Page 25 of Heartless Stepbrother

They’d be real.

And I’d have to find a way to live with that.

CHAPTER SIX

LUNA

Thebridalsuitethrobbedwith its final burst of activity, a crescendo before the silence that would fall when my mother walked into her new life.

She stood in the center of it all, a vision carved from lace and light. The white gown clung in perfect, sculpted lines, the bodice alive with delicate embroidery that caught the sun streaming infrom the terrace doors. Her skin seemed to glow from within, her face lit by a joy I’d rarely seen so unguarded. She wasn’t just beautiful; she was luminous.

Around her, the women moved with a shared, unspoken choreography, smoothing fabric, checking hair, straightening jewelry. Their elegant wedding attire swayed like petals in the soft breeze drifting through the open balcony doors.

“Ready, Mum?” My voice was soft, but my heart was beating hard enough that I could feel it in my fingertips. Excitement for her hummed through me, but threaded beneath it was a quieter, more restless pulse, the knowledge that somewhere out there, Marcus and Riley were waiting. Waiting to become family I hadn’t chosen.

I’d picked my dress with care. A pale blue that mirrored the Hawaiian sky just after sunrise, its flowing skirt brushing against my calves like the gentlest tide. The fabric was cool and light, a comforting weight against my skin in a day that felt full of sharp edges.

Mum turned to me then, and for a moment, the entire suite seemed to still. Her eyes shone like they had when I was little, when she’d look at me as though I were the only thing in the world she needed. “As I’ll ever be, darling. Are you?”

I let my smile reach all the way to my eyes. “I am. For you.”

She held my gaze for a heartbeat longer, as though the words meant more than I’d intended, then turned back to the mirror for one last glance. Her breath rose and fell in a steadying rhythm, and then it was time.

We left the cocoon of the suite, the air outside warmer, saltier, alive with sound. The women flanked her like a living guard of honor, their laughter and whispered well-wishes curling into the air.

The resort pathways curved gently on our way to the ceremony, stone underfoot still warm from the morning sun.Tropical blooms spilled over the edges of manicured gardens, their petals bright enough to make the air itself seem colored. The ocean glittered in the distance, visible between the palms, each crest of a wave catching the light like liquid silver. Somewhere, far off, a ukulele strummed a few soft notes, the sound riding the breeze.

Tourists, guests and resort staff parted for us, their chatter quieting, their faces softening into smiles.

“Congratulations!”

“So happy for you!”

“You look beautiful, Eleanor!”

Mum acknowledged each one with a graceful tilt of her head, the kind of poise that came naturally to her, her smile never faltering.

I walked at her side, matching my steps to hers, feeling the quiet rhythm of our togetherness. Pride swelled in my chest, for her courage, for her happiness, for the fact that she’d found something new when life could have left her jaded after what happened with my dad.

The joy here was palpable, infectious. It wrapped around me, softening the hard edges of my nerves, even as a faint, restless hum remained at the back of my mind, a reminder that the day wasn’t just about vows and champagne.

Somewhere ahead, the two people who would change the shape of my life were waiting.

The path narrowed as we approached the ceremony site, the sound of the ocean swelling until it seemed to beat in time with my pulse.

It wasn’t just any stretch of beach, it was a hidden cove, tucked away behind walls of emerald palms and hibiscus blooms so red they almost glowed. The sunlight spilled across the sand in broken shards, caught by the shifting fronds above. Beyond the curve of the shoreline, the Pacific stretched out in an endlessshimmer, each wave curling in with the lazy, confident grace of something that had existed long before us and would exist long after.

One by one, the women who had surrounded my mother all morning peeled away, slipping into the rows of white chairs set in perfect lines facing the sea. Their perfume lingered in the air as they passed, mixing with the briny breath of the tide.

We stopped just shy of the aisle, hidden in the shade of tropical foliage thick enough to feel like a curtain. From here, the murmur of guests drifted to us, a hum of laughter, the low scrape of chairs, the faint clink of glasses.

Mum’s breath hitched almost imperceptibly. “This is it,” she whispered, her voice laced with something that was half excitement, half fear. Her hand found mine, warm and sure, her grip firm enough to tether me.

I squeezed back, feeling the faint tremor in her fingers. “You’re going to be breathtaking, Mum. He’s lucky. So lucky.”

Her eyes lifted to mine, glassy with unshed tears, and for a moment I saw the version of her that existed only for me, not the flawless bride, not the confident woman who charmed everyone in her orbit, but my mother. Just Mum. “And I’m the luckiest woman alive,” she murmured. “Because I have you. Always you.”

The words sank into me, heavy and warm all at once. She leaned in, her lips brushing my forehead in a kiss so soft it felt like a promise. “Thank you for being here by my side, Luna. You’ll never know what it means.”