Since she was about to leave, Hazel decided to dress elegantly, ready to greet the dawn of her new life. As she settled in front of the vanity mirror, a knock at the door shattered the quiet. Ambrose rushed in; his expression tinged with urgency.
"The makeup artist for Scarlett canceled at the last minute. She’s been crying nonstop. Could your makeup artist help her first?"
A request as absurd as sending the bride’s makeup artist to the bridesmaid was almost laughable. The makeup artist hesitated, caught in the awkwardness of the moment.
But Hazel remained composed, her voice calm. "Go ahead. I’m not in a hurry."
Her quick agreement startled Ambrose. On a day like this, shouldn’t she have protested? Shouldn’t she have shed tears or demanded attention, just like Scarlett would have?
Instead, Hazel’s indifference stung more than anger. It was as though the wedding and Ambrose had ceased to matter to her altogether.
The unsettling thought gnawed at him. What if she left today and he never saw her again? The idea, fleeting as it was, unsettled him deeply.
But his father-in-law’s insistent voice broke his train of thought, pulling him back to the present.