Page 124 of Rush

A hush sweeps through the room—nerves, anticipation, all of it.

Philippa rises—slow, graceful—smoothing the skirt of her gown. Then she turns to us. Her bridesmaids. Her girls.

“Let’s do this,” she says softly, eyes glinting.

The Ravenswood Estate’sgardens transform into a sea of soft ivory and blush blooms, golden autumn leaves drifting lazily through the air. White chairs frame the stone aisle, leading to a domed gazebo with a wrought-iron roof. Flowing fabric wraps around each column, anchored by cascading florals that look almost too perfect to be real. It’s immaculate.

The afternoon sun is surprisingly warm, casting everything in a golden glow. The scent of freesias hangs thick in the air—sweet and heady.

I don’t really believe in the whole fanfare of weddings—not the way Philippa does. But even I have to admit it’s stunning. Meticulous down to the last detail. Exactly what I’d expect from her.

A piano rendition of“Truly, Madly, Deeply”by Savage Garden plays, and I step forward. The stone path is steady beneath my heels—though it might as well be a tightrope.

Don’t trip. Smile.

The hem of my dress brushes my calves, catching the breeze as I move.

Riley catches my eye from the second row and grins, blowing me a kiss—subtle but bold, in that way only she could pull off. I nearly break into a giggle. Nearly.

Jack is beside her, looking proud as punch. He shifts uncomfortably in his new suit.

Carole sits in the front row, beside an empty chair, already crying, dabbing at the corners of her eyes with a handkerchief that matches her dress.

Andrew stands at the altar, hands clasped tight in front of him, lips pressed into a polite smile. His eyes look glassy, nerves clear in the way his jaw ticks, his weight shifting from one foot to the other.

Then I see him.

Broderick. Straight-backed in a classic black tuxedo—next to Andrew, looking like that is unfair. Black bowtie. Crisp white shirt. His hair is neatly styled, though still unruly at the edges. In the sun, the dark mahogany strands almost glow with auburn at the ends. And his eyes—those deep green eyes—lock on mine the second I step into view. They soften.

The butterflies kick harder. Or maybe it’s just the nerves.

I force my steps steady, my smile soft.

Don’t trip. Smile.

When I reach my place beside the other bridesmaids, his gaze is still on me—unflinching. I try not to look back, but I can’t help it.

As the music swells, the double patio doors open. Philippa steps into view. I turn, fixing my eyes on the aisle.

She is breathtaking—her face lit with pure joy.

I’d spent the morning with her, but I’d never seen her like this. Her eyes glisten with unshed tears, her whole being radiant, glowing from within.

She takes two careful steps before our father appears at her side, offering his arm.

His proud expression softens the moment he looks at her.

My stomach drops. Jealousy claws sharp inside me at their bond. That softness—he’s never once given it to me.

I swallow, forcing myself to focus on the moment.

Together, they glide down the aisle, picture-perfect, the crowd marveling at her beauty and grace.

I sneak a glance at Broderick. He’s still staring right at me, my heart hammering wild in my chest.

I roll my eyes.

He winks.