THE ALTAR, THE SECRET, THE BROTHER

I had just finished arranging the layers of tulle on the mannequin when the late afternoon sun caught the tiny crystals on the bodice. Light scattered everywhere, turning the room into a high-end disco ball. My back ached, my hair was a mess, but I smiled at my reflection in the wardrobe mirror.

"Okay, De Cruz," I muttered to myself. "Tomorrow night you officially become somebody’s wife. No drama, no problems, no..."

I stopped.

"Extra stupidity."

My blue eyes stared back at me, round and a little bloodshot from lack of sleep. I lifted my chin. If it weren’t for the dark circles underneath, I almost passed for one of those magazine brides. The sarcastic version who needed therapy, but still.

I had dated Rafael for three years. We started in college, twenty-two, full of ideals and surviving on cafeteria coffee. Now I was twenty-five, and somehow tomorrow I would be standing at the altar with the guy who once taught me how to cheat on an econ exam. They called that progress.

My bedroom door opened with a creak. I didn’t need to look to know who it was.

"What." I didn’t turn around.

"You talking to the dress?" My brother’s voice came in flat.

I turned slowly and folded my arms. Javier leaned on the doorframe, hands in his pockets, white shirt neat like always. His dark hair was combed back, making him look like a mafia bodyguard who had gotten lost in a normal family home.

"This dress is almost more expensive than your first car," I answered. "It deserves conversation."

The corner of Javier’s mouth twitched up. That was his version of laughing.

His gaze dropped to the dress, then lifted back to my face. Something flickered there. The line between his brows deepened. "I want to talk about tomorrow for a second."

"Can the topic not be you complaining about me changing my last name to Bernardi?" I rolled my eyes. "Because we already did that. Thirteen times."

"Not about that." Javier stepped inside and kicked the door shut behind him. "This is about Rafael."

My stomach tightened, reflex. "Great opening line for a bride-to-be."

"I’m serious, Maya."

I leaned my hip against the vanity and crossed my arms tighter. "You’re always serious. That’s your default setting."

He ignored that. He walked up to the dress, studying the seams at the waist like he was inspecting a bridge for structural flaws.

"I just want to say one thing." His voice dropped. "Be careful."

I blinked. "Careful of what? Slipping on the aisle runner? Tripping on my veil? High heel disaster?"

"With Rafael." Javier’s eyes never left my face. "Something feels off."

I snorted. "Sure you do. A vibe. Intuition. The sacred feeling of a man who hasn’t had a relationship last more than three months."

"I’m your brother." His answer came short. "I know when someone is genuine or not." His jaw tightened. "I’m not trying to tear him down. I just don’t want you hurt."

"I’ve been hurt plenty of times," I cut in, bored. "Still standing. I appreciate your dramatic flair, but tomorrow I’m getting married. I’m happy. This is not one of your crime dramas, Javi."

He watched me a little longer. Then he exhaled through his nose. "You’re stubborn."

"Family genetics."

For a few seconds, the room went quiet. He looked at the dress, then at me, then back at the dress. There was clearly more he wanted to say, but for some reason, it stayed lodged somewhere behind his teeth.

"You sure about this?" Javier finally asked.

I lifted both hands. "I’ve been practicing my signature as ‘Maya Bernardi’ in my sketchbook for three months. If I’m not sure now, that’s what we call too late."

Something flickered in his eyes. A mix of worry and annoying tenderness. "If anything happens, you call me first, not anyone else."

"Oh no, I’m calling Marvel first," I shot back. "He’s way more dramatic than you. Much more entertaining."

"Marvel panics and starts fights with people." Javier stepped closer, pressed a quick kiss to my forehead, then backed away again like too much physical affection might give him hives. "I mean it, nena."

"Nena? You’re calling me sweetheart now?" I raised an eyebrow. "You sick or something?"

He was already heading for the door, ignoring me. "Come down for dinner later. Mom will kill us if you show up skinny in front of the guests."

The door shut. Silence came back. I stared at my reflection again. My mouth pulled to one side.

"Something feels off," I mimicked him under my breath in an overdramatic tone. "Yeah, something does. It’s called the lingerie I have to wear under this dress."

I grabbed my phone from the vanity. The screen was flooded with notifications: family group chat, Mom’s vendors, Marvel spamming stickers, one missed call from the florist.

I opened my chat with Elena.

MAYA: [Want to see the dress or do you want to be surprised tomorrow?]

I lifted my phone, pointed it at the dress, and backed up a few steps until the whole tulle skirt fit in the frame. Click. Photo sent.

MAYA: [photo sent]

[I am officially in love with fabric. I cannot wait for tomorrow. I am also dying from nerves.]

Her reply came in fast.

ELENA: [OH MY GOD IT LOOKS EXACTLY LIKE WHAT WE PINNED ON PINTEREST 😭]

[Look at you, little ice queen finally getting married.]

A smile pulled at my mouth. Elena was the only person who could call me ice queen and make it sound sweet instead of mean.

MAYA: [If I faint in the aisle, you are the one who has to carry me. Javi will complain, Marvel will record.]

ELENA: [I will step on Rafael first then carry you, relax.]

[Nerves are normal. You are only marrying the guy you have dated for three years and somehow have not killed. That is an achievement.]

MAYA: [Your support is incredibly romantic.]

ELENA: [You are going to look so gorgeous. He will be speechless.]

[If he is not, I will personally throw cake in his face.]

The corner of my lips crept higher. Warmth spread through my chest. I did not know if it came from Elena’s text or from picturing Rafael’s face when he saw me in this dress tomorrow.

I glanced at the time on my phone. It was already past seven. Rafael usually came home around now, unless he was working late. Our wedding was tomorrow. The bare minimum tonight was him pretending to relax.

My fingers had already typed his name before my brain could slide into overthinking mode. The call rang. One ring. Two. Three. The screen almost flipped to voicemail when his voice finally came through, low and a little rough.

"Hey, baby."

Noise buzzed behind him. Keyboard clacking, voices talking, the whir of a copier. His office was clearly still very awake.

"Am I interrupting some world summit?" I threw myself onto the bed, the mannequin wobbled as my knee bumped the dress. "Or are you in the middle of saving the global economy?"

"You are not interrupting." His answer came quick and short. "I am just checking a few things for tomorrow."

One of my eyebrows climbed. "Tomorrow we are getting married, not merging companies."

"I know." Papers rustled near the speaker. "That is exactly why I am making sure all the payments and contracts are secure. I do not want any mistakes."

"Okay, Mr. Very Responsible Bernardi." I stared up at the ceiling, fingers twisting the edge of the sheet. "I just wanted to tell you my dress is here. I... like it. Don’t be late tomorrow. I refuse to have my groom show up running like in some soap opera."

"I will not be late." His tone stayed flat. More busy than warm. "I promise."

"And..." I bit my lip. "I miss you."

Silence stretched for a fraction of a second. Then a breath slid through the line. "Me too.”

Two words. Neat. Safe. Too safe.

I rolled onto my stomach and pressed my face into the pillow, phone still against my ear. "Can you stop by for a bit? Just five minutes. You see the dress. I need an honest opinion. If I look like a giant cupcake, I still have time to escape."

"Maya..." The way he said my name sounded like a warning. "I cannot leave the office yet. There are two more documents I have to sign and a few emails I need to answer.."

"I know," I answered. "I am not asking you to move in. Just five minutes. You drive over, look at me, tell me I am pretty, then go back to being capitalism’s favorite employee."

"I am not joking." His voice turned firmer. "I am really busy. If I do not finish everything tonight, tomorrow could be a mess."

I let the phone rest between my cheek and the pillow for a few seconds. "It is fine, relax," I cut in before our tone slid into that familiar lane that usually ended with me throwing my phone at the mattress. "Go work. I just wanted to hear my future husband’s voice for a second. Mission accomplished."

"I will call again later."

"No need." I opened my eyes and looked at the dress hanging in silence. "Just focus on your documents. Tomorrow we have a whole day to pretend we are not stressed."

I heard him exhale again. "I love you."

Words that used to make my stomach flip. Tonight, they felt more like a template.

I swallowed the urge to bite back with something sharp. "Yeah." My lips pressed together. "Get some rest when you are finished. Do not faint at the altar."

"Maya..."

"I mean it. If you pass out, Marvel will live report it and I will go viral for marrying a man who dropped before the vows."

He let out a small sound, something between a short laugh and a breath. "All right. See you tomorrow."