“You weren’t saving the day; you were saving your standing at the country club.” I pull my hands away from his, the motion clean and final. “You watched your father insult my career. You watched your mother throw my family’s work into a dumpster. And you let them plan a wedding that belongs to Elaine Thompson, while I was at my father’s house thinking I had a partner.”
Across the front row, Elaine has finally found her voice. “This is unseemly!” she stage-whispers, her face flushed a blotchy, ugly red. “Robert, do something! This girl is—”
“This girl is leaving,” I say, turning my head to look Elaine directly in the eye. For the first time, she flinches. Her design is perfect, her silver is gleaming, but she couldn’t account for a woman who doesn’t fear her.
Robert Thompson is standing now, his jaw so tight I expect his teeth to crack. He doesn’t look at me with anger; he looks at me with the cold, calculating eyes of a man seeing a bad investment.
I turn back to Skyler. He looks smaller, like a man outgrown by his own suit. “I know about Amanda,” I say. I was thinking of how she upended her life for him, only for him to discard her once she became the mirror he demanded.
“I can explain!” Skyler’s voice cracks. “We’ve only been texting here and there, and when she flirted with me—”
“Wait.” I lift a hand, the silence between us turning sharp. “What are you talking about?”
Amanda actually looks ashamed, but Elaine steps forward, her voice like ice. “Don’t be ridiculous, Harley. Amanda was helping plan your wedding. If she and Skyler were flirting, it’s only because you’ve been so difficult.”
“No!” Skyler shouts, but the damage is already done.
I let out a dry, hollow laugh. “Wow. I was referring to your previous engagement, Skyler. But it seems I’m behind on the times, aren’t I?”
“Harley, it isn’t like that.”
“It is.” I look from him to Amanda. “She planned your wedding twice. Unfortunately for both of you, this is her second time planning a broken engagement.”
“This is highly inappropriate,” Elaine says.
Ignoring her, I glance at Amanda. She isn’t staring at the floor anymore. She is looking at me with a terrifying, wide-eyed clarity. No longer the antagonist, she’s the warning.
I reach for my left hand. The engagement ring—the one I once loved because it matched my eyes—is stubborn. I have to tug it past my knuckle. When it finally comes off, I take his hand. I pry his fingers open and place the emerald in his palm.
“Your mother wanted silver,” I whisper so only he can hear. “She got it. I hope it’s enough to keep you warm.”
“Harley, please,” Skyler stammers, reaching for me again. “I love you. I’m doing this for us.”
“No, you’re doing this for you, Skyler. And now you don’t have to choose, because I’m making the choice for you.”
At last, I turn around.
No running. I don’t rush. Instead, I walk down the red carpet at a pace of a woman who knows exactly where she is going.
The guests are a blur of high fashion and horror. I see the ‘elite’ pulling their skirts back as I pass, as if my ‘common’ failure might be contagious. I see Bill and Cynthia Davis looking like they’ve just witnessed a train wreck.
But then, I see the back of the room.
My father is standing there. He isn’t in a tuxedo, but in his best suit, and his tie is crooked, and in his hand, he is clutching a splintered piece of cedar—a remnant of the box he made. His eyes are wet, but he isn’t crying for the wedding. He’s smiling.He’s looking at me like I’m the most magnificent thing he’s ever built.
Lily and Maria step out from the shadows of the vestibule. They don’t say anything. They don’t need to. We Matthews scum fall into step. A wall of burnt orange and denim and violet-streaked hair.
Behind me, a sound echoes through the ballroom. It’s the sound of a man hitting the floor. I don’t look back, but I can hear it—the heavy thud of Skyler Thompson falling to his knees on the altar steps.
The heavy mahogany doors loom ahead.
“Ready?” Lily whispers.
“Ready,” I say.
We push the doors open together. The evening air is cold and crisp, a shock to my system after the stifling perfume of the ballroom. It smells of rain and wet earth.
The doors close behind us with a definitive, heavy thud, sealing the Thompson legacy inside its silver tomb.
