Chapter 7 - The Wedding That Stopped
By nine, Greer had driven us back to the estate. The wedding coordinator, Mara Vale, met us at a side entrance with a look of exhausted relief.
“Your suitcase is in my office,” she said. “No one here should have moved you last night. I'm sorry.”
Then she added, “The ceremony has been postponed.”
In the foyer, white roses still framed the staircase. Staff rolled carts across the polished floor, dismantling the careful illusion of a perfect day.
Thatcher stood beneath the chandelier, holding the same velvet ring box I'd seen in his hand the night before.
He approached slowly when he saw the chair.
“I should have followed the taxi,” he said.
“What happened?”
He looked at the stairs. “Before the entrance, I heard Sloan tell Bellamy you wouldn't wear the brace for the wedding pictures. Bellamy said she'd make sure you were off your feet. I thought it was an ugly joke.”
“Then you saw her push me.”
“I saw her shoulder move into your back. I heard her laugh.” He swallowed. “I told her I couldn't marry someone who did that.”
That was what he'd finally said while I lay on the marble. I'd been too far away, and in too much pain, to hear it clearly.
Sloan appeared from the hallway in a white satin robe, mascara smeared down her cheeks.
“You did this,” she said to me.
Thatcher stepped between us. “No. I canceled the ceremony.”
“Because she's lying!”
He opened the ring box. Inside were two simple gold bands.
“I came downstairs with these,” he said, “because I thought I was making a promise. I can't make it now.”
For the first time I could remember, Sloan's tears didn't make the rest of us move to comfort her.
She turned toward the staircase, then back to me.
“You've always hated me.”
May you like
I shook my head. “That's not what happened last night.”
Mara wheeled me toward her office before the argument could become another performance. Behind us, Sloan shouted my name once. Neither Thatcher nor I answered.
