That's How it Happens

39. Something Borrowed, Something True

The suite smelled of roses, hairspray, and nerves. Liv stood in front of the mirror, her gown spilling around her like a pool of ivory silk, while the women around her orbited in their own distinct chaos.

Victoria hovered at her shoulder, fussing with her hair. "Tilt your head—no, the other way. Perfect. You're glowing, Livi. Absolutely glowing." She stepped back, admiring Liv proudly.

Ainsley couldn't help but wonder if her mother had ever looked at her like that. Their conversation a few days ago seemed like years ago, yet it had been enough to give her the answer to her question. She knew her mother loved her and she was proud of her, but she still wanted to the affirmation.

She met her mother's eyes in the reflection.

"I hope you're not going to wear that face all day, Annabelle. We wouldn't want to ruin the pictures, would we?"

Ainsley closed her eyes, swallowing hard. Old habits, same sting.

"My goodness, Vicky, leave the child alone," Dorothea cut in, her voice sharp as crystal. "She just went through a horrible affair with that charming young man. If anything, you'll ruin the wedding with your incessant harping."

The silence that followed was so brittle you could almost heart it crack.

Liv's voice broke the silence, soft but steady. "Nothing will be ruined. If Annie doesn't feel like smiling, then she doesn't have to." Her eyes flicked to Ainsley's in the mirror. Ainsley's brows furrowed. "If she should feel like talking... to anyone, then she can. There's nothing she could do to ruin this day. Only I could do that." Liv said, twisting her hands together.

The words were gentle, but underneath them was something else. A quiet apology. A truce. I know you're hurting. Because of me. And I'm telling you – you're free to do what you need to do.

Ainsley's throat tightened. She stared at Liv's reflection for a long moment, her own eyes stinging. Liv was apologizing for the first time in her life, and Ainsley knew she meant it. Her mouth opened on an inhale. She gave the smallest nod, accepting the apology neither of them would ever say aloud.

And then Aunt Kate, bobby pins clamped between her teeth, muttered, "If you twitch one more time, Liv, I'm pinning this bloody veil straight into your scalp. Don't test me."

The tension cracked. Liv's lips curved, Ainsley's followed, and the moment passed – but the understanding lingered. Forgiven, yes. Forgotten, no. But they would move forward.

Within seconds, the room dissolved into bickering: Victoria insisting on symmetry, Dorothea sighing like she was presiding over a royal disaster, Kate swearing under her breath about "bloody ingrates" and needing a drink, and Liv protesting she couldn't breathe with them crowding her.

April, sprawled in the corner chair in her silky one-shoulder bridesmaid dress – a deep rose that caught the light like wine – patted the seat beside her.

Ainsley crossed the room, her own gown a darker shade of rose, sleek and off-the-sheath. Around her neck hung a thin gold chain with a single drop of a gem – a pale green peridot, Kasey's gift for the ad. For strength, Kasey had said. Ainsley wasn't sure if she believed in that sort of thing, but she would need it for tonight and in the future. After this, she'd be hunting for a new job.

She sank down next to April, faintly smiling at the chaos.

"Should we referee?" April asked, amused.

"No," Ainsley said softly. "Let them be. Just for a moment longer."

She watched them with a mix of exasperation and love. Victoria, all polish and perfection, who could make even a hairpin feel like a weapon. Dorothea, regal and sharp‑eyed, sipping champagne like she was judging a coronation. Aunt Kate, sarcastic and unfiltered, always with a drink or a man waiting in the wings—yet oddly encouraging in the right moments. And Liv, radiant and trembling, her self‑esteem a fragile thing Ainsley had never noticed until now.