Whatever’s happening, there’s an explanation.
A plausible,logicalexplanation that doesn’t involve the two most important people in my life lying to and betraying me for the last two years.
Whatever it is, it can be explained.
Fixed.
“I’m fine,” I tell him, smoothing the words over my usual calm tone. “I’m just a little jumpy—caterer needs a final head count and I’ve been staring at the seating chart for the last twenty minutes trying to figure out where to put your Aunt Edna.”
Allister laughs, his relief almost palpable. “We can sit my Aunt Edna wherever you want,” he tells me. “As long as you’re happy.” He pauses like he’s waiting for me to ask him why he’s calling me in the middle of the day. When I don’t, he clears his throat. “I’m calling about lunch. I know we’re supposed to meet but I’m going to have to work through lunch if I want to?—”
“Say no more,” I say, interrupting him before he can start making excuses. Fighting off a wave of dizzying nausea, I squeeze my eyes shut. “I understand—I can eat at my desk.”
“I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” he tells me, tone full of remorse. “Why don’t I come pick you up from the office and we can drive to the restaurant together. We can leave a little early. Maybe grab a drink before?—”
“I’m sorry but that won’t work,” I tell him, my tone surprisingly steady. “The seamstress called me. My dress is ready, and she needs me to pop in for a final fitting. I planned on stopping in on my way to the restaurant.”
It's a lie.
I had my final fitting last week.
My wedding dress is at my parents’ house for safekeeping.
He would know that if he’d been paying attention.
“Oh...” He sounds almost relieved. “I really am sorry, Millie. I’m trying to get all my loose ends tied up so I can be free and present for our honeymoon,” he tells me. “I know how important it is to you that we’re able to disconnect from work and spend time together.”
“Us.”
Like he doesn’t understand what I just said, Allister pauses again. “I’m sorry?”
“Us.” I repeat myself quietly. “Being able to disconnect from work and spend time together on our honeymoon is important tous.”
“Of course, darling,” Allister assures me in a soothing tone Irecognize. It’s the one he uses when he’s trying to placate me. Keep me calm. Keep me from asking for too much.Seeingtoo much. “I only want things to be perfect for you on your big day.”
Our.
Ourbig day.
“Thank you, sweetheart.” Instead of correcting him again, I swallow it down with a healthy dose of bile. “I’ll let you get back to work. Thank you for calling.”
“I love you, Millie.” He says it like he’s holding his breath.
“I love you too,” I answer back like a robot. “See you tonight.”
I hang up before he can say anything else.
Setting the receiver back into its cradle, I reach over and open my laptop to stare at the screen. It takes less than ten minutes for another notification to pop up.
An email from the same anonymous address, using the same third-party server.
This time, the subject line says,are you going to let them get away with this?
Like before there’s an attachment.
Clicking it open, I read the brand-new text exchange between my cheating snake of a fiancé and my back-stabbing maid-of-honor, time stamped from just a few minutes ago.
Allister: She sounded weird when I called. Do you think she suspects what we’re doing?
