C159 Let's Do This

Annabelle had noticed it the moment Natasha stepped into the room.

Her friend’s usual radiance...that almost unshakeable cheerfulness... seemed dimmed.

Natasha plastered on a smile and greeted everyone with her usual gusto, but something felt off.

There was a shadow behind her eyes.

There was a tension in her shoulders that even her immaculate posture couldn’t hide.

Dante, ever the observer, leaned closer to Annabelle as Natasha chatted with one of the staff. “She’s not herself,” he murmured.

Annabelle nodded, her eyes following Natasha as she gestured animatedly about the fitting schedule.

“She’s forcing it,” Annabelle whispered back. “But she won’t say anything unless she wants to.”

Dante’s hand brushed hers in a small comfort. “If she needs help, we’ll be here."

Annabelle smiled at him, grateful as always for his steadiness.

But as she watched Natasha’s back retreat into the fitting room with the seamstress, she resolved to get to the bottom of whatever was bothering her friend.

*****

A few days later, Annabelle made a bold declaration.

“You’re my chief bridesmaid and head planner,” Annabelle said, grinning as she leaned against the kitchen counter while Natasha stared at her.

“What?” Natasha blinked, caught off guard.

Annabelle crossed her arms. “You’re perfect for it. You’re organised, creative, and a total badass. Plus, I can’t imagine anyone else standing beside me on my wedding day."

Natasha smirked, though the glint of pride in her eyes was real. “Well, when you put it like that... Of course, I’ll do it."

“Good.” Annabelle nodded firmly. “Now get ready to plan the most exclusive wedding Acadia has ever seen."

The bright, airy fitting room was a sea of satin, lace, and champagne-coloured fabric.

Mauve sat on a plush chair by the window, offering gentle critiques while sipping tea. Natasha flitted between Annabelle and the rack of dresses, her organisational skills already in full force.

But Annabelle noticed the cracks again.

It was in how Natasha’s energy faltered when she thought no one was looking and how she hesitated for just a second too long before responding to questions.

“Natasha,” Annabelle called softly as she stepped off the pedestal in front of the mirror.

Natasha looked up, caught off guard by the tone in Annabelle’s voice.

“Talk to me,” Annabelle urged, her voice low but firm. “Something’s wrong, and I’m not letting you brush it off anymore.”

Natasha hesitated, her hands stilling on the fabric she was adjusting.

Her shoulders slumped, and she let out a shaky breath.

“It’s nothing,” she started, but Annabelle raised an eyebrow.

“Try again.”

Natasha bit her lip, glancing around the room. “Can we...."

“Go somewhere private?” Annabelle offered.

Natasha nodded.

They ended up in a smaller, cozier room adjoining the fitting area.

Natasha perched on the edge of a chaise, her hands gripping her knees as if anchoring herself.

Annabelle waited, giving her friend the space to speak.

Finally, Natasha exhaled shakily. “I could’ve died, Annabelle. I thought I was going to die."

Annabelle’s stomach twisted, her heart aching at the vulnerability in Natasha’s voice.

Natasha began recounting the near-death ordeal at her apartment.

Her voice trembled as she described the man’s cruel smile, the tight grip of cable ties on her wrists, and the sheer helplessness she felt when he almost cut her up with a knife.

“If Jake hadn’t shown up..." Natasha’s voice broke, and she buried her face in her hands.

Annabelle reached out, placing a comforting hand on Natasha’s shoulder. “You’re safe now. He can’t hurt you anymore."

Natasha looked up, her eyes red and glistening. “That’s the thing. Jake saved me, Annabelle. He heard my scream; he fought for me; he saw me naked for fuck’s sake.” She let out a bitter laugh.

Annabelle stayed quiet, sensing there was more.

“And now he’s been so… good to me,” Natasha continued. “He’s been there every step of the way, helping me get through the nightmares and the paranoia. But I still can’t...I can’t give him what he wants."

Annabelle frowned. “What do you mean?”

Natasha threw her hands up in frustration. “He wants a relationship. A real one. And I can’t even bring myself to say yes. What’s wrong with me?”

“There’s nothing wrong with you,” Annabelle said firmly. “You’ve been through hell, Natasha. You don’t owe him...or anyone...a relationship. Not if you’re not ready.”

Natasha’s eyes filled with tears again. “But he’s done so much for me. He made me take that leave too and he stayed with me through my flinching-at-the-slightest-sound moments. Doesn’t he deserve..."

“Natasha,” Annabelle interrupted gently. “Gratitude isn’t love. Mom once told me that starting a relationship out of obligation is a recipe for disaster. If your heart isn’t there, then it isn’t there."

Natasha swallowed hard, her gaze dropping to her lap. “Maybe you’re right. But it feels... wrong. Like I’m broken."

“You’re not broken,” Annabelle said, squeezing her friend’s hand. “You’re the strongest woman I know. And when you’re ready, you’ll know what the right choice is."

Natasha sniffled, wiping her eyes as a small smile broke through her tears. “Damn it, Annabelle. You always know what to say."

“That’s why I’m your best friend,” Annabelle teased.

Natasha chuckled weakly. “Alright, enough of this emotional crap. We’ve got dresses to pick, and I’m not letting you walk down the aisle in anything less than perfection."

Annabelle grinned as Natasha stood, her shoulders squared, her confidence slowly returning.

“Let’s do this,” Natasha declared, grabbing a handful of swatches and marching back into the fitting room like a woman on a mission.

Annabelle followed, her heart lighter knowing that, little by little, her friend was finding her way back to herself.

Still, something niggled at the edge of her mind.