“Is that her?” one woman murmurs, her pearls clinking as she leans toward her husband. “I heard her father is a contractor.”
My wedding is a business event to them—including my fiancé. A sort of if Skyler insists on marrying this woman, let’s use it to our advantage.
I keep my eyes forward, but my periphery catches Elaine and Robert in the front row. Elaine looks triumphant, her chin lifted,her eyes scanning the room to ensure the perfection of her design is properly appreciated. Robert is stoic, his arms crossed, master of his domain.
And right beside them, sits Amanda.
I have so many questions, ones I’m not sure I’ll ever get the answers to.
And then, I reach the end of the aisle.
Skyler is standing at the altar, looking more like a Thompson than I have ever seen. His tuxedo fits perfectly, along with his perfectly styled hair, and his posture is as rigid as the limestone facade of his parents’ house. When he sees me, a look of immense, staggering relief washes over his features.
He thinks he’s done it. He thinks he’s successfully ‘managed’ the crisis.
Because I’m standing here in white, the lie has been accepted.
He reaches for my hand as I step onto the dais. His palms are warm and slightly damp. He squeezes my fingers, a silent message of: See? We made it. It’s fine.
I don’t squeeze back. My hands are dead weight in his.
The priest, a man with a voice like polished marble, begins the ceremony. He speaks of unions and traditions, of legacies and the sacred bond between two families. I cannot fully listen, but what I hear is nothing about love. He talks about the ‘joining of names’ as if he’s reading a real estate contract.
Then, the air in the room changes. The music has stopped, the guests have leaned forward. This is the moment they’ve all paid for.
“Do you, Skyler Thompson, take Harley Matthews to be your lawfully wedded wife?” the priest asks, his voice echoing against the vaulted ceiling.
In a clear, confident voice, Skyler says, “I do.”
The priest turns to me. “And do you, Harley Matthews, take Skyler Thompson to be your lawfully wedded husband?”
The silence that follows is a vacuum, yet Skyler’s smile is still there, expectant, hovering on the edge of his future.
I look directly into his eyes—the hazel eyes that I used to think were my safe space. But this time, I see the cowardice there. The months of lies, the ‘bribes’ disguised as gifts, Amanda’s presence, the dumpsters behind the club. I see the man who traded my heart for his father’s approval.
“No.”
The priest looks like he’s been struck. He fumbles with his book, his eyes darting between us. A collective gasp erupts from the pews. Someone drops a program. A chair scrapes the floor.
Skyler’s face drains of color entirely, turning a sickly, translucent white that matches the lilies. His mouth hangs open for a second, his grip on my hands tightening instinctively.
“Harley?” he whispers, the mask finally shattering. “What are you doing? Is this a joke?”
“No, Skyler,” I say, my voice carrying to the front rows, where Elaine has half-risen from her seat, her face a contorted mask of horror.
The ‘merger’ has failed. The red carpet is just a rug. And the Thompsons are finally, for the first time in generations, losing control of the room.
The silence is no longer a vacuum, but a heavy, ringing pressure, the kind that follows a bomb blast.
Skyler’s hands are shaking now, his fingers clutching mine with a desperation that borders on painful.
“Harl, stop,” he breathes. “Whatever this is, we can talk about it later. Just say the words. Please. Don’t do this here.”
“I gave you every chance to prevent this, Skyler.”
I don’t care about the three hundred strangers. I am only talking to the man who was supposed to be mine. “I told you that one more lie, one more ‘management’ move, and I was gone. Did you think I was joking?”
“I was trying to save the day!” he hisses, the sweat now visible on his brow. “I was trying to keep the peace!”
