“Got it,” Hanna answered obediently, pushing the Hollywood waves her stylist had created in her just-highlighted auburn hair over her shoulders. She looked at herself in the mirror and pursed her deep red lips and fluttered her eyelashes, which had just been fitted with extensions. She was probably the best-looking almost-criminal in the history of girls who were about to go to prison.
Not that she was dwelling much on that. Or the fact that closing statements had been made and that the jury was now at the Rosewood Holiday Inn, deliberating her fate. Her wedding was today, and she was going to enjoy it, damn it. Even though she’d had only a week to plan, absolutely everything had come together. The weather was perfect for an outdoor ceremony, and the lines of chairs on either side of the aisle were decorated in fresh white roses. The rabbi her mother had found was young and tall and almost cute—well, for a rabbi, anyway—and the girls Hooters had sent to cater the wings and other Hooters stuff weren’t the skankiest Hanna had ever seen. Us Weekly reps had already arrived to set up the red carpet in the grand hall. Hailey Blake had texted her several times asking if she could bring a few more famous actors and models as plus-ones. The cocktail-hour food looked delicious, and every waiter who would be passing out the canapés was more model-perfect than the last. The reception-room tables were exquisitely set with the most beautiful, silver-patterned china Hanna had ever seen. Ramona had booked the best fireworks company in Philadelphia to set off a serious display during the reception, and #HannaMarinWedding had been tweeted 981 times in the past three hours. Hanna was pumped and ready.
Ms. Marin, who looked stunning in an off-white Chanel shift, began to take Hanna’s dress out of the plastic. Slowly and carefully, she slid it over Hanna’s head and started to spread out the folds and fluff the train. “Hanna,” she breathed. “It’s even more beautiful than I remembered.”
Tingles traveled up Hanna’s spine as she beheld her reflection in the mirror. The dress made her skin look rosy and her waist minuscule. The jeweled beading on the bodice sparkled in the light.
“It’s fine,” Ramona barked—which, Hanna realized, was as close to a compliment as she would get. Then she hurried out of the room, murmuring something about checking in on the flowers.
Hanna turned to her mother, who was dabbing her eyes in the back of the room. “So,” she said, taking a deep breath. “Are you ready to walk me down the aisle?”
Ms. Marin nodded, her lips pressed tightly together. Maybe to keep from crying.
Hanna felt her eyes well up, too. “Thanks for being so cool through all this,” she said. “I know it’s sort of . . . unprecedented. And that I’m young. And that—”
“It’s fine,” Ms. Marin interrupted, rushing toward her and touching her bare shoulders. “It makes you happy. That’s all I want to see. That’s all I’ve ever wanted to see.” She held Hanna’s arms and looked her up and down. “Remember when we used to play wedding when you were little? I’d let you wear my slips?”
Hanna’s lips parted. She’d forgotten that she and her mom had done that together—so many of her memories involved her dad and his special attention. But all of a sudden, she remembered her mom helping her pull the lacy slip over her head and putting ringlets in her hair. It made her feel sad that the memory had gone unacknowledged for so long. Or that Hanna had written off her mom for so long—maybe she shouldn’t have.
Then a knock came at the door, and Hanna’s head whipped up. Ms. Marin frowned. “Who could that be?”
“Maybe Ramona again?” Hanna murmured, leaping up to answer it. Hanna’s vision adjusted as a tall figure walked into the small space. It was her dad.
“Oh,” Ms. Marin said tightly.
Mr. Marin was dressed in a conservative black suit and a red tie. When he saw her, his face crumpled and his eyes went soft. “Oh, Hanna,” he gushed. “My baby. You look beautiful.”
Hanna turned away from him, instantly annoyed. “What part of don’t come did you not understand?” she spat.
Mr. Marin crossed his arms over his chest. “Hanna. I know I’ve disappointed you in too many ways. And I know I’ve put myself first way too many times. I haven’t been a father to you, and I’ll never make that up to you, and you have a right to hate me forever. But please let me be here. Please let me see you get married. I want to walk you down the aisle.”
“Uh, that job’s already taken,” Ms. Marin piped up. She placed a hand on Hanna’s arm. “Do you want him to leave, honey?”
Hanna gritted her teeth. Her dad had done this so many times. And so many times she’d forgiven him, only to be jilted again. But this time, she didn’t feel the same pull to please him. All at once, she realized: Their relationship had changed. Her dad would never have the same place in Hanna’s life as he had before. He’d lost that privilege for good.
At the same time, just seeing him standing there, that hangdog expression on his face, his hands pushed pathetically into his suit pants pockets, she felt something approaching pity. Maybe she should just give him this. Be the bigger person.
She let out a breath. “You can stay,” she decided. “But Mom’s right—she’s walking me down the aisle. And that’s final.”
“Okay, okay. But thank you for letting me stay.” Mr. Marin lurched forward to hug Hanna, and she obliged him, though she held him at arm’s length so as not to wrinkle her dress. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught her mom rolling her eyes.