JAY'S POV
The weeks before the wedding don't feel like time—they feel like a performance I've been cast in without auditioning, where every single day I wake up already expected to smile, to glow, to exist like a girl who is deeply, hopelessly in love....
And the worst part is… I play it perfectly, because no one—not my team, not my family, not the people raising champagne glasses in my name—knows that behind every laugh is calculation.
Behind every "I'm so happy" is a pause, a second too long before I answer, like I'm reminding myself what version of me they're supposed to see, and it gets exhausting in a way I can't explain because it's not physical—it's emotional.
It's the constant switching between truth and illusion, between the girl who agreed to this for Lola and the woman the world thinks I am, and sometimes, in between outfit trials and congratulatory hugs, I catch my reflection and I don't even know which one I'm looking at anymore.
At the office, it's chaos in the loudest, most celebratory way possible—my team throws me a full-blown party like I just signed the deal of the century, balloons everywhere, music blasting, champagne flowing like it's water, and James, of course, is at the center of it all, standing on a chair at one point yelling,
"GUYS, A MOMENT OF SILENCE FOR THE SINGLE LIFE OF MISS JAY MARIANO—GONE BUT NEVER FORGOTTEN," while Lorenzo just raises his glass with that calm, knowing smirk of his and adds, "Or maybe upgraded, depending on how you look at it,"
and I laugh, I actually laugh, tilting my head back like this is the best thing that's ever happened to me..
Like I'm not mentally rewriting the word marriage into something safer like arrangement, like agreement, like anything that doesn't sound as permanent as it actually is, and when someone from my team hugs me and squeals,
"You're literally living a dream," I hug them back just as tight and say, "I know," because correcting them would mean explaining something I'm not ready to say out loud—not even to myself.
At home, it's softer but heavier in a different way, because Aunt Serina and Mom don't celebrate loudly—they celebrate intimately, constantly, like I'm already theirs in a way that feels too real sometimes, dragging me through boutiques and ateliers, holding fabrics against me, debating lace versus silk like it's a philosophical argument...
I stand there while they circle me, adjusting, fixing, admiring, and at one point Serina steps back, her eyes soft in a way that almost undoes me, and says quietly, "You look exactly like I imagined," and I don't even ask what she means because I'm scared of the answer, because I know it's not just about a dress—
It's about a future she's already accepted, already believed in, already built in her mind, and I just nod, smiling, because breaking that illusion feels cruel, especially when it's built on love, and the only time Keifer is there is during the dress selection, standing at a distance like he doesn't belong in the chaos, hands in his pockets, silent, watching—not intruding, not commenting, just… there..
I didn't look at him much, but I feel it, that gaze, steady and unreadable, like he's seeing more than he should, like he knows this is all too perfect to be real, and still chooses not to say anything.
And now it's the night before the wedding—or almost—and the reality of it sits heavy in my chest in a way I can't laugh off anymore, because in less than twenty-four hours....
I'm going to stand in front of people, say words that are supposed to mean forever, and bind my life to someone I've spent years clashing with, arguing with, resisting, and somehow, through all of that, ended up agreeing to marry....and becoming Mrs.Jasper Jean Mariano Watson.....or in other words Mrs.Mark Keifer Watson....
And just when I think I might actually get a quiet evening to process that, my phone rings and of course—it's James, and I already know before I answer that whatever peace I thought I'd have is about to be destroyed,
"Be ready by 7 Jay , it's going to be a hell of a night....." he says immediately, not even bothering with hello, and I close my eyes, already exhausted,
"I'm not coming," I reply flatly, because I genuinely don't have the energy for whatever chaos he's planning, but he doesn't even pause, just scoffs,
"Not optional, sweetheart, contract or real, you're getting married, and if you think I'm letting you do that without a proper bachelorette party, you clearly don't know me,"
And I groan, dragging a hand down my face,
"James, I'm serious, I'm not in the mood—" but he cuts me off with a dramatic,
"You don't need mood, you need alcohol and bad decisions, and I will personally provide both, so dress like a sin and be ready,"
And before I can argue again, he hangs up, leaving me staring at my phone like I just lost control of my own evening.
The shower doesn't help much, but it gives me ten minutes of quiet, ten minutes where I can stand under the water and just exist without expectations, without eyes on me, without pretending, and when I step out, wrapping a towel around myself....
I almost miss it—the box on my bed, sitting there like it's been waiting, and I frown, walking toward it slowly, already knowing who it's from,
(*Check the comments..)
"You're unbelievable…"
I mutter as I open it, and then I stop, because inside is a dress that doesn't just exist—
It demands attention, a short white piece that's bold and unapologetic, deep neckline, backless, hugging every curve like it was designed to make a statement, and for a second I just stare, because it's beautiful, in a way that feels dangerous, and when I pick up the note tucked inside and read,
"For the bride to be. We needed sexy pics so I sent you a dress because I knew you were gonna dress real conservative despite being a fashion guru....so wear it, Jay. —James",
I let out a breath that's half a laugh, half disbelief, shaking my head,
"Of course you did," and I don't even know why I do it, why I decide to go along with it, but I put it on anyway, slipping into the dress, adjusting it, stepping into heels, grabbing a bag, and when I finally look at myself in the mirror, I pause....
Because this version of me—confident, sharp, a little reckless—this version feels closer to the real me than the smiling bride everyone else sees, and maybe that's why I don't hesitate when I sneak out of the house, the silence working in my favor as I slip past it like a secret.
And then I step outside—and freeze, because parked right in front of me is a limo, an actual, ridiculous, over-the-top limo, and before I can even process it, the door swings open and chaos spills out in the form of familiar voices shouting,
"BRIDE TO BE!!!"
as James, Lorenzo, Lily, Lucy, Clea, and Luna pile out, all dressed in black like some coordinated, chaotic squad, and I just stand there for a second, staring at them, at the sheer absurdity of it all, before laughing,
"You've got to be kidding me," and James just grins, grabbing my hand,
"Nope, get in, we have a reputation to ruin,"
and before I can protest, they're crowning me, literally placing a tiara on my head, throwing a sash over me that screams BRIDE TO BE, and I try to resist, I really do,
"This is embarrassing," I say, but Lily just smirks, "That's the point," and suddenly I'm inside the limo, champagne popping the second the car starts moving, music blasting, glasses clinking as Lorenzo raises his drink,
"To Jay," he says smoothly, and James immediately adds,
"To questionable life choices,"
and Lucy laughs, "To Unexpected marriages," and Luna finishes, "To real chaos,"
and I shake my head, laughing despite myself as I take the glass, because for the first time in days, I don't feel like I'm acting—I just feel present.
By the time we reach the club, I'm already buzzing—not just from the alcohol, but from the energy, from the way the night feels alive, and when I look up at the entrance and realize exactly where we are, I stop dead,
"No—there's no way you got us in here," I say, because this place is exclusive to a ridiculous degree, and James just winks,
"Connections, Jay Jay now let's goo," like that explains everything, and before I can question it further, we're inside, led to a private booth that's somehow even more dramatic than the limo....
A central silk chair clearly meant for me, the others settling around it like I'm some kind of queen, and the shots start immediately, one after another, music pulsing through the floor, lights flashing, bodies moving, and I let go—
I actually let go, dancing, laughing, losing track of time, of rules, of everything that's waiting for me tomorrow, until suddenly Lily appears in front of me with a grin that immediately makes me suspicious,
"Sit," she says, and I narrow my eyes,
"Why?" but before I can resist, Lucy and Clea are already pulling me down into the chair, a ribbon being tied over my eyes, and I laugh, half protesting, half curious,
"If this is illegal, I'm blaming all of you," and James' voice comes from somewhere to my left, amused,
"Relax, it's just entertainment," and then the music changes—slower, heavier, unmistakably wrong in the best way, and I groan the second it clicks,
"Oh my God, you did not—" but they absolutely did, because I can feel movement, close, deliberate I could feel touching someone ABS with my manicured fingers..., and I shake my head, laughing through the absurdity of it,
"I hate all of you,but I'm loving this hahah" I say, even though I don't mean it, because the truth is—I haven't felt this free in weeks, maybe longer.
By the time the ribbon comes off, everything is louder, brighter, messier, and I'm breathless from laughing, from dancing, from just being, and when we all collapse back into the booth, drinks in hand, hair messy, makeup slightly smudged....
James claps his hands like the chaos isn't enough,
"Alright, truth or dare," he declares, and I groan immediately, dropping my head back.
"Absolutely not," but Lucy leans forward with a wicked grin,
"Too late, bride gets to go first," and I look around at all of them—my people, my chaos, my escape—and I realize something quietly..
Something that settles deep in my chest in a way I don't fight,
Because tomorrow I go back to being what everyone expects,
Tomorrow I step into something permanent, something complicated,
something not entirely mine—but tonight?
Tonight is reckless.
Tonight is loud.
Tonight is mine.
And tonight just started...