Her gaze drifted past them, scanning the crowd of guests settling into their seats. Elegant dresses, polished suits, the quiet hum of polite conversation. Families from both sides, friends, associates, the kind of gathering where everyone looked beautiful and nothing was quite what it seed.
And then she found him.
Nicolas stood near the front, surrounded by a small cluster of friends, all of them laughing at sothing he had just said. He looked every inch the groom, impeccably dressed in a pale gray suit that probably cost more than most people’s cars, his dark hair perfectly styled, that easy smile firmly in place.
He was laughing. Loudly. Carelessly. Like he did not have a care in the world.
Like he was not about to marry Hazel in a matter of minutes.
Bella’s smile faded slightly.
She watched him clap one of his friends on the shoulder, watched the way his eyes swept the crowd. There was sothing in that glance that made her skin prickle.
Beside her, Jason followed her gaze and made a low sound in his throat. "Rat face," he muttered under his breath.
Bella bit back a laugh. "Jason."
"I’m just saying what everyone’s thinking."
She shook her head, but the tension in her shoulders had returned.
Where was Dom?
Guests began to settle, conversations dying into hushed whispers.
Nicolas took his place at the altar, adjusting his cufflinks, still wearing that insufferable smile.
Bella scanned the crowd one more ti.
Still no sign of Dom.
⊹₊˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧˚₊⊹
The hallway outside the bride’s room was quiet, decorated in the sa soft white and gold as the rest of the venue. Flowers spilled from elegant vases, and the distant sound of guests gathering filtered up from below. But here, in this small corridor, there was only stillness.
Dominique stood alone, leaning against the wall, his tablet clutched loosely in one hand.
He looked tired. Dark circles shadowed his eyes, visible even beneath the flawless grooming. His three-piece black suit fit him like it had been painted on, tailored specifically for him, highlighting every line of his lean, model-perfect fra. His dark hair was styled to effortless perfection, falling just so. His jaw could have been carved from marble.
He looked like he had stepped out of a magazine.
But his eyes held sothing else entirely.
A bridesmaid passed by, carrying a bouquet, and he straightened.
"Can I have a mont to speak with her?" His voice was low. "Alone."
The bridesmaid stopped, looking at him with open suspicion. "The bride? Alone? Why would—"
"Please." He t her gaze, and sothing in his dark eyes made her pause. "It’s a life-and-death matter."
She blinked. Life and death? At a wedding?
But he was so serious. So intense. And God, he was beautiful, the kind of beautiful that made you want to say yes just to see him smile.
She hesitated for only a second longer. "Alright. I’ll tell her."
She disappeared inside. A mont later, the door opened again, and the other bridesmaids filed out, glancing back at him with open curiosity.
Dominique took a breath. A long, slow breath.
Then he walked inside.
The room was beautiful.
Soft white drapes hung from the ceiling, catching the mountain light that stread through tall windows. Flowers were everywhere, white roses, pale peonies, delicate orchids. A full-length mirror stood against one wall, frad in gold, and before it sat Hazel.
She was stunning.
Her wedding dress was a vision of ivory silk and delicate lace, fitted perfectly to her elegant fra. Her dark hair was swept up in an intricate style, loose waves cascading down. Her veil hung behind her, long and ethereal.
And her mask, sleek and black, covering the lower half of her face, was still in place.
She turned slightly at the sound of the door closing, her electric blue eyes eting his in the mirror.
"You want to talk to alone?" Her voice was cool, controlled, but there was sothing beneath it, curiosity, maybe. Or wariness.
Dominique stepped closer, but not too close. He maintained a careful distance, his eyes fixed on her reflection.
"Aren’t you taking this off for the wedding?" he asked quietly.
Hazel’s gaze dropped. For a mont, she said nothing. Then, softly, with a laugh that held no humor, she replied, "If I take it off, everyone will run away."
She was not looking at him anymore. Her eyes were on her own reflection, on the mask that hid half her face. Her fingers brushed the edge of it, a small, unconscious gesture.
Dominique did not speak for a long mont.
He did not know her well. Not really. They had exchanged a handful of words, shared a few glances across crowded rooms. She was Leo’s cousin, the bride, and the mystery he had been searching for a long ti.
But in this mont, standing here, he saw sothing else.
Sothing that made his heart ache.
She was scared. Beneath the calm composure, beneath the sharp intelligence, she was terrified.
"You should take it off," he said quietly.
Her eyes lifted to his in the mirror.
"The most beautiful thing at a wedding," he continued, his voice soft, almost gentle, "is the bride’s smile. If there is no smile, what is the point of any of this? The flowers, the music, the cake, it is all just background. The bride is the picture."
Hazel stared at him. Sothing flickered in those electric blue eyes, surprise, maybe. Or disbelief.
"But mine isn’t that beautiful," she said flatly, self-mocking, a wall going up.
Dominique moved then, slowly and deliberately. He walked around to stand just behind her, close enough that she could see him clearly in the mirror, close enough that his reflection frad hers.
"Let see," he said quietly. "Then I can tell you."
Hazel’s breath caught.
She held his gaze in the mirror for a long, searching mont. Looking for pity. Disgust. The usual reactions she had learned to expect.
She found neither.
His dark eyes held her reflection without hesitation.
Slowly, with hands that trembled just slightly, she reached up and unfastened the mask.
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