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I nodded in agreement as I walked back into the bridal suite, feeling more confused than ever.

“Sit,” Julissa ordered when I returned.

“I need my phone.” It was my emotional support device. I felt naked, exposed, and raw without it.

“No.”

“It's important.”

“So is my wedding.”

“You keep using that excuse.”

“Because it's an excellent excuse.”

She pushed me into the makeup chair. The makeup artist, Tiffany, draped a cape over my shoulders.

“What look are we going for?”

“Something that says professional, composed, and emotionally unavailable.”

Tiffany looked confused.

Julissa laughed.

“How about soft glam?” Tiffany suggested.

“Fine. But make it waterproof.”

“Planning on crying?” she smiled warmly.

“Absolutely not.”

Julissa leaned forward. “She's planning on denying she has tear ducts.”

“It's worked for thirty years,” I reasoned.

Tiffany looked as if she wasn’t sure what to make of me. “Okay, close your eyes.”

I obeyed.

And immediately regretted it.

Because the moment I closed my eyes, I saw Damon. His smile. His dimples. The way his eyes crinkled when he laughed. The way he'd kissed my forehead that morning before getting out of bed.

Such a small, ordinary gesture. And it had nearly undone me. Because for one perfect moment, I'd forgotten. Forgotten about the arrangement. Forgotten about the deadline. Forgotten that I was supposed to be pretending.

I'd just been a woman waking up next to a man she was falling in love with. And he'd kissed my forehead. Like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Tomorrow, that would all be over. No more lazy mornings. No more ridiculous conversations. No more stolen kisses. No more Damon.

My throat tightened.

“Look up,” Tiffany instructed.

I tilted my gaze toward the ceiling.

“So, I heard you and Damon made things official,” she said conversationally.