The stranger in the mirror looked almost saintly.
White silk pooled around my feet like liquid moonlight. The veil cascaded down my back in ethereal waves, delicate enough to belong to an angel.
My hair was pinned in an elaborate updo that had taken two hours and three stylists.
My makeup was flawless—dewy skin, soft pink lips, eyes that sparkled with what the makeup artist called "bridal joy" and what I called "barely suppressed panic."
Hilarious, really. Considering I'd gotten pregnant in a bathroom stall at a frat party.
Immaculate conception this was not.
Through the walls, I could hear guests arriving—murmuring, rustling, existing in expensive fabrics and judgment. Hundreds of people out there, and I knew maybe fifteen of them.
Brianna was somewhere in that crowd, probably already scouting the open bar. And worse: my mother, with the twins, sitting among Ashford society like a cardinal among peacocks.
My mother had nearly stroked out receiving the invitation. The phone interrogations were legendary—three-hour calls demanding to know how her daughter had gone to "marrying a billionaire" in the span of weeks.
I'd spun tales of whirlwind romance and love at first sight, enough fairy-tale nonsense to stop her from driving to New York and physically shaking sense into me.
But having her here now, witnessing this gilded farce, watching her daughter marry a man she fucked once... it felt like a betrayal I couldn't quite name. Another lie added to the pile.
The door swung open without warning. Victoria glided in, piranha smile firmly in place, wearing a mother-of-the-groom dress that probably cost more than my childhood home.
"The blushing bride." She circled me slowly, assessing. "How quaint. You almost look like you belong in that dress."
"Victoria. What a surprise. I thought sharks couldn't survive on land."
Her smile didn't waver. "I just wanted to check on you before the ceremony. Make sure you're... prepared for what's coming."
"Walking down an aisle? I think I can manage putting one foot in front of the other."
"I meant your family."
She adjusted her bracelet with deliberate casualness.
"I must say, we've been very generous, inviting your mother despite her being so obviously... out of place among proper guests. The way she keeps touching the silverware like she's never seen it before. It's almost endearing."
My fists clenched at my sides. I could feel my nails cutting into my palms, could feel the rage building like a pressure cooker about to blow.
"We're upper class, dear, but not cruel." Victoria's eyes glittered with malicious satisfaction. "Though I do hope someone warns her not to pocket the centerpieces. Old habits and all that—"
"Victoria."
Christopher's voice cut through the room like a blade. He stood in the doorway, jaw tight, something dangerous flickering behind his usually calm expression.
Victoria's entire demeanor transformed—predator to doting stepmother in the space of a heartbeat.
"Christopher, darling!" She swept toward him, all theatrical warmth. "You know you can call me Mom. I've told you a thousand times."
She reached up and stroked his cheek with maternal affection that made my skin crawl.
Christopher turned to stone beneath her touch. His face went completely blank, but his eyes—his eyes betrayed everything.
Something old and painful flashed there, grief buried but never quite dead, the ghost of a woman who should have been here instead of this designer-clad replacement.
I watched him endure the touch like he'd endured it a thousand times before. Frozen. Silent. Waiting for it to end.
"The ceremony starts in twenty minutes," Victoria continued, oblivious or indifferent to his discomfort. "Don't keep the bride too long. We wouldn't want people to talk."
She threw me one last venomous look before sweeping out in a cloud of expensive perfume and implied threats.
The silence she left behind felt like surfacing for air after nearly drowning.
"You okay?" I asked softly.
Christopher exhaled slowly, his composure rebuilding itself brick by brick. "I should be asking you that. Victoria's particular brand of welcome isn't exactly soothing."
"I've survived worse. Though I was calculating the trajectory to her cheekbones. These heels could do real damage."
The ghost of a smile crossed his face. "Save it for the reception. More witnesses."
He reached into his jacket and produced a small velvet box, holding it out to me with an expression I couldn't quite read. "I have something for you. Open it."
I lifted the lid and felt my breath catch. Inside, nestled against cream silk, lay a delicate antique hair clip. Silver filigree, intricate and beautiful, dotted with tiny pearls that caught the light like captured stars.
"It belonged to our mother," Christopher said quietly. "Our real mother. She wore it on her wedding day."
The weight of that sentence hit me like a physical blow. His mother—the woman Victoria was so desperately trying to replace, the woman whose death had fractured this family in ways still not healed.
"Christopher, I can't…" I tried to push the box back toward him. "This is too important. It should stay in your family."
"You are family now." His voice was gentle but firm. "Whether you feel like it or not. And she would have wanted..." He paused, swallowing hard. "She would have wanted someone to wear it who actually deserved it."
Before I could protest again, he moved behind me, carefully lifting the clip from its box. I watched in the mirror as his fingers brushed against my neck, fastening it into my hair with surprising delicacy.
The pearls gleamed against the dark strands, something borrowed and something old and something that made my throat tight.
The moment stretched—intimate, unexpected. His hands lingered at my shoulders, steadying, and our eyes met in the mirror.
Then he turned me to face him, taking both my hands in his. His grip was warm, solid, an anchor in a sea of chaos.
"I'm terrified," I admitted before I could stop myself.
The words tumbled out, raw and honest, my walls crumbling faster than I could rebuild them.
"I don't know if I can do this. Walk down that aisle, marry someone who can barely look at me, become part of a family that wishes I'd disappear. I don't know if I'm strong enough."
"You can." Christopher's grip tightened, steady and sure. "You're the strongest person I've met in a long time, Kitty. You've survived everything this family has thrown at you and come out swinging. Today is just another battle."
"A battle in a really expensive dress."
"The best kind." His thumb traced a gentle circle against my knuckles. "I'm walking you down that aisle, and nothing is going to ruin today. I promise."
I'd refused to let my mother escort me—couldn't drag her deeper into this farce than she already was. Couldn't let her walk me toward a marriage built on contracts and coercion while she still believed in the fairy tale I'd sold her.
But with Christopher's hands anchoring mine, his mother's clip gleaming in my hair, I thought maybe I wouldn't be walking alone after all.
"Thank you," I whispered. "For everything."
"Thank me after you survive the reception." A real smile finally broke through. "Victoria's already on her third champagne. Things are about to get interesting."
"Fantastic. Can't wait to add 'dodge drunk stepmother-in-law' to my wedding day bingo card."
He laughed, warm, genuine, and offered me his arm.
"Ready?"
I took a deep breath, squared my shoulders, and placed my hand in the crook of his elbow.
"As I'll ever be."