Her throat closed like it often did when she was about to cry. Hanna put her head down, gathered a bunch of dresses in her arms, and climbed the stairs to her room. Everything suddenly felt tainted. Emily was dead—she had to accept it. She’d read, a few hours ago, that the coast guard had given up their search for her.
She turned Mike’s bracelet around her wrist. If only you were still here, Em, she thought. You’d figure out a way to get us all back together. You’d fix everything.
The light suddenly shifted, sending a golden slant through Hanna’s window and skimming the top of her head. Hanna looked over, and for a moment, the space next to her on the bed felt warm, almost like there was someone sitting there. She decided to pretend it was Emily’s spirit. She thought about pulling Emily close, holding her tight, and never letting her go. She could almost hear Emily’s voice in her ear. I’m glad you’re getting married, Hanna. You should be happy.
Hanna straightened up, feeling renewed. Emily was totally right. If she dwelled in her sorrow, if she fixated on everything that was wrong, Ali was winning. Screw that.
She turned to the dresses on her bed and unzipped the first garment bag. It was a strapless gown made in delicate silk and overlaid with lace. Tiny jewels peppered the bodice, and it had a slimming fit all the way down to the dramatic, sweeping train. Hanna gasped. Not that she’d ever tell Ramona, but she used to spend hours sketching her ideal wedding dress when she was younger—and it had looked almost exactly like this.
She slid it over her head and beheld herself in the mirror, astonished at the sudden transformation. She looked . . . older. Beautiful. And super thin. She twirled and grinned, unable to take her eyes off her reflection. Then, squealing with delight, she ran downstairs and peered around the corner. “Mike, hide in the bathroom. I can’t have you seeing me!”
She waited until there was the obligatory slam to the door, then flounced down the stairs. Ramona stared at her impassively. Fidel tapped notes. Hanna’s mom looked like she was going to cry. “Oh, honey,” she breathed, pressing her hands to her breast. “You look lovely.”
The rest of the evening proceeded just like that: Hanna sent Mike out for a little while and tried on dresses, shoes, and veils. Mike returned and everyone tasted wedding cake, settling on the white buttercream from Bliss. Ramona made bullying phone calls to Chanticleer and catering companies and florists, demanding that they get their acts together by the end of this week or she’d never work with them again. With every yes Ramona got, Hanna felt more and more confident that Emily really was watching her, creating a smooth path. You deserve to be happy, she could hear her saying. Even if it’s only for one day.
By the end of the evening, there was only one big thing left to decide on: the guests. Ramona had an in with a calligrapher and a stationery company, but they had to know the head count tonight for the invitations to go out in time.
“Well, there are the Milanos, the Reeveses, and the Parsons,” Hanna said, naming her relatives and a few old family friends. She eyed her mother. “But let’s not include the Rumsons.” They had a vile daughter named Brooke who’d tried to steal Hanna’s old boyfriend, Lucas Beattie, away. “Most everyone from school is a yes, though definitely not Colleen Bebris.” She snuck a peek at Mike. He’d dated her for a brief time earlier that year. “We can invite Naomi and Riley, but they should have a really crappy table assignment. And a definite no to that Klaudia Huusko girl.” Klaudia had tried to steal Noel from Aria. Aria might not be coming, but Hanna still had her standards.
“Got it,” Ramona said, writing everything down.
Hanna smiled nastily. If she had her way, this was going to be the party of the century, better than any Sweet Sixteen or Foxy Ball or stupid benefit at the Rosewood Country Club combined. It would be her last power play to snub those who’d pissed her off.
“Noel, Mason, all the guys on the lacrosse team,” Mike listed off. “My mom, her boss at the gallery. And my dad and Meredith and Lola.”
“What about your father, Hanna?”
Hanna looked up, astonished. It had been her mother who’d said it.
Ms. Marin jiggled her knee on the slipper chair. There was a conflicted but also principled look on her face. “I mean, he is your father. He would not want to miss it.”
Hanna snorted. “Kate can come,” she said, referring to her stepsister. Kate had found out about the engagement and sent Hanna an email, in fact, asking if she could be of any help. “But not him. We’ve been through too much.”
She felt everyone’s eyes on her, especially Ramona’s. But it wasn’t like Hanna was going to explain her reasoning. It was far too embarrassing to admit that your own father chose his new wife, his new stepdaughter, and even his political campaign over you. Again and again, Mr. Marin had given Hanna the tiniest bit of affection only to yank it away when she did something wrong. She was tired of giving him second, third, and fourth chances just because they used to be two peas in a pod. He’d changed.
And suddenly, she felt like she had to make them understand she was serious. She sprang from her chair and mumbled that she’d be right back. Once back in her room, she gazed at herself in the mirror. She’d taken off the wedding dress, but there was still a bride-esque glow about her that couldn’t be undone. Her father probably would want to see her. But enough was enough. He’d hurt her for the last time.
She reached for her phone and scrolled for the number at his campaign office. An assistant answered, and when Hanna told him her name, she said, “I’ll put you through” in a brisk voice. Hanna blinked hard. She’d half-expected the assistant to hang up on her.