When I walk inside the candlelit room, I attempt to detach. It’s a useful skill to have. I used to do it well. I’m walking aimlessly, not really sure where I’m going, when Maggie appears in front of me wearing a black tea-length cocktail dress.
“Sorry I’m late,” she says. “I was on the phone with Hannah. Turns out she’s not loving her new Connecticut life as much as I hoped. I didn’t miss dinner, did I?”
Maggie can barely finish her question before I lock her in a bone-crushing hug. The temptation to crumble to pieces is impossibly strong but I know I have to push it back. I step away and give a cautionary swipe under my eyes with the tips of my fingers.
“What’s wrong?” she asks nervously.
“It’s bad,” I answer, my voice shaking despite my best efforts, “but I can’t talk about it now. I need you to help me.”
“I will. It’s okay, I will.” Maggie is using her therapist voice, soothing and melodic even without instruments. “Do you want to sit down? Do you want a drink?”
I shake my head, not sure what I want or need when I twist around and see Ryan and Madison in a far-off corner, deep in conversation. She places a hand on his arm, because why wouldn’t she, as they continue to talk. I let out a small whimper and turn back around to Maggie.
“All right, it’s okay,” she says, rubbing my arms and looking over my shoulder. She scans the room until her eyes stop moving and fill with ice-cold fury. A few seconds later, they return to mine and immediately soften.
“I have an idea. How about we dance for a bit? I bet if we burn off some energy, we’ll both feel better.” She pulls me towards the dance floor, positioning us deep in the crowd where only other dancing couples are in our line of vision.
“What if dancing doesn’t work?” I ask her.
The band is playing at a near explosive level and Maggie swings my arms up and down, puppeteering me into moving to the beat.
“If this doesn’t work, then we murder Ryan in a kitchen stairwell and flee to Switzerland. Easy peasy.”
She says her solution with such a sweet air that I have to laugh.
I spend the rest of the night drinking and dancing and holding Maggie’s hand, refusing to acknowledge that Ryan isn’t there—hasn’t been there since he left the reception three hours early with someone else.
The next morning, I enter my apartment wearing flip-flops and my bridesmaid dress. A beautiful soft pink Grecian gown that no longer looks flattering with my puffy eyes and pale complexion.
I walk past the kitchenette and my eyes find a bakery bag I didn’t notice yesterday morning. Knowing exactly what I’ll find, I reach inside and pull out a scone that’s cold and stale. I drop the empty bag onto the floor and toss the scone into the sink beside me without looking. I’m not even rattled when I hear it smash into a glass that’s waiting to be washed.
I glance around the living room, and even though all traces of him are gone, the whole space is haunted by Ryan. He might as well be standing next to me. I walk back over to the door and lock it, feeling utterly and chillingly numb.
18
“I’m getting married.”
Charlotte’s words split through Robert like the swipe of an ax. “I beg your pardon?”
“To Edward Brinton, the Marquis of St. Clare. He’s an acquaintance of my father. The wedding will take place as soon as possible.”
Robert was unable to disguise his confusion as every muscle in his body tightened. He studied Charlotte, finding her cheeks pale and her eyes puffy and bloodshot. “I don’t understand,” he said.
“It’s quite simple, really. Our dalliance has come to an end. I would have thought someone like you would be well-versed in these matters.”
“If something is wrong then tell me. I can fix it.”
“There’s nothing to fix. It’s true, I have enjoyed your company for the past few weeks, but it’s now time for you to leave.”
Silence stretched for what felt like a lifetime until Robert stormed forward to stand barely an inch away from Charlotte. “I don’t give a damn if you want me to leave! I’m gone for two days and I come back to find you engaged to some old letch? What the devil has happened?”
Charlotte pushed violently against Robert’s chest, forcing him back and gaining some distance. “George is gone!” she cried. “Father sent him away and he won’t tell me where he is or if he’s all right and he won’t tell me anything until I marry Lord Brinton.”
Robert shook his head as anger hammered through him. “This is ridiculous. I’ll talk to your father and put a stop to this at once.”
“No!” Charlotte’s voice was desperate. “If I interfere, Father will keep George where he is and I will never see him again. If I go along with what he wishes, he will let him live with me at Lord Brinton’s estate after the wedding.”
“I would marry you tomorrow if your father is so determined to have you gone. Why is he forcing you on Brinton?” Charlotte didn’t answer and Robert’s patience wore thin. “Answer me!” he roared.
