Chapter 1 – Lori
I can't breathe.
The silk of my wedding gown whispers against my skin as someone tightens the laces at my back. The bodice cinches tighter, pressing against my ribs until each breath becomes shallow and deliberate.
"There," my mother says, stepping back to admire her handiwork. "Perfect."
I stare at my reflection in the full-length mirror of the bridal suite. The woman looking back at me is beautiful, everyone has told me so at least a dozen times this morning.
My hair is swept into an elegant updo with loose tendrils framing my face. My makeup is flawless, enhancing my features while maintaining the "natural look" that Richard approves of. The dress, with its fitted bodice and flowing skirt, transforms me into someone I barely recognize.
I should feel happy. I should feel grateful. I should feel excited.
Instead, my hands won't stop trembling.
"Sweetheart?" My mother appears behind me, her reflection joining mine in the mirror. Her eyes are bright with unshed tears. "You look absolutely breathtaking."
I manage a smile that doesn't reach my eyes. "Thank you."
The bridal suite buzzes with activity—bridesmaids adjusting their dresses, my aunt arranging the bouquets of pale roses and baby's breath, my cousin fixing her makeup in a smaller vanity mirror.
Soft classical music plays from someone's phone, nearly drowned by laughter and excited chatter.
"Lori, which earrings?" My maid of honor, Jen, holds up two pairs of pearl earrings that look almost identical.
"Either is fine," I say, earning a small frown.
"It's your wedding day. You should have an opinion," she says, laughing lightly but with an edge I've grown familiar with. Jen has been Richard's friend longer than mine. She was the one who introduced us three years ago.
"The ones on the right," I say, making a choice just to appease her. My fingers twist the engagement ring on my left hand, a three-carat diamond that catches the light streaming through the windows. It's heavier than I like, but Richard insisted it was "appropriate for his future wife."
"You're fidgeting again," Jen observes, her tone gentle but pointed. "Richard mentioned you might be anxious today. Did you take your medication?"
I freeze, my fingers stilling on the ring. I don't take anxiety medication. I've never needed it. But over the past six months, Richard has referenced my "anxiety" so often—to friends, to family, even to me—that sometimes I wonder if I've forgotten something essential about myself.
"I need some air," I announce suddenly, moving toward the door before anyone can object.
"Don't go far! We're taking photos in twenty minutes," my mother calls after me.
The hallway outside the bridal suite is cooler, quieter. I lean against the wall, closing my eyes and trying to slow my racing heart.
The elegant country club is beautiful, with its polished hardwood floors and crystal chandeliers. Richard chose it, like he chose most things about our wedding.
I had mentioned a small ceremony in my hometown church, but he'd dismissed the idea immediately.
"We need something befitting our position," he'd said. "Your parents wouldn't want to strain their finances, and frankly, that little church would be embarrassing for my colleagues to visit. This way, everyone wins."
His logic had been so reasonable, so considerate. Yet somehow, I'd ended up with a wedding I barely recognized and a guest list where three-quarters of the names were his colleagues and business connections I haven’t even met before.
I take a few steps down the corridor, drawn by the sound of voices. Male voices. One of them is Richard's, with that particular cadence he uses when speaking to people he considers peers.
I slow my pace, not wanting to intrude on the groomsmen, when I hear my name.
"—always been Lori's issue," Richard is saying, his voice carrying that smooth, controlled tone he uses in boardrooms. "She has tremendous potential, but without proper guidance, she gets... scattered."
"Marriage will help with that," someone agrees. I recognize the voice of the officiant, a friend of Richard's family. Not a minister or judge, but a business acquaintance with the right credentials.
"Precisely," Richard continues. "Once we're married, I'll have the proper authority to help her make better choices. Last month, she mentioned wanting to pursue elementary education. A sweet idea, but completely impractical with our lifestyle and my career trajectory. She doesn't always consider the larger implications of her impulses."
