Page 153 of Law Maker
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
Kaia
“Kaia.” Alba knocked on the en suite door. “My dad’s outside. You okay?”
“Yeah,” I said, my voice shaky. I wiped my mouth with toilet paper, flushed it, then brushed my teeth in a rush.
Throwing up on the morning of my father’s wedding wasn’t ideal, but nerves clawed at me.
Nerves over seeing Asher. Over watching my father tie himself to Asher’s mother, binding us into a family neither of us wanted. Messy and sharp, the feelings tangled in my throat.
I retouched my makeup, forced on a smile, and swung the door open.
“You look gorgeous,” Alba said. “But you need to stop puking. We’ll be late.”
She was spending the weekend with her dad, and they’d offered me a ride to Stetbourg. Better that than six hours in a car with some stranger from my father’s team.
It was six a.m., and Alba’s dad deserved an award for always showing up for her—and for treating me like one of his own.
“Wow.” Mr. Osorio grinned as we approached his car. “You’re not the one getting married, right, Kaia?”
My long red dress, slit to mid-thigh, was bold but hardly bridal.
“And her hair,” Alba added, beaming. “I told her to wear it down. Too shiny and gorgeous to hide.”
I nudged her. “Stop. I needed a boost, not an ego trip.”
She laughed and slid into the backseat.
“It’ll be okay, kiddo,” Mr. Osorio said as I climbed in beside her. “But if you want to bail, call us. We’ll rescue you.”
Something told me I might.
***
The cruel irony—my father chose our garden for the wedding. The same place where we’d once taken family photos with Mom.
Rows of white chairs filled a massive tent draped in roses. I hated sitting in the front row. Hated more that the chair beside me stayed empty.
Asher didn’t come.
Maybe it hurt too much to watch. Or maybe avoiding me was easier for both of us, sparing what was left of my heart.
An orchestra swelled, and Sharon appeared, her snow-white gown glittering as its train swept the carpet strewn with petals. She beamed, waving at strangers I couldn’t name.
I didn’t even knowher. We never formed a bond, and we never would. To her, I’d always be the difficult teenager she had to tolerate. To me, she’d always be the woman meant to replace Mom.
Dad’s eyes lit on her, all the scorn he saved for me erased.
I looked away as Sharon reached him and he took her hands.
The middle-aged officiant cleared his throat, calling for silence. “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to witness and—” Murmurs rippled through the crowd. He turned toward the entrance, lips pressed thin.
My gaze followed—and the world stilled.
Asher walked down the aisle. Black leather jacket. Boots. Messy hair. The face I adored, thinner, worn. My chest squeezed.
He was supposed to be thriving, not look like he hadn’t slept in months.
