Chapter 2 Nervous
524 Words
A soft knock on the door brought her back to the present.
Isay entered, her white coat still draped over a pale blush dress that complemented her calming presence. She carried two cups of tea, her usual serene smile grounding the room like a deep breath.
“Thought you might need this,” she said gently, offering a cup. “Chamomile. No caffeine. Just calm.”
Bellerose accepted it with a grateful smile and a nervous laugh. “Am I that obvious?”
Isay sat beside her, her expression warm. “You’re allowed to be. You’re marrying the love of your life. That comes with excitement... doubts... and questions.”
Bellerose took a slow sip, letting the warmth anchor her.
“He’s been quiet lately,” she confessed. “Especially last night. I asked what was wrong, and he said... ‘just memories.’” Her voice dropped, barely above a whisper. “And it made me nervous.”
Isay tilted her head, thoughtful. “Sometimes the past tries to echo into our present,” she said, her tone soft and measured. “But it doesn’t mean the future isn’t still yours to claim.”
Bellerose’s eyes shimmered. “How do you do that? Always know what to say?”
“I just listen,” Isay replied, squeezing her hand. “And I see you, Rose. I know how deeply you love. But don’t forget—you’re allowed to ask for honesty. If something’s unsettled, don’t swallow it. Ask. The truth doesn’t weaken love—it tempers it.”
Bellerose nodded slowly. “What if I’m just overthinking everything?”
“Then let your heart lead,” Isay said. “Not the part that’s afraid—but the part that knows him. The part that’s chosen him.”
The warmth of those words settled something inside her. For the first time that morning, Bellerose breathed a little easier. Maybe love didn’t need to be perfect — just true.
The ceremony was moments away. Her veil was pinned, her heels were on, and her heart… was steadying.
Until she stepped into the limousine.
The door shut with a soft click, sealing her inside. Silence wrapped around her like a second veil.
But outside — just beyond the lowered window — two members of the wedding staff passed by, speaking in low, hushed tones.
“Did you hear? Belle’s back in New York.”
It was a whisper — barely a breath — but it shattered her calm.
Belle.
The name slammed into her chest like a wave.
Her name was Bellerose.
But no one called her Belle.
Not even Yoel.
Except once.
That night.
A week ago, half-asleep and wrapped in silk sheets, Yoel had leaned in, his lips brushing her skin. And in the dark…
“Belle…”
She’d said nothing at the time. Let it slide. Told herself she’d misheard.
But now — now she couldn’t pretend.
The limousine pulled away.
Outside, the world cheered for the bride.
But inside, Bellerose sat frozen, heart pounding, haunted by a name too close to hers… and a truth she might no longer be able to ignore.
- Writer
