I hear a gasp and a shuffle from somewhere close as my knees buckle like cut strings on a puppet, the bouquet slipping from my fingers.
Strong hands catch me before I hit the ground.
The world spins as I’m suddenly pressed against a chest, a solid but quick thumping of a heartbeat beneath wool and muscle.
Cologne invades my nostrils, dark and woody, grounding and dizzying all at once.
“Got you,” he murmurs.
It’s the last thing I hear before my vision goes white.
Chapter 1
Elena
The world comes back to me in pieces.
Muted voices. The rustle of tulle. The faint sting of ammonia under my nose.
When I blink, light floods in—too bright, too sharp—and I realize I’m lying on the velvet couch in the church’s dressing room.
My sister, Sarah, clutches my hand like I might slip away again. Her eyes are wide and doe-like, staring down at me like she’s mortified.
Mom and Dad stand somewhere behind me, their voices low. I catch my name once, George’s twice. The wordspressandphoto opmake an appearance, thenreputation, thenscandal.
Then it hits me.
The aisle.
The missing groom.
Him.
The air leaves my lungs as I push myself upright.
“Where’s George?” I rasp.
The door creaks.
It’s not gentle, not like someone politely stepping in with a clipboard to announce something about the floral arrangements. It opens like someone’s unaware just how heavy these old cathedral doors are, but they’reconcerned.
I twist, nearly ripping a pin out of my hair.
The air leaves the room as Harald Highcourt steps in.
He's tall and built enough to command a room with his stance alone, broad shoulders beneath his night-black, perfectly tailored suit.
His hair is now disheveled like he hasn’t stopped touching it all morning. And his green eyes scan the room fast, sharp as broken glass, until they land on me.
Within half a second, the room explodes into panic.
“What do you mean George isn't coming?” my father snaps, stepping forward like he’s about to body someone. My mother follows him. Sarah actually looks up. “He has to be coming, the guests are waiting?—”
“Do you think I wouldn’t have dragged him here myself if I could?” Harry snaps back, the raw edge in his voice cutting through the room. “He’s gone. Vanished into thin air. His passport’s missing and his car’s at JFK.”
Mom’s eyes go wide as saucers before cutting to me. “What did youdo?” she seethes.
I don’t bother to give her a response. Of course she’d think this was my fault.
