Page 1 of I Do, You Don’t (You Don’t #1)

Lara

I t's not the dress I wanted, yet it's the one I could afford, and the one I'll wear.

It came off the clearance rack at a boutique that smelled of cinnamon potpourri and faded perfume.

The lace is scratchy. The hem brushes the tops of my shoes only if I stand perfectly still.

But it fits. And more importantly, it’s the dress I said yes to, because I’m about to marry the only man who’s ever made me feel like I’m not too much and not too little.

I’ve always been too much, too loud, too eager, a dreamer with too little to offer. But with Gideon, I finally feel like enough.

And that’s what makes this moment so complicated.

People whisper that I’m a gold-digger, waiting for our finances to merge. I couldn’t care less. I’m marrying Gideon because I love him.

So yes, the lace itches. The hem is too short. But if this is the dress I wear to marry the love of my life, then I love it.

I smooth my palms over the bodice, pressing out a wrinkle that probably won’t even show.

The dressing room mirror is smudged in the corners.

The overhead light buzzes like it has a headache.

Still, I can almost see it: the aisle, the moment, the look on his face.

That part is crystal clear—like the kind of fantasy I should’ve outgrown when I left my mom’s cramped apartment and stepped into a world I’ve never quite belonged to .

Outside, laughter bursts through the curtain. Delilah. Of course.

I take a breath, not because I’m nervous about the ceremony, but because being in the same bridal suite as her feels like sitting too close to a lit candle. Too close, and you’ll burn.

She’s in my wedding party at Gideon’s request. “ She’s like a sister to me,” he’d said, flashing that boyish half-grin that always melted my doubts. That grin. It softened the edges of everything, made me believe the world could fit together neatly, like puzzle pieces.

But with Delilah in the picture, I can’t pretend it’s that simple.

Maybe once it was. But that was before I started noticing the cracks beneath her polish.

Now, every compliment feels dipped in acid. Every smile just wide enough to show teeth.

“ She’s still not ready ?” Delilah’s voice slices through the air, smooth, sharp. “Honestly, if I had her budget, I’d be done by now.”

Funny how it’s always everyone else talking about my budget. Never me.

A flicker of heat rises in my chest. There’s an awkward shuffle outside the curtain, a cough, a throat clear, acrylic nails tapping too fast against a phone screen.

I roll my eyes and adjust the neckline. She’s not wrong. My dress was an afterthought. My shoes are borrowed. My bouquet will be made of grocery-store roses I arranged myself at midnight, after the florist canceled.

But I don’t care.

I never wanted a wedding I couldn’t afford. I wanted the one with Gideon.

Outside the window, the sky hangs heavy and gray.

Not raining, but threatening. The faint scent of champagne drifts in from the outer room, someone popped a bottle too early.

My stomach tightens. For a moment, I wonder if anyone would notice if I slipped out for air.

If I could shake off the fear creeping through me like a shadow.

A knock sounds against the doorframe.

“Lara?”

It’s Drew. My sister. Her voice is soft, the same quiet, steady calm she always wears when she’s trying not to make waves. She’s always been like that: protective in the background, careful never to step on my toes.

“You almost ready?”

I exhale, a half-laugh slipping out. She can hear the nerves in my voice without me saying a word. She always knows what I need, whether it’s a cup of coffee or the kind of support that says , I see you. I get it .

“Yes,” I say, even though I don’t feel ready. Not because of the dress. Not even because of Gideon. Because of Delilah.

I gather the skirt in both hands and step out of the soft-lit fitting nook into the main suite, where the walls are lined with gilded mirrors and laughter that never quite reaches me. The air feels heavier here, like the room itself is holding its breath.

And then I see her.

Delilah. Legs crossed. Latte in hand. Wearing white.

Not ivory. Not champagne. White.

Like she forgot whose day this was, or didn’t care.

“That’s a bold choice,” I say, brushing past her with a tight smile and a tighter stomach. My voice doesn’t shake, but everything inside me does. Delilah’s presence has always been a sharp edge, and right now, it’s cutting through everything I’ve tried to build.

She tilts her head. “Oh, this?” She smooths a hand over the satiny fabric, as if she hadn’t picked it for maximum impact. “It’s cream. Totally different. ”

The other bridesmaids shift. Drew shoots me a look, half pity, half concern. One of the girls suddenly finds her phone fascinating. The laughter dies.

Delilah looks at me the way she always has: like I’m a limited-edition doll she can’t wait to break.

And I let her. Because she’s important to Gideon. Because, get this, Delilah and I share a secret half-brother.

The seamstress bustles in behind me, chirping something about time and adjustments, but I barely hear her. My mind is stuck on Gideon’s voice from last night, the way it cracked when he said, “ You’ve been acting different. Like you’re hiding something.”

I am. But not what he thinks.

He thinks it’s another man. He didn’t say it, but I see it in his eyes, the way he watches me lately, like he’s waiting for proof. Like he doesn’t know who I am anymore.

And the worst part?

I can’t blame him.

Delilah’s been working on him for months. Whispering in rooms I wasn’t in. Letting people believe the worst.

And I had to let her. Because of Calvin.

My brother. The one I’m not allowed to talk about. Not to Gideon. Not to anyone.

He didn’t even know I existed until last year. When Calvin asked Delilah and me to keep it quiet, I agreed. His work in the mafia made the truth dangerous. I understood why he wanted to protect us.

What I didn’t understand was the weight of that silence.

While I honored loyalty, Delilah weaponized it.

Now, I don’t know how much longer I can hold everything together .

I stand on the platform in front of the mirror. The silk gown clings to me like it knows this wedding might not happen.

The seamstress adjusts the hem. Delilah scrolls her phone like she isn’t the villain in every nightmare I’ve had for the past six weeks.

“I saw Gideon last night,” she says, too casually.

My breath catches. I keep my eyes forward. “Oh?”

“At Cielo. He said you weren’t feeling well.” She glances up with a faux-frown. “I hope it wasn’t nerves.”

No. Not nerves. Just guilt. Exhaustion. The weight of a truth that could shatter everything.

“I’m just overwhelmed,” I say, smoothing a hand over the bodice. “We both are.”

Delilah smiles, all teeth, no warmth. “ You sure it’s not something else? He looked… distant. I mean, I’m sure it’s nothing, but if he were my fiancé, I’d want to know if he was having doubts.”

The mirror betrays me, the flicker of panic in my eyes, the way my shoulders tense. I watch it bloom like a bruise.

She sees it too. And smiles like someone who just struck gold.

“I mean,” she adds, standing now, brushing invisible lint from the train of my dress, “some guys get cold feet. Especially when there’s outside pressure.”

“What pressure?” I ask, sharper than I mean to.

Her eyes widen, faux-innocent. “Oh, I didn’t mean anything. Just, you know. Family stuff. Secrets. Complicated dynamics.”

I turn to face her fully. “Is there a reason you’re here early?” I ask, annoyed she arrived before even I did.

She shrugs. “Just wanted to see how the dress turned out. You’ve been so secretive—didn’t even show us the sketch.”

“That’s because it’s my wedding,” I say. “Not a group project. ”

The seamstress falters mid-stitch. Drew, now by the window, stiffens. She sets down a tray of water bottles she didn’t need to be carrying and glances over, like she might intervene.

Delilah laughs, sharp, brittle. “Relax. You’re so sensitive lately. I was just making conversation.”

“You don’t need to make conversation,” I say. “You just need to wear the dress I picked and stand where you’re told.”

Silence. Even the seamstress freezes.

Delilah leans in, voice silk and venom. “I just don’t want you to be blindsided, Lara. That’s all. Gideon and I, we go way back. I know how he gets when he feels trapped.”

My spine stiffens. “Are you implying something?”

“No.” She tilts her head . “But if I were you, I’d make sure I was the only one he was saying I love you to.”

I freeze. Just long enough for her to see it.

The seamstress fumbles with a pin. The fabric feels too tight, like it’s holding in a breath I can’t afford to release. My sister opens her mouth as if she might speak, then closes it again. The other bridesmaids stare down at their phones.

But before I can turn away, my sister steps closer and murmurs, “Ignore her. She’s just scared you’ll be happy.”

It’s barely above a whisper, but it cuts through the tension like a blade dipped in balm.

Delilah doesn’t hear it, but she feels it. Her eyes flick toward Drew, narrowing for half a beat before her mouth curves back into that practiced smirk.

She scrolls again, her thumb slow and smug, like she’s already read the ending of a book I’m still trying to write .

I stare at myself in the mirror, not at the dress, not even at her reflection, but at a girl who once believed love would be enough to keep the wolves outside the door.

But maybe the wolves are already in the room.