The Don’s Last Regret

The wedding had been postponed ninety-nine times.

I called the wedding planner and told them to change the bride's name to Ivy Sterling, Charles Hart's childhood sweetheart.

"Donna, are you sure?" the planner asked cautiously. "This time, the Don didn't postpone again."

I heard the surprise in his voice. My answer was calm. "Yes. Change it to Ivy Sterling."

From the very beginning, Charles gave only one instruction for the wedding: "Adjust the decorations according to Ivy's taste."

He explained that Ivy had good taste, that she would only serve as a reference for our wedding. But every choice, the flowers, the favors, the entrance music, was made by Ivy. Even my wedding dress. She had said lightly, "A mermaid silhouette suits her better."

So I decided to give the entire wedding, steeped in her presence, to them.

And I walked away from this farce completely.

From now on, let him keep his old dreams. I will go and enjoy my own boundless sky.

"We'll make the changes immediately. But do we need to inform the Don in advance?"

The wedding planner's voice was careful.

I looked at the screen calmly. "No need."

The call ended. The computer screen went dark.

I looked around the villa, the home Charles and I were supposed to move into next month. Three floors. Every corner dripping with elegance.

But the crystal chandelier in the living room was installed because Ivy said it had "class." The silk bedding in the bedroom was chosen because Ivy said it was "soft on the skin." Even the diffuser by the entrance was Ivy's favorite scent: Bluebell.

I felt like a guest wandering into someone else's territory.

I went to the bathroom to wash my face. On the marble counter lay a used Tom Ford lipstick. The shade was Ivy's signature vintage red. Beside it, a delicate pearl earring.

My phone buzzed. A voice message from Charles.

"Serena, the wedding planner said you contacted them several times today?"

I typed a short reply: "Just a small detail. It's handled."

A few minutes later, he answered with a single word: "Okay."

Then another message. A photo.

Ivy was in a champagne-colored gown, turning in front of a mirror. "Ivy's trying on bridesmaid dresses. The zipper got stuck. I'm helping her." "The boutique has nice pieces. She can't decide which one. Want to come and help her choose?"

I stared at the screen. My hands and feet went cold.

Last week, I went alone to try on my wedding dress. In the fitting room, the intricate lacing choked me. I called him for help. He said, "Serena, ask the staff to help you. Ivy's car broke down. I need to pick her up."

I stood in that mermaid gown, chosen by Ivy, a size too small, for half an hour under the sympathetic gaze of the salesgirls.

And now, he was helping his childhood friend adjust her bridesmaid dress. And he wanted me to come play the audience.

I called him.

"Are you there?"

"No." My voice was steady. "Let's end this. The wedding..."

Before I could finish, Ivy's voice cut through the line, coquettish. "Charles, look at this one! Is it pretty? Don't just stand there on the phone. Help me decide."

Charles's tone shifted instantly. Warmer. Softer. "Beautiful. Everything our Ivy picks is beautiful."

Then he seemed to remember I was still on the line. "You said something about the wedding? Once it's set, don't keep changing it."

"Nothing. Take your time helping her choose."

I forced a smile, barely. Even disappointment felt like too much effort.

"Ivy is the bridesmaid. Her dress represents the Hart family's face. I have to be involved. Don't be too sensitive."

Then, as if to soften his tone: "I ordered a ruby necklace for Ivy. The store threw in a cheap diamond bracelet as a gift. I was going to refuse it, but Ivy said it would suit you. I'll bring it back later."

Ivy's voice slid in again, sweet as syrup. "Don't mind him, Serena. He's just a typical man. I know the gift piece isn't the best quality, but you dress so simply usually. It'll be just right on you. On the wedding day, we'll wear them together. It's my little gift to you both."

She wanted to wear the main piece, the ruby, and have me wear the giveaway. On my wedding day. To show everyone who was really cherished in the Hart family.

This had been the pattern ever since Ivy returned a year ago.

When he traveled, Charles brought Ivy limited-edition bags worth hundreds of thousands, and picked up a random discounted perfume for me at the duty-free shop. When she wanted a limited-release luxury item, he postponed our wedding again and again.

When I confronted him, he was unapologetic. "Ivy is used to the best. You don't dress up much anyway. A cheap one is fine for you. And those postponements were just accidents. Next time, I promise, I won't delay again."

And Ivy would always laugh and play the peacemaker. "Don't be like that to her, Charles. You know, I still have some of the things you gave me back then. I could give them to her."

I smiled into the phone. "Thank you, Miss Sterling. And thank you, Mr. Hart."

Then I hung up.

Funny. When disappointment piles up high enough, even the words you want to say feel like a waste.

I went back to the bedroom and opened the closet. More than half of it was filled with the latest season's clothes Charles had bought me, to "keep up appearances," he said. The tags were still on.

I pulled out my old suitcase and packed a few changes of clothes and my laptop.

A message from my editor at the magazine.

"Serena, the transfer order for the Paris bureau just came through. Are you sure you're leaving tomorrow? Isn't tomorrow your wedding?"

I looked at the bluebell fragrance filling the room, at Ivy's lipstick on the bathroom counter.

"Yes. Because the bride has changed."