Lara-Jean POV
They say every bride remembers her wedding day in fragments. I remember:
Maya's hands on my shoulders, steadying me in front of the mirror. "You're not marrying a man. You're marrying a possibility. That's okay."
The satin gown, heavy and cool against my skin. My mother's pearl earrings—the only thing my aunt didn't steal when she kicked me out. A reminder that she's here, somehow, watching.
The knock on my door.
Cordelia's voice, hesitant in a way I've never heard: "May I come in?"
She entered transformed.
Not cold today. Not the iceberg who'd sliced me open at the engagement party. Something else. Almost human.
She held a small velvet box. "These were mine. From my wedding to Peter's father."
Inside: a diamond bracelet. Simple. Elegant. Real.
"I thought you should
