Older || 18+

6. Emma

Before dawn even tries to break, I'm lying awake, tangled in sheets that feel too lavish, thoughts spiraling. Today's the big day, mom's marrying Archer, and here I am, supposed to beam like the world's all right. But it's crumbling inside, piece by piece.

Ares. That name alone sends chills through me. It's wrong, so wrong. He's going to be my uncle, for heaven's sake. But the way my heart races at the thought of him, you'd think it didn't know, or worse, didn't care.

I'm counting minutes till this wedding's done, till I don't have to dodge Ares's shadow or the weight of his gaze.

Every part of me is on edge, vibrating with a tension I can't shake off. The thought of facing Ares again, under these circumstances, it's almost too much. As I get ready, my hands tremble, not from excitement but from a deep, unsettling dread.

Dragging my dress and the day's essentials, I head down to where mom's supposed to be mid-transformation. The suite's filled with her perfume and the soft strum of music.

"There you are," comes her voice, half-lost in the air.

She's sitting at a small vanity, a makeup artist applying her makeup. Her hair is pinned up in loose curls. She looks gorgeous, and despite my current anxiety, I feel a rush of excitement for her.

"Wow, Mom. You look amazing."

"Thank you, dear," she says, giving me a smile in the mirror. "Are you ready to get started?"

I nod, and she gestures to the makeup artist. "She'll help you get ready."

"Thanks," I say, giving her a nervous smile.

As I sit down in front of the large mirror, the makeup artist begins her work, her hands moving skillfully over my face. I try to calm my racing heart, focusing on the soft brush strokes against my skin.

"There," she says after a while, stepping back to admire her work. "You're ready."

I look at my reflection in the mirror. My makeup is light and natural, highlighting my best features. My hair is pinned up in a neat chignon, a few soft curls framing my face.

I look elegant, sophisticated. Not at all like the anxious mess I feel like.

"Thanks," I say, smiling. "It's perfect."

The makeup artist nods, gathering her things.

I stand, taking one last look at myself in the mirror.

"You look beautiful, Emma," my mother says, coming up behind me. "Would've been nice if you listened to me about shedding a few pounds. That dress is screaming for mercy."

Her words hit me hard, despite the fact that they're familiar.

"Mom," is all I manage, a protest lodged in my throat.

"What?" she says, raising an eyebrow. "I'm just being honest. You'd look much better if you lost a few pounds."

I can't help but roll my eyes, the annoyance clear on my face.

"Don't be like that," she scolds. "I'm trying to help you. If you're ever going to find someone, you have to be willing to make sacrifices. Look at me. I lost thirty pounds and got a face-lift, and look how well it worked out."

I stare at her in disbelief. She's talking about herself like she's a catch. Like she's somehow superior because of her weight loss and plastic surgery.

Swallowing the sting of her words, I turn away, clutching at the edge of the vanity for a moment of strength. "Mom, today's about you and Archer, not my... weight or my love life," I manage, my voice steadier than I feel. The reflection in the mirror now feels like a costume, a facade I've put on to navigate through the day without falling apart.