𝐜𝐫𝐲𝐢𝐧' 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐝 ─────⋆⋅★𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘸 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘦𝘺

𝟓𝟎. 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐜𝐫𝐲

The car hummed softly beneath her, the quiet before the storm of the red carpet. Suki adjusted the delicate, antique engagement ring on her finger, the silver and black stones catching in the low light. It felt like armor, a talisman to keep her grounded as she faced what might be the biggest night of her life.

The phone buzzed in her hand. Marcello Hernandez's voice crackled through, bright and familiar, bringing an instant smile to her face.

"So let me get this straight," he started, with that classic Marcello cadence. "You're in a lace bodysuit—basically invisible lace, right?—and you're wearing a veil. A veil on the red carpet. Let me tell you something, Suki: I think you just became my Cuban grandmother's new fashion icon. You know how many veils she has? Like, it's a hobby at this point."

Suki laughed, nerves melting just a bit. "I look ridiculous, don't I?"

"Oh, absolutely not! No, no. It's amazing," Marcello said, his voice rich with amusement. "You look like some kind of goth widow who married, like, twenty different rock stars. And now you're here to collect alimony in a single Grammy award. Iconic."

She could picture him leaning back with that mischievous grin, already setting up his next punchline. "Also," he continued, "what's the deal with the veil? Are we doing a wedding or a funeral here? Because, you know, if it's for the critics, I'll bring my own black suit and cry in the corner for dramatic effect."

Suki chuckled, rolling her eyes but feeling her shoulders relax a little. "I need this. Keep going."

"Oh, I've got more," Marcello said, and she could practically see him shrugging, hands out in his usual animated way. "I'm just saying, when I show my mom a photo of this outfit, she's either going to think you're Saint Mary herself or that you're some kind of high-fashion vampire bride. Either way, she's going to insist you come over for cafecito, no questions asked."

She was laughing so hard now that her stomach hurt. Marcello had a way of making her feel like none of this was too serious, like the stakes didn't have to be so high if she could just breathe.

"You're helping more than you know," she said, the nervous edge in her voice softening as they drew closer to the venue. "But honestly, I mean, really—what if I win? All of it could just... unravel."

There was a pause, his voice shifting into something softer. "Listen, Suki," he said, quieter but still with that Marcello warmth. "You're going to go out there and absolutely kill it, whether you win or not. And whatever comes next, it's not going to take away what you've built. You're the one who made this happen. Don't let the big, scary 'what ifs' keep you from enjoying it, you know? Have a cafecito in your heart and breathe."

She laughed again, feeling that ache of gratitude. "Thanks, Marcello. Really."

"Anytime, bebe. Go make Saint Mary proud."

As the car came to a stop, she ended the call, and took a deep breath, touching her veil one last time. Madelyn, her rock tonight, was already waiting for her outside the door. She slid out and took in the spectacle of flashing lights, of people craning their necks for a glimpse, the energy thick and alive in the air. Her heart pounded in her chest, the lace of her gown almost feeling like a second skin as she straightened up, allowing herself to melt into the character she'd perfected: Suki Monroe, untouchable and enigmatic.

Madelyn linked her arm through Suki's, smiling at her with a look that said, I've got you. Together, they stepped onto the carpet, an unbreakable unit against the noise.

They posed, the blinding flashes capturing every angle of Suki's dark curls, the engagement ring on her finger, the daring lace gown that practically invited scandal. Questions shot out from every direction, and Marcello's jokes lingered in her mind as she took it all in. She could practically hear his voice narrating it, poking fun at the absurdity of it all.