CHAPTER 4

Althea's POV

The house woke up before the sun did.

“Althea, come here! ” Daniel’s mother called, waving me over with a towel in one hand. “Try this on. We need to check if it fits.”

“It fits, Tita,” I said, laughing softly, but I let her fuss over me anyway. She smoothed the cloth like she was smoothing my future.

Across the room, Daniel’s cousins were tying ribbons on small souvenir bags, laughing loudly. Someone was arranging plastic flowers around a simple arch outside. Someone else was testing a speaker, the music cutting in and out like the town itself was practicing for a celebration.

And Gia—Gia moved through it all like she belonged at the center.

“Here,” she said, handing a box to one of the cousins. “Put these on the table. And don’t forget the candles. We need candles.”

When she noticed me watching, she smiled brightly. “Are you okay, Althea? You look pale.”

“I’m fine,” I said, keeping my voice light.

Gia hummed, her eyes sliding briefly to my ring. “Just nerves, then.”

Before I could answer, Daniel appeared in the doorway, still in a plain shirt and jeans, looking half-stressed and half-excited. His face softened when he saw me.

“There you are,” he said, stepping closer. “You’ve been hiding.”

“I’ve been pulled in every direction,” I replied.

He laughed and took my hands. “Just one more day.”

One more day. The words felt heavy even as they sounded sweet.

Daniel’s mother clapped once. “Okay! By six o’clock—remember! The bride and groom should not see each other tonight.”

The room responded like a chorus.

“Yes, yes! ”

“Superstition!”

Daniel rolled his eyes, smiling. “Ma, it’s not like we’re strangers.”

“It doesn’t matter! ” his mother said sharply. “Tradition is tradition.”

Daniel looked at me with an apologetic grin. “We’ll follow it. For peace.”

I nodded, even though something in me didn’t relax.

All afternoon, the house stayed busy. I helped fold and pack small gifts, smiled at visitors who stopped by to greet me, and answered the same questions over and over with the same careful truths.

“Yes, I work at the mall.”

“Yes, we met there.”

By late afternoon, Daniel stepped outside with a few cousins to help set up chairs. I watched him through the window—the way he laughed, the way he moved like this town knew him by heart. He looked… sure. Like this was exactly where he wanted to be.

And I realized something quietly terrifying:

If I didn’t tell him tonight, I might never tell him at all.

At exactly six, the mood shifted like someone flipped a switch. Daniel’s mother pointed toward the hallway. “Daniel. You go to your room. Althea stays here. No more seeing each other until tomorrow.”

Daniel groaned, but he still turned to me. He stepped close, lowering his voice. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Gia walked behind him, passing by me with a grin. “Goodnight, Dan,” she sang out, playful.

Daniel didn’t even look back. “Goodnight, Gia.”

And just like that, he disappeared down the hallway.

This was my last chance.

I had planned it all day, quietly, secretly. A simple surprise—something romantic, something honest. I would go to Daniel, tell him the truth, and let him see that I trusted him enough to finally stop hiding.

I’m not Althea Balmes, I rehearsed in my head. I’m Althea Bailey.

I imagined his face—shock first, then laughter, then pride. I imagined him pulling me into his arms and saying it didn’t matter, that he loved me the same.

I imagined a future where I didn’t have to be afraid.

By night, the house grew quieter. People finally went to their rooms. The decorations were finished. The food was covered. The lights outside glowed softly like tiny suns.

I stood in my room staring at my reflection.

My face looked calm. My eyes didn’t.

The house was dim now, the air cooler. My footsteps were careful and quiet, my heart beating harder with every step. Daniel’s room was only a short distance away.

I reached his door and lifted my hand to knock.

Then I stopped.

Because I heard a sound.

A breath—sharp, broken. A woman’s voice, low and desperate.

It was Gia.

My stomach dropped.

I told myself it was my imagination. That I was tired. Those nerves were playing tricks.

But then I heard Daniel’s voice—rough, familiar, unmistakable.

My hand flew to my mouth before I could stop it.

The door wasn’t fully closed.

There was a narrow gap—small enough to ignore, wide enough to destroy me.

I leaned forward, just slightly, as if my body needed proof before my mind could shatter.

And there they were.