I close my eyes. I had been too afraid to bring up my mother’s insistence on changing the wedding colors. When she told meburnt orange and burgundy wouldn’t do, I had simply agreed, hoping she might drop it. She hadn’t.
“Listen—”
“It’s white lilies and orchids. Everything is silver. The linens, the lighting . . . it’s all gone. It looks like a funeral for a princess. It looks like your mother’s living room.”
She says it like a curse word. In our world, it is.
Loosening my tie, I find just enough room to swallow. I’d meant to tell her, but after our night at Bella Notte, I didn’t have the heart. She had given me one last chance, and I couldn’t explain that I’d traded away her designs along with the venue. I’d hoped she would see the result and thank me—that she’d realize the silver was better than her original vision. I thought the peace was worth the lie.
“I’m sure there’s an explanation,” I say, using the coward’s mantra. My voice is steady in the tone I use to close deals when a client wavers. “Maybe the vendor swapped the orders? I’ll call them.”
“Don’t lie to me,” she snaps. I hear the rustle of her dress and the muffled sound of Maria trying to calm her. “The manager told me Mrs. Thompson personally oversaw the delivery. He said she allowed the overage. My dad spent all week building those boxes. My sister, Maria, and I were up until two a.m. decorating. Where. Are. They?”
“Harl, sweetheart, breathe. Today is about us. What matters are the vows, not the flowers.”
“The life we’re starting is being dictated by your mother before it even begins,” she says, a sob catching in her throat. Harley doesn’t cry for attention; she cries when she’s been pushed past her limit. “She threw my work away. Did you know beforehand?”
Silence is a confession. I let it hang a second too long.
“I didn’t think she’d go through with it. I’m so sorry. But please, don’t let her win. If we make a scene now, she wins. Let’s just rise above it.”
“Rise above it?” she echoes. “My father is in the hallway trying to find out which dumpster they threw his hand-carved boxes into. He’s humiliated. I’m humiliated. Your family treats us like employees who accidentally got invited to the party.”
“That’s not true,” I say, though my jaw is tight. “I love you. We’re going to get married, leave for the honeymoon, and forget all about this. Just give me this, Harl. Don’t let the decor ruin the day.”
“The decor is just the symptom, Skyler. The disease is that you never say no to them.”
The line goes quiet, though she hasn’t hung up. I hear her sharp, jagged inhalations.
“Harl, please,” I whisper. “Don’t do this to yourself. You’re going to be exhausted before we even reach the altar.”
“I want to move it,” she says through the sobs. “Delay the ceremony by three hours. Maria’s friends can bring the wildflowers from the house. We can pull down the drapes ourselves.”
“No,” I say, my tone sharpening before I soften it. “Sweetheart, we can’t. We have the catering, the orchestra, three hundred guests, and an entire staff to think about. We can’t just shift a Thompson wedding. It would be chaos.”
“Who cares about the chaos? It’s my wedding! Why is the comfort of strangers more important than my being able to breathe?”
“Because I want to marry you,” I say, and I mean it. “I don’t care if we’re in a basement or a palace; I just want the ‘I do.’ If we start a war now, it poisons the night. Guests will assume the wedding is canceled. They’ll leave.”
A wet, shaky breath follows. “I worked so hard. I just wanted one thing to be ours.”
“It will be,” I promise, feeling the momentum shift. “We get through the next six hours, we dance, and we leave. The second the cake is cut, we’re gone. Just us. Tomorrow, we’re on a plane. No parents, no silver. Just us.”
I wait. I imagine her at her vanity, her eyes red, her makeup artist standing awkwardly in the corner.
She hangs up.
I stare at the black screen. I’ve managed the drama to keep the ship on course, but Harley is right—something has to give. I promise myself that after tonight, I’m cutting them out. Once we are married, my wife is the only thing that matters.
The groomsmen begin to enter the hall, and I follow closely behind, taking my place.
Then, when the wedding march begins, I wait in silence, watching for the door to open.
Chapter 16
Harley
Wearing a white silk dress isn’t a fairytale anymore. I feel the stitch of every seam, the grip of the corset pressing into my ribs, reminding me I am a captive in a three-thousand-dollar costume.
