Page 132 of The Betrothal

Silence stretched into the room as Sophie slipped her champagne into my hand. I looked at it frowning. Drink and drugs.

She raised a brow at me and I sipped.

“We just get you down that aisle and back safely. I’ll grab some trainers.” She grabbed a bag; a heavy stone settled in the pit of my stomach when I saw my duffel in her hands.

She pulled the half-torn book I’d recovered from inside.

Then the tears fell in rivers. I dabbed at them furiously. I couldn’t ruin the makeup, and the foundation-streaked splashes on ivory silk would be irreparable.

“Oh, God. Nope! No, Iz.” Sophie rushed to dab at my face. “We need lots of tissues.” She left me to stem the stream and snatched a fistful of tissue, forcing it inside her purse.

I wobbled and straightened.

“Iz, what are you on?” she asked cautiously.

“Benzos, I can’t remember what type, but he’s threatened me with more, Sophie. I can’t fail to get through today, please, help me.”

“I’ll fucking kill him,” she whispered, earning her my first smile on my wedding day.

“Can I watch?”

Sophie smiled back, her shoulders rose and she straightened before guiding me down the stairs and into the waiting limousine.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

ISABELLE

The journey to the church wasn’t long, the roads curved and the traffic was slow, but it couldn’t have been more than fifteen minutes.

What worried me though was the way the houses were moving, waving in my periphery. The traffic swayed, forwards and backwards.

I tapped my eyelids, willing their movement to settle.

Sophie was silent beside me, her hand steady on my thigh over the layers of my dress. The hold anchoring me until the limousine pulled up outside the church, smoothly turning in to find the side entrance.

I glanced at the main entrance doors which sat open, allowing a steady flow of guests inside.

So many people.

My door opened, the driver offering his arm patiently. Sophie read my reluctance and manoeuvred around me to exit first, putting out both hands and helping me to twist and rise from the vehicle.

The doors into the bridal entrance were opened with voices trickling out from inside, emphatic and jarring.

Sophie guided me inside and we froze at the scene.

Ester was beside herself, arms waving in the air, her voice a quiet screech that she’d perfected the way only Ester could manage. She was making a scene, enough to get a reaction, but quietly enough that no-one outside this room could hear her.

Before her stood Father.

It was the first time I’d seen him since I ran away.

He looked tired, but only to eyes that knew him. To anyone else, the cut of his custom suit, the coif of his hair and the stoic set of his shoulders – he looked exactly as he should.

“You must do something, Edmund,” Mother pleaded. “This is your fault after all.”

Father scowled at her, she was rarely so brusque with him, but her favourite child being in such a state of distress had her speaking out of turn.

“She is here now.” He didn’t turn to acknowledge me, the action a sledgehammer to my chest. He’d never dismissed me in my life.