She peeked at him. “Because I got Noel in trouble?”
He stared at her crazily. “That’s that dude’s own fault. No, I’m mad because, one, no one has really slept since you took off. Pretty uncool, Aria. And two, because you went to Amsterdam without me—again! How many times have I told you that the next time you go, you bring me with you?”
He slammed his coffee cup into the sink, let out a groan, and stomped up the stairs. Aria watched him go, swirling her spoon in her cereal bowl again and again. Huh.
Then, she looked down at herself. Of course she should go to her brother’s wedding—as long as she was with her parents, it was probably allowed. Suddenly, something struck her. Noel would probably be invited, too. Would the police let him attend? Maybe they’d get to talk. Maybe she could apologize. Beg for his forgiveness. Tell him that if she could serve his sentence for him, she would.
It was a tiny, shiny ray of hope. Aria might have to go off to prison for the rest of her life, but she would make things right with him before she did. Or else she would die trying.
23
I DO!
At T-minus thirty minutes until the big moment when Hanna walked down the aisle, Hanna, her mother, and Ramona stood in a dressing room at the Chanticleer mansion. Ramona held a tiny pair of nail scissors aloft. “Once you get this dress on, I don’t want you sitting down,” she instructed. “It’ll wrinkle, and that’s the biggest faux pas for any starlet on the red carpet—and any bride, for that matter. And since you’re going to be both, you’re just going to have to stand up for the rest of the day.”
“Got it,” Hanna answered obediently, pushing the Hollywood waves her stylist had created in her just-highlighted auburn hair over her shoulders. She looked at herself in the mirror and pursed her deep red lips and fluttered her eyelashes, which had just been fitted with extensions. She was probably the best-looking almost-criminal in the history of girls who were about to go to prison.
Not that she was dwelling much on that. Or the fact that closing statements had been made and that the jury was now at the Rosewood Holiday Inn, deliberating her fate. Her wedding was today, and she was going to enjoy it, damn it. Even though she’d had only a week to plan, absolutely everything had come together. The weather was perfect for an outdoor ceremony, and the lines of chairs on either side of the aisle were decorated in fresh white roses. The rabbi her mother had found was young and tall and almost cute—well, for a rabbi, anyway—and the girls Hooters had sent to cater the wings and other Hooters stuff weren’t the skankiest Hanna had ever seen. Us Weekly reps had already arrived to set up the red carpet in the grand hall. Hailey Blake had texted her several times asking if she could bring a few more famous actors and models as plus-ones. The cocktail-hour food looked delicious, and every waiter who would be passing out the canapés was more model-perfect than the last. The reception-room tables were exquisitely set with the most beautiful, silver-patterned china Hanna had ever seen. Ramona had booked the best fireworks company in Philadelphia to set off a serious display during the reception, and #HannaMarinWedding had been tweeted 981 times in the past three hours. Hanna was pumped and ready.
Ms. Marin, who looked stunning in an off-white Chanel shift, began to take Hanna’s dress out of the plastic. Slowly and carefully, she slid it over Hanna’s head and started to spread out the folds and fluff the train. “Hanna,” she breathed. “It’s even more beautiful than I remembered.”
Tingles traveled up Hanna’s spine as she beheld her reflection in the mirror. The dress made her skin look rosy and her waist minuscule. The jeweled beading on the bodice sparkled in the light.
“It’s fine,” Ramona barked—which, Hanna realized, was as close to a compliment as she would get. Then she hurried out of the room, murmuring something about checking in on the flowers.
Hanna turned to her mother, who was dabbing her eyes in the back of the room. “So,” she said, taking a deep breath. “Are you ready to walk me down the aisle?”
Ms. Marin nodded, her lips pressed tightly together. Maybe to keep from crying.
Hanna felt her eyes well up, too. “Thanks for being so cool through all this,” she said. “I know it’s sort of . . . unprecedented. And that I’m young. And that—”