Sylvia laughed softly. "It’s quite okay. Alright then. Let’s get to it."
The two of them began bustling around Ivy. Trish grabbed brushes, pins, and hairspray, while Sylvia delicately sectioned Ivy’s hair. They joked, argued, and teased Ivy relentlessly.
Ivy laughed through it all, letting herself be swept up in the energy. She felt her nerves ease, the tension of the past weeks dissolving. Trish and Sylvia bickered playfully over the perfect curl pattern, their voices echoing through the room. It was chaotic, loud, and perfect in a way Ivy hadn’t realized she needed.
As the hours ticked by, Sylvia began to feel a subtle shift inside herself. She was just another girl in the room, laughing, teasing. The bond formed quickly because of shared laughter, quiet moments of encouragement.
It was different. It was freeing. Sylvia felt a warmth. And she liked it.
By the time they finished, Ivy was transformed. She looked in the mirror and saw a reflection of herself that was glamorous. And she realized that tonight was about claiming her space in this world.
Soon, they were done with her hair and makeup. Sylvia suggested Ivy get something to eat before putting on her dress. Ivy’s stomach gave a loud growl in that exact moment.
Trish, never one to let a moment slip, cackled. "Okay bride to be. Food first, glam later."
She bounced toward the nightstand, snatched up the phone James had pointed out earlier, and dialed. "Yes, hello, darling James," she purred into the receiver. She gave specific instructions for a selection of meals. And then hung up as if she’d just negotiated world peace.
Ivy blinked at her friend, aghast. "Are you kidding me right now? Trish, that’s a goddamn banquet."
Trish flipped her hair dramatically. "When next am I going to be pampered ? This is my moment too. Don’t steal it from me. Wouldn’t you do the same?"
She turned to Sylvia for backup. Sylvia, caught between laughter and politeness, folded her arms and said with a grin, "Of course. Of course, I would." Her agreement came so easily but the truth was, she had never known what it felt like not to have everything at her fingertips.
"Excuse me for a minute, ladies. I need to check in on Mum and Dad." Sylvia excused. She needed a breath of air—and a moment to face the storm brewing inside her chest.
Sylvia found her father in the courtyard, surrounded by a couple of his old friends. They stood in a huddle near the bar pavilion, cigars lit, glasses of cognac swirling, their laughter booming.
Her throat tightened. She wanted to tell him to stop. Cancel the plan. To end the cruelty. Neither Ivy nor Winn deserved this—not today. At least he should let them have this one day. To disgrace Ivy in front of the press, to humiliate her was evil. Sylvia’s stomach churned.
She hesitated at the edge of the group, her heart racing. If she intervened, her father would dangle Joey in front of her face once again. But something about Ivy—her honesty, her laughter, the way she made Winn happy made Sylvia want to throw it all to hell for once.
As Sylvia hurried across the courtyard but then she heard her name. She would have ignored it—she should have ignored it—but how could she ignore that voice? The voice that haunted her dreams, the voice that came to her in stolen fantasies when her sheets were tangled around her thighs.
Her steps faltered. Slowly, she turned, and there he was—Joey. The man who was her secret weakness, her guilty pleasure, the what-if that lingered at the back of her mind. Tonight, he looked devastatingly good in a white shirt tucked neatly into tailored trousers that clung to him just right. He was exceptional.
Except for the wife attached to his arm.
"Hey. Hi." Sylvia’s tone was breezy, deliberately ignoring Diane as though she were a particularly well-dressed piece of furniture. Diane didn’t care for her anyway.
"Is Winn here yet?" Joey asked.
"Uh... we spent the night here," Sylvia replied quickly, trying to mask her nerves with clipped efficiency. "He should be somewhere around. Maybe getting ready. You can check his old room. He still uses it."
Diane, of course, seized the moment to stake her claim. She draped a hand across Joey’s chest. Her fingers flexed possessively, flashing the diamond-studded wedding band. "Can you get me a drink before you go, Joey?"
"Of course." Joey leaned down, kissed his wife’s cheek with casual devotion, and then headed toward the pavilion, completely unaware of the storm of tension his absence left behind.
Sylvia stood awkwardly, the silence between her and Diane suffocating.
"When are you going to outgrow your feelings for my husband?" Diane finally broke the silence.
Sylvia didn’t bother to deny it. Everyone knew the truth. She had Joey first. Her lips curved in a ghost of a smile. "Uhm... I don’t know. Never?" she answered. The source of this content ɪs 𝓷𝓸𝓿𝓮𝓵•𝑓𝑖𝑟𝑒•𝙣𝙚𝙩
"You’ve tried everything, Sylvia. Even... attempting suicide. When will it end? When will you stop seeking him out? When will you stop embarrassing yourself?" Diane’s hand tightened on her glittering clutch.
Sylvia’s throat burned. She held the woman’s gaze, steady, stubborn. "You heard me the first time, Diane. Never. Now if you’ll excuse me, the bride-to-be needs me." With that, she pivoted on her heels.
She marched away, her pulse hammering in her ears. Anger warred with longing, and underneath it all, shame wrapped tight around her chest. Diane was cruel, yes, but not wrong. And now, as she stole one last glance at her father, standing tall and smug among his friends—Sylvia’s conflict deepened.
Should she let his plan to sabotage Ivy play out, as cruel as it was, or try to convince him to stop? She turned in the direction of the pavilion where Joey was approaching Diane with her drink in his hand. With a heavy sigh, she turned in the opposite direction.
Meanwhile, upstairs, Ivy opened the door after a brief knock. The scent of food flooded the air as the maids entered the room. Ivy’s eyes widened in disbelief as they placed the trays by the side of the bed before exiting as quietly as they had come.