A lie in church. ON RADISH

1- complications.

For this chapter Listen to: So Am I by Ava Max.

The quick clicking of heels resonating from a short distance woke me up. My eyes flickered at the sun peeking into my room from my window. Still dazed from sleep, I tried figuring out if it was morning or afternoon. The acute and distinct sound caught my full attention, and the loud footsteps were now approaching my room. My sluggish brain tried to process what was happening.

"Chloe, are you ready?" My sister's voice sent me flying from the bed to the door to stop her from entering my room.

Shit! Today is the wedding.

I looked around for the wall clock and checked the time. I still had forty-five minutes to get ready.

"Chloe?" my big sister called, trying to open the door, but I pushed with overwhelming might on the door and succeeded in locking it.

"Almost ready. I will be out in a minute!" I said breathlessly.

"Why did you lock the door?" she asked, knocking harshly.

"I don't want you to see how fabulous I look yet." I giggled nervously, feeling her roll her eyes from the other side of the door.

"Whatever. Hurry up. I can't be late for my best friend's wedding. I'll be downstairs."

I waited for her to leave before running to my closet to pick out the dress I'd bought last week for the wedding. I laid it on the bed and undressed quickly, almost tripping on my pajama shorts as I pulled them down my legs.

During my whole twenty years on earth, I had never taken such a quick shower. I slipped on my peach corset tulle dress that stopped above my knees. The off-the-shoulder sleeves were made with delicate lace. I loved the dress because it went with the light shade of my skin, enhancing my blue eyes.

"Chloe!" Ciara called.

The aftermath of her voice rang in my head. It made me feel like a child being scolded for playing in the mud.

"Coming!" I yelled back as I brushed my hair and prepared to style it to perfection.

"Chloe, come on. We're gonna be late," Ciara shouted from downstairs, her patience seeping out of her.

I didn't blame her. I'd feel worse if I were in her place.

We were going to a big wedding—a billion-dollar wedding sounded more appropriate since the two wealthiest families in Beverly Hills were getting married. Well, I considered myself poor since I was living off my parents' wealth.

It was Ciara's best friend's wedding, and I wanted to tag along mainly because of the cake and mouthwatering cuisine. Food was life—I'd always defend that quote.

I didn't know much about her best friend, but I knew they had been joined at the hip since senior year, and Ciara was going to be the maid of honor. I'd never wanted to go to the wedding. I had loads of schoolwork due on Wednesday, especially an eight-page essay, but when Ciara had kept talking about the wedding and how spectacular it was going to be, I'd become intrigued.