The Vera Wang dress hung on the closet door like a white ghost.
Lita Martinez stared at it, her coffee growing cold in her hands, and wondered if the champagne from last night was making her nauseous or if it was something else entirely.
Something like guilt.
You're going to be the most beautiful bride Manhattan has ever seen, her sister Melissa gushed from across the room, where she was arranging white roses in crystal vases. Marcus is so lucky. God, when I think about that penthouse, the cars, the trips to Europe… She sighed dramatically. You're living every girl's dream, Lita.
Every girl's dream. The words echoed hollowly as Lita pressed her hand against her stomach, where she could still feel the ghost of Damian's touch. Twelve hours ago, she had been in his arms. Twelve hours ago, she had made the biggest mistake or perhaps the most honest decision of her life.
Her phone buzzed on the nightstand, and her heart lurched. But it was just the wedding coordinator confirming the timeline. Not Damian. He hadn't texted since that call at 3 AM, when his voice had been raw with emotion and regret and something that sounded dangerously close to love.
Are you sure this is what you want? He'd whispered into the phone, and she'd heard the sheets rustling in the background, could picture him in his bed, alone now, probably staring at the ceiling the way she had been.
She had hung up without answering, but the question had echoed through what little remained of the night.
Earth to Lita, Melissa's voice cut through her spiral. The makeup artist will be here in an hour. You need to eat something. And why do you look like you haven't slept?
Because I didn't sleep, Lita wanted to say. Because I spent the night before my wedding in another man's bed, and now I'm supposed to walk down the aisle and pretend my life isn't falling apart.
Just wedding nerves, she managed, forcing a smile that felt like it might crack her face in half.
She was. God help her, she pictured Damian's eyes the way they lingered on her at the goodbye dinner, soft and aching, as if every glance was a silent plea not to let go, the sadness in his eyes when he'd toasted to her happiness, the way his hand had trembled when he asked her to walk him home one last time.
She told herself it was just a walk. Just one last moment with her best friend before everything changed.
But when they reached his apartment building and he asked if she wanted to come up for coffee, they both knew it wasn't about coffee. And when he cupped her face in his hands and asked, "Are you sure?" she answered by kissing him with eight years of suppressed longing.
The sex had been desperate, fierce, tender, everything she imagined and nothing like the careful, scheduled intimacy she shared with Marcus. Afterward, lying tangled in Damian's sheets while the city hummed outside his window, she felt more herself than she had in months.
And then reality crashed back in.
She left at 2 AM, creeping out like a thief while Damian pretended to sleep. But she knows he was awakened by the tension in his shoulders, by the way his breathing was too controlled. And an hour later, her phone had rung.
The hotel room door burst open, and Lita's mother bustled in with an armload of garment bags. Mija, why aren't you dressed yet? The photographer will be here soon. She stopped, taking in Lita's face. What's wrong?
Nothing's wrong, Lita said automatically.
But Carmen Martinez had a mother's instinct for trouble, especially towards her first daughter, who had been with her in down moments. She shooed Melissa out of the room, then sat beside Lita on the velvet settee.
Talk to me.
Lita felt tears prick at the corners of her eyes. I did something terrible, Mama.
How terrible?
The truth hovered on her lip, as I slept with Damian last night, but she couldn't force the words out. Instead, she reached into her purse and pulled out the letter she'd written to herself six months ago, the one labeled Open only if you have doubts.
I wrote this when Marcus proposed, she whispered. I forgot about it until this morning.
Her mother's eyes widened. Have you read it?
Lita shook her head. I'm afraid to.
Then maybe you're not ready to get married.
Her mother squeezed her hand. Whatever you wrote in that letter, whatever you're feeling right now, you have to be honest with yourself, mija. Because in three hours, you're going to make vows in front of God and everyone we know. And if your heart isn't in it…
I committed Marcus, Lita said, but the words sounded weak even to her own ears.
You also committed yourself. To be true to who you are, not who you think you should be.
Lita stared at the sealed envelope, her heart hammering. She thought about Damian's apartment, the way he'd kissed her goodbye at the door, the look in his eyes that said everything they'd never dared to say out loud.
She thought about Marcus, who had given her everything she'd thought she wanted: security, status, a future without financial worry. Who had never made her laugh until her sides ached, who looked at her like she was a beautiful acquisition rather than a person he couldn't live without.
Her mother stood up. "I'm going to give you some privacy. But Lit, whatever you decide, I'll support you. Your father would have wanted you to be happy, not just secure.
When she was alone, Lita broke the seal on the envelope with trembling fingers. Her own handwriting stared back at her:
If you're reading this, you already know the answer. You probably spent the last few months convincing yourself that Marcus is the smart choice, that Damian is just a fantasy you need to outgrow.
But deep down, you know the truth. You know which man makes you feel alive. You know which man really sees you, not just the polished version you present to the world.
You know, and you're terrified.
I can't tell you what to do.
Lita's hands shook as she reread the letter. Outside, she could hear Melissa arguing with the florist about the rose arrangement. Her phone buzzed with a text from an unknown number.
I'm at the corner coffee shop, the one where we used to study for finals. I know I shouldn't be here. I know this is crazy. But I can't let you do this without saying what I should have said years ago. Please. Just give me five minutes. - D
Lita stared at the message, her heart racing. In the mirror across the room, she could see herself, hair still messy from sleep (from Damian's hands), makeup-free, wearing the silk robe Marcus had given her with "Mrs. Thorne" monogrammed on the pocket.
She had one hour before the makeup artist arrived. One hour before the carefully orchestrated machinery of her wedding day became impossible to stop.
One hour to choose between the life she'd planned and the life she'd been too afraid to want.
She grabbed her coat and headed for the door. The moment she stepped onto the street, the warm scent of fresh bread drifted through the air, tugging at a memory she hadn't visited in years.