Page 2 of I Do, You Don't
Delilah. Legs crossed. Latte in hand. Wearing white.
Not ivory. Not champagne. White.
Like she forgot whose day this was, or didn’t care.
“That’s a bold choice,” I say, brushing past her with a tight smile and a tighter stomach. My voice doesn’t shake, but everything inside me does. Delilah’s presence has always been a sharp edge, and right now, it’s cutting through everything I’ve tried to build.
She tilts her head. “Oh, this?” She smooths a hand over the satiny fabric, as if she hadn’t picked it for maximum impact. “It’s cream. Totally different.”
The other bridesmaids shift. Drew shoots me a look, half pity, half concern. One of the girls suddenly finds her phone fascinating. The laughter dies.
Delilah looks at me the way she always has: like I’m a limited-edition doll she can’t wait to break.
And I let her. Because she’s important to Gideon. Because, get this, Delilah and I share a secret half-brother.
The seamstress bustles in behind me, chirping something about time and adjustments, but I barely hear her. My mind is stuck on Gideon’s voice from last night, the way it cracked when he said, “You’ve been acting different. Like you’re hiding something.”
I am. But not what he thinks.
He thinks it’s another man. He didn’t say it, but I see it in his eyes, the way he watches me lately, like he’s waiting for proof. Like he doesn’t know who I am anymore.
And the worst part?
I can’t blame him.
Delilah’s been working on him for months. Whispering in rooms I wasn’t in. Letting people believe the worst.
And I had to let her. Because of Calvin.
My brother. The one I’m not allowed to talk about. Not to Gideon. Not to anyone.
He didn’t even know I existed until last year. When Calvin asked Delilah and me to keep it quiet, I agreed. His work in the mafia made the truth dangerous. I understood why he wanted to protect us.
What I didn’t understand was the weight of that silence.
While I honored loyalty, Delilah weaponized it.
Now, I don’t know how much longer I can hold everything together.
I stand on the platform in front of the mirror. The silk gown clings to me like it knows this wedding might not happen.
The seamstress adjusts the hem. Delilah scrolls her phone like she isn’t the villain in every nightmare I’ve had for the past six weeks.
“I saw Gideon last night,”she says, too casually.
My breath catches. I keep my eyes forward. “Oh?”
“At Cielo. He said you weren’t feeling well.” She glances up with a faux-frown. “I hope it wasn’t nerves.”
No. Not nerves. Just guilt. Exhaustion. The weight of a truth that could shatter everything.
“I’m just overwhelmed,” I say, smoothing a hand over the bodice.“We both are.”
Delilah smiles, all teeth, no warmth. “You sure it’s not something else? He looked… distant. I mean, I’m sure it’s nothing, but if he were my fiancé, I’d want to know if he was having doubts.”
The mirror betrays me, the flicker of panic in my eyes, the way my shoulders tense. I watch it bloom like a bruise.
She sees it too. And smiles like someone who just struck gold.
