Then there are footsteps, and Mara's chiffon dress rustling.
I peel myself away, don't even care about clicking against the wooden floor because my footsteps aren't louder than my heartbeat. Everything I thought I knew about this situation just shifted.
I don't know what it means yet, but one thing is crystal: I can't let them catch me eavesdropping on the most important conversation of my life.
The bathroom becomes my hiding place as I prick my ear.
Down the hall, Mara's bossy voice bells: "Now come dance with me. They'll play my song 'Mara on the Dance Floor.'"
Ben huffs. "You mean 'Murder.'"
She clicks her mouth. "Same thing."
30
The bass throbs through the floor, shaking even the soles of my shoes. Everything's covered in purple haze, including the couples that are folding into each other.
I stand just outside it, under a canopy of white wisterias dripping from the ceiling, a champagne glass sweating in my hand.
Richard is behind me, pacing back and forth while on his phone. His voice is clipped with the kind of tone he uses when money slips through his fingers.
We haven't had a chance to talk since I vanished.
Judging by the look he gave me when I came back, he was pissed. But then he saw my face—ready to scorch him alive if he said one wrong word—and his whole posture softened.
He tried to hold me, but I stepped away and told him we needed to talk, just not here. I'm still trying to breathe through the last hour.
Mara leaps down from the stage after she's belted her karaoke rendition, glowing from the applause.
She snaps her fingers and the music shifts into something moody, sultry—a playlist that feels closer to my internal state.
And then she's in front of me, beaming, and it's impossible not to smile.
"Dance, babe? You can't just hide under flowers all night."
"I'm not hiding. I'm watching you shine."
She shakes her head, already reaching for my hand. "Not acceptable."
Richard's stern voice appears behind my ear. "I'll join you in a minute."
Mara doesn't give him a single eyelash of attention, just a flat: "No. I'm having this one with my bridesmaid. Alone. Hope there's no problem."
Richard's eyes flash before they start scanning the room, clearly searching for Ben, but Mara doesn't wait. She drags me into the current, right in the middle of her family and friends, the fog curling around us.
I'm tempted to tell her that I heard her, that I know she knows, but that would mean to tell on myself. So instead, I hug her tight, trying to let her know my gratitude this way. Because Mara doesn't hate us. She even gave Ben her blessing.
"Thanks, Mara," I whisper anyway.
She pulls back, tucks my hair behind my ear, eyes soft. "Always, babe," she says knowingly.
My eyes catch on Ben. He's leaning against the bar casually, glass of grappa in hand, Lisa's mouth moving beside him, but he's not listening. He's watching me—not glancing—watching every move I make.
Paul swoops in, steering Mara away, so now it's just me, alone.
I let go, dancing the way a woman does when she's calling her man to her. Arms unfurling upward, then sliding slowly down the line of my body sensually, from my chest, to my waist,to my hips.
I spin once, feeling the skirt whip against my thighs, and when I land, Ben shifts slightly, trying to catch a clearer view.
