17. Nessa

Imiss him.

It's a tough pill to swallow, acknowledging it even to myself, but the truth is undeniable. Over the last six weeks, his absence has left a void, and I find myself longing for the connection we had, the way his gaze seemed to see right through me, and the undeniable sense of belonging when we were together.

Watching his father's funeral online, witnessing him walk in solitary grief behind the casket, his family trailing a respectful distance behind, I saw the weight of the world on his shoulders. His stooped posture. The tight set of his jaw. It all spoke volumes of his pain. In that moment, my heart broke for him.

I almost texted him right then. He used to say we were friends as much as anything else. But him hiding who he really was—that's one thing. Lying about being with someone else? That's something else entirely.

Part of me can't help but feel guilty, like I'm somehow the reason he's not here. He was supposed to be one of Cole's groomsmen, supposed to be walking down the aisle with me. I'd been secretly excited about it—getting all dressed up and having a blast with my closest friends. Now, Liam's spot has been filled by one of Cole's cousins. Cole and Eva keep saying it's not about me and him but about keeping the wedding low-key because Liam's the king of Denmark and all. Still, it stings.

I glance at the clock and sigh. Here I am, in Eva's dad's guest room, a place I've never stayed before. Funny how I used to struggle with mornings, but ever since Liam came into my life, I've been waking up early. And today, I'm up an hour before I even need to, all set to wake Eva in her old bedroom for her big day.

"Fake it till you make it," I whisper under my breath, a mantra for the day ahead. Cole and Eva might already have tied the knot, but today's celebration is about them, and despite the ache in my heart, I'm also filled with joy for my friends. I'm genuinely happy for their happiness, for the life I'm carving out here among people who care about me. Today, I'll push aside my own hurt and focus on the joy and love that's so evident around me.

With a deep breath to steel myself, I leave the guest room and head toward Eva's childhood bedroom. The house is quiet, the kind of hush that precedes the joyful storm of a wedding day.

Gently knocking on Eva's door, I ease it open to see her awake, cocooned in a sea of pillows on her bed. "Morning, Bridezilla," I tease with a smile, aiming to lighten the mood.

Instantly, a pillow flies toward me, which I dodge, laughing. "Zilla? Really, Nessa? I was aiming for Bridechilla," Eva retorts with mock indignation.

I chuckle, striding in to throw open her curtains, welcoming the flood of morning light before perching myself at the bed's foot. "Honestly, next to The Hip Sorcerer, you're downright zen." It's our little inside joke that Cole's real magic lies not just in his soccer moves but in how those hips translate to other… areas of expertise.

Eva sighs dreamily, clutching her pillow tighter. "He might be going all out, but it's because he wants everything to be perfect today—for both of us." She glances at me, a hint of worry in her eyes. I hate that she feels she needs to tread lightly around me, today of all days.

"He better! Marrying him was your crazy decision; he owes you big time for that," I quip, lightening the tone.

She leans back, her gaze thoughtful. "Do you think it's silly? Doing all this when technically—" She trails off, but I understand. They've been married in secret for months after eloping to Vegas.

"Not at all. It's romantic and special. Plus, I'm glad to be part of this one since I missed the Vegas adventure," I assure her, my voice sincere despite the situation stirring a mix of emotions inside me because the trip to Vegas had been a turning point for me too. It's when I figured that Liam was not just a friend or just a sex buddy.

Eva's look is full of feelings, stirring a familiar ache. To avoid dwelling on my own sorrows, I quickly steer the conversation back to humor. "What was truly pathetic was your man trying to scale the window last night, moaning about missing his cuddle buddy."

Her face blooms with a blush, and she draws the pillow in tighter. "Sleeping apart isn't easy," she confesses softly.

I know the feeling all too well but push aside my melancholy, opting instead for fun. "Should've called me; I'm an excellent stand-in cuddler," I offer with a wink, giving her leg a reassuring pat as I stand.

Eva can't help but snort at that. "Alright, let's get moving. Poppy expects us at the house by eleven, and I'm on a mission to deliver."

The moment Eva rises, the day kicks into high gear, pushing any remaining sadness I feel to the outskirts of my mind. Breakfast is a blur of laughter and plans, followed by a quick shower before we get into the Cherry Bomb, heading toward Cole's parents' sprawling estate. The sight that greets us—staff bustling, vans unloading, and the arrival of a six-tier wedding cake—makes me raise an eyebrow.

"I thought we were aiming for low-keyish?" I quip, eyes wide at the cake's grandeur.

Eva catches my look, her gaze also fixed on the cake. "Well, it's low-key by Westbrook family standards," she admits with a grimace.

"Damn," I mutter, checking my watch. "We better get moving."

As we approach the door, Poppy greets us, clad in her bridesmaid robe, a picture of readiness. "The makeup artist just got here," she informs us, ushering us inside.

Ethan appears beside her, placing a gentle kiss on her temple. "Good timing. The bride's starting to panic."

Eva's brow furrows. "I'm not panicking."

"Not you," Ethan clarifies with a smirk, "the other bride… Cole."

I don't know what Cole says, but they turn toward the corridor, and Eva laughs before shouting, "I love you!"

Cole appears, his hand covering his eyes, dressed in a pair of sweatpants. "I love you, too, Angel. Don't listen to him—I'm not nervous; I'm excited!" he says quickly before disappearing back down the hall.

Eva laughs again, and seeing her this light, this full of joy, fills me with a profound sense of happiness for her. After everything she and Cole have endured, they've emerged stronger together. Watching her now, surrounded by love and laughter, I can't help but feel a glimmer of hope for myself.

Cole's mom greets us with the warmth of a long-lost family member. It's refreshing, her genuine kindness making it clear why Eva feels so at home here. She guides us to what will serve as the bridal suite for the day—a lounge parlor so opulent it outshines any luxury I've ever seen.

As we settle in, the pampering begins. We're dressed in rose-pink bridesmaid dresses that flow elegantly, but all eyes are on Eva. She emerges, a vision in white, her dress hugging her figure in all the right places, promising to steal Cole's breath away—and likely fill his head with thoughts far from holy.

The thought brings a mischievous smile to my face, imagining Cole's struggle to keep his composure. Watching his torment from the sidelines might just be the highlight of my day.

I am happy once we're ready, but I can't help but feel a little deflated as I stand beside Cole's cousin instead of Liam.

As we start our walk down the aisle, I can feel a set of eyes on me, sending an involuntary shiver down my spine. I try to shake off the feeling, focusing on the path ahead, lined with smiling faces and floral beauty. When I reach the makeshift altar and take my position, I can't resist scanning the crowd, basking in the warmth of the day, waiting for Eva to make her grand entrance with her father.

But then my gaze stumbles and my breath catches. There, nestled in the shadowy embrace of an oversized floral arrangement at the back, is a figure that makes my heart skip. Even with a hat pulled low and sunglasses masking his eyes, Liam is unmistakable. The sight of him, here of all places, reignites a familiar pull, a connection I thought I'd managed to dim.

For a moment, everything else fades— the guests, the decor—leaving only the shock wave of his presence. The realization that he's actually here, despite everything, sends a flood of emotions crashing through me.

As the pianist takes his seat, I tear my gaze away from Liam, refocusing on Eva as she glides down the aisle. My attention then shifts to Cole. The expression on his face upon seeing Eva is almost pained, as if the sheer volume of love and admiration he holds for her is too overwhelming to contain. Watching them, I'm convinced they're meant to last.

Yet, throughout the ceremony, I find myself stealing glances in Liam's direction, half expecting him to vanish like an illusion. But each time our eyes meet confirms he's not just a figment of my imagination. He's really here, and his attention seems fixed on me, not the ceremony.

Once the ceremony is over, I follow Eva and Cole back into the house and turn to Poppy—I know that no contact is best, but no matter what, I want to know if he's okay because, despite the disillusions, I do care for him.

"Hey, do you mind if I leave you in charge for a minute? I need to…" I start, gesturing vaguely toward the garden. My heart's racing, but I'm not about to spill the entire story.

Poppy nods and gestures me away. "Of course. Go. We'll be fine here. Everyone's going to be caught up in hellos and congratulations for a while anyway."

Retracing my steps to the garden, disappointment sinks in as I find his chair empty. Did he actually leave without a word? I could not really blame him—I'm the one who kept his text unanswered until he stopped completely about two weeks ago.

It has been a relief not to be tempted every few minutes, but…

Scanning the area reveals nothing but departing guests. Just as I'm about to give up, my watch buzzes.

Are you looking for me, beautiful?

His message ignites a flurry of emotions within me.

Spinning around, I spot him near an open bay window, isolated from the rest. With every step toward him, apprehension and excitement build.

This is all kinds of wrong—I'm frustrated with myself for still wanting this, for missing him so deeply. Yet, here I am, drawn to him once again, unable to stay away.

As Liam moves away from the open door, his familiar scent washes over me, reigniting memories I've tried to bury.

Lord, I've missed that smell, I think to myself as he follows me into the library and shuts the window with a quiet click.

Facing him, I instinctively take a few steps back, needing the space to maintain some semblance of control.

"You look stunning, little witch," he remarks, his gaze sweeping over me.

"You look well," I manage, striving for detachment as hurt and betrayal threaten to overwhelm me.

"You seem happy," he observes, though skepticism shadows his face.

"Why shouldn't I be?" I retort, my defenses rising.

There's a brief pause, his features hardening. "Why did you ignore all my messages and calls? I never thought you'd be a coward."

Anger rises, and I explode. I'm not sure if he means that or if it's a ploy.

That comment lights a fuse inside me, whether he intended it to or not. "I'm not a coward, Your Highness," I snap, my voice dripping with sarcasm. "Oh, I'm sorry. Should I curtsy? Or maybe kneel?"

"It never bothered you before," he retorts, a comment that leaves me momentarily speechless with its boldness.

"That's inappropriate," I reply, struggling to maintain composure.

He arches an eyebrow. "Why?"

"You're engaged!" The words slip out, fueled by the pain and confusion of that day in his apartment.

"To whom?" His confusion seems genuine.

I hesitate, the memory of that day piercing through. "That girl who came to tell you about…"

"Sonya?" he interrupts, shaking his head in disbelief. "Sonya is not my fiancée. I don't have a fiancée."

I struggle to process his denial. "But she said…" My voice trails off, the sense of betrayal still raw. "And you didn't deny it."

"When? When I found out my father had died?" His face is edged with a frustration that mirrors my own. "I'm sorry, Vanessa, if my mind was elsewhere."

His use of my full name, "Vanessa," carries a weight I can't ignore, signaling his frustration—a feeling he has no right to feel. I'm the one who's been misled, left to piece together the fragments of truth from a web of lies.

"It doesn't really matter, does it?" I say, trying to keep my cool. "Liam, Alexander, whatever name you go by, we were always on borrowed time."

He looks at me, trying to find something in my expression. "Do you honestly believe that?"

My response is a shrug, but it feels like I'm shrugging off more than his question—like I'm trying to shrug off the whole ordeal.

"We were more than that. We were friends, Nessa," he insists, emphasizing the friendship we once shared.

"Friends don't keep secrets like that from each other."

He sighs and throws his hands up in the air. "You must see how difficult it would have been to tell you all that."

He runs a hand through his hair, a gesture of frustration. "How was I supposed to drop that kind of bombshell?"

"You had chances," I point out, my voice steady even if my heart isn't. "But you chose silence every time." You saw me fall for you, and you kept your secrets, I add to myself. I shake my head and look at my watch. "I'm sorry, but I have to go back to my friends' wedding, King Alexander."

He doesn't back down, stepping closer and blocking my path to the door. "Will you come to the coronation? Everyone else will be there. You haven't responded yet."

That invitation hangs between us, tricky and full of implications. If he's not tied down and inviting me as he says, then showing up wouldn't tag me as "the other woman." But stepping into that grand world of his, filled with all its royal fanfare and fancy titles, just highlights how different our lives are.

"Come, please," he adds, and there's something in the way he says it—like he's genuinely asking for my support, not just my presence.

The plea hits harder than I expect and the silence between us feels heavy, filled with words we haven't yet found the courage to say. His request isn't just about being present at the coronation; it's a plea for support, for a glimpse into his life that I'm not sure I'm ready to re-enter.

The moment stretches between us, loaded with unspoken questions and unresolved tension. His request for me to attend isn't just about showing up; it's about whether I'm willing to step back into his world, even if just for a day. "I'll think about it," I say finally, the words heavy with implication.

He steps away from the door, his movement signaling a resignation but also hope that perhaps I'll consider his request. Then he looks at me, the intensity in his gaze trying to communicate what words cannot. "I miss you, little witch, terribly."

The earnestness in his expression unsettles me, stirring emotions I've tried so hard to bury. I turn away, cutting off our visual connection. It's easier this way, to not see the plea in his eyes or the way his hands might reach out in a silent call for understanding.

"And I miss Liam," I admit quietly to myself as I reach for the door, leaving the room without allowing myself a final glance back. It's a confession of longing for the past, for the simplicity of our connection before royal duties and hidden truths built walls between us.