Ava

I stood outside the church, my brother's hand wrapped around mine. As my father figure, he had taken on the responsibility of walking me down the aisle.

Just as we were about to enter the church, I heard a faint sniffing sound. I turned to my brother, and my heart swelled with emotion. He was dabbing at his face with a handkerchief, his eyes red-rimmed and moist.

"Are you crying?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

Marcel scoffed, his expression defensive. "Why should I cry? I'm not crying."

I raised an eyebrow, my gaze locked on his. "Your eyes are red, and they look... wet."

His jaw...