“A swimsuit,” he answered. “A beautiful, solid black, one-piece swimsuit. One that fits the body you have right now. A body that survived something incredibly hard and traumatic. Not a cheap white bikini designed to satisfy a cruel joke.”
I felt a sudden, sharp sting of tears. I almost laughed, mostly because I was dangerously close to hyperventilating.
He stepped closer, closing the distance between us, but not invading my space. He reached out and tucked a stray strand of hair behind my ear.
“You do not have to prove anything to her,” Marcus said, his thumb brushing my cheekbone. “That isn’t what today is about. Today is about me finally breaking a thirty-year habit of shielding my sister from the consequences of her own malice.”
I looked down at the sleek black bag. “What if I get there and I panic? What if I want to leave?”
“Then we turn around and leave immediately,” he promised.
“What if I get there and I can’t speak?”
“Then you don’t have to utter a single word. I will speak for both of us.”
“And… what if I don’t want a massive public scene?”
He nodded slowly. “Then there won’t be one. I’ll pull her aside privately. Whatever you need.”
That was the moment the ice around my heart began to crack. Not because I thirsted for revenge—though, let’s be clear, the anger was there, simmering like magma. But because I was so incredibly exhausted from feeling as if I had to hide from everything that might hurt me. I was tired of shrinking to make Brianna feel tall.
“Okay,” I breathed out. “Let’s go.”
Forty minutes later, my stomach in tight knots, we pulled into the sprawling, palm-tree-lined driveway of the Oasis Beach Club.
The bridal party had deliberately bypassed the main public entrance. They had gathered at the private VIP cabana check-in area—an exclusive, roped-off enclave separated by manicured hibiscus hedges, complete with private plunge pools, plush daybeds, and dedicated bottle service.
Brianna was holding court in the center of the patio. She was already wearing her sparkly “Bride to Be” sash over a pristine, skimpy white designer bikini. She was surrounded by five of her friends, all adhering strictly to the humiliating dress code, looking like a flock of identical, tanned flamingos.
Brianna spotted us first.