sure the groomsmen are waiting for them at the ballroom entrance, just like we rehearsed. Most of them are Edward’s childhood friends and guys he’s known since they played under-12s together and a few of his newer colleagues from Coastal Legends Academy, the elite youth football team he trains with here in Miami.

Those assholes don’t know what’s coming their way.