Nesta frowned at the box, silently hating Feyre. Her sister had insisted her and Elain wear bridesmaid dresses too, and while they weren't ugly, it wasn't exactly what she'd normally wear.

The dress was midnight blue, shirts draping to her knees. The top barely clung to her shoulders, with a plunging back and a front that wasn't much better. She was briefly glad for her breasts, if only so they'd hold it up.

She was looking for a shawl when she heard a knock on the door. When she opened it, Elain handed her the keys. Elain filled her dress out well, despite her small chest. The golden accents made her hair shimmer. "Mor, Amren, and Feyre will meet us there. Since the wedding's at six, they have time."

Nesta nodded, even if she hadn't a clue who Mor and Amren were, and grabbed a blue jacket-the only one she'd brought. She followed Elain down to the car, grateful she didn't run into Cassian or any other guests.

"I can't wait for you to meet Lucien," Elain said conversationally as Nesta pulled out of the parking lot. "Our one year anniversary is in a few weeks, maybe we could all get together for a party or something."

Nesta knew her sister was just trying to be polite. It was common knowledge that Nesta had distanced herself from her sisters ever since their mother had died. She still tried to talk to Elain sometimes, but she and Feyre could be at each others' throats in seconds. It didn't bode well for family dinners.

They pulled into a simple diner, making light conversation. The food and service were good, the restaurant itself quiet.

That is, until Feyre and her friends arrived.

Feyre was more beautiful than Nesta remembered, her hair like spun gold, curves filled out, skin clear. Her eyes were bright, the same shade as Nesta's but somehow… lighter. Happier.

Nesta stood with Elain to greet them, fisting her hands behind her back. There wasn't two, as she'd been expecting, only one. She blonde and ridiculously attractive, with eyes like soil and a smile like starlight. "Hello," she chirped, moving forward to embrace Elain, then, more hesitantly, Nesta. "I'm Mor," she said to Nesta, "I've heard so much about you."

She didn't much like the sound of that.

Nesta nodded curtly, sinking straight-back into the booth. Feyre sat beside her, smiling as is she were trying to be pleasant. Her and Mor ordered their food and they waited in polite conversation until it arrived.

"So," Elain said around a mouthful of pancakes, "what are the plans for the honeymoon?"

Feyre's cheeks pinked slightly. "We have a cabin picked out in the mountains with a private jet to get there."

The amount of money Feyre's husband-to-be had always slightly awed Nesta. Feyre had been able to fly her from across the world on said private jet. She had been briefly afraid to touch anything, until she read internet smut that was also on a jet. After that, she didn't really complain about the cleanliness.

Mor smirked. "Just don't break my cousin."

Feyre smirked back. "I make no guarantees."

Nesta looked between them, deciphering the relationship they had. Mor was Feyre's Maid of Honor, a title Nesta had thought would go to Elain. And, she was related to Feyre's fiance.

"Where's Amren?" Elain asked, having met them all months ago when she'd visited. Nesta had chosen to stay behind.

"Nobody wakes Amren up this early unless they have plans for suicide," Feyre quipped.

No one went to breakfast at a cheap diner on their wedding day, Nesta wanted to point out, but held her tongue. Instead, she returned to her meal and started on the corned beef hash. She felt Mor's eyes on her, reading and rereading, trying to gain access through the shield Nesta always kept up.

So she raised her attention and met that assessing stare with something equivalent of pure iron.

Mor grinned, then glanced at Feyre. "You still up for matchmaking?"

Elain sighed loudly. "I am not getting together with Azriel."

"You would be so cute… ," Mor whined, leaning forward. "Anyway, I was thinking of a different brother."

Feyre eyed Nesta, to which Nesta started shaking her head. "Oh no, you promised not to meddle in my love life anymore."

"He's handsome," Mor provided.

"And kind," said Feyre.

"A good cook," Elain added.

"Strong."

"Loyal."

"Funny."

"A bit… ," Mor searched for the word.

"Jingoistic," Feyre finished with a smirk.

Mor and Elain giggled.

Nesta's face had grown gradually more angry. She would not be dating anyone soon, not after everything that happened with Thomas. Her youngest sister folded her fingers over the hand that Nesta had tightly wrapped around her fork. "Think of it as a wedding present to me: one date with him. Just one."

Nesta yanked her hand away. "No-"

"You'd be so perfect together."

"No-"

"But he's-"

"No, Feyre!"

The diner fell quiet and Nesta, half out of her seat, glared at her sister.

Feyre's eyes widened. "Okay, okay. I'm sorry."

Nesta knew she wasn't, not really. But she sat back down, spine as straight as a board. She wished she could cut Feyre down, wished her sister didn't have everything-a husband, good friends, money-but Feyre was perfect. And perfect people didn't have flaws to poison without someone pitying the toxin.

Nesta's gloomy mood chased her all the way to the wedding.