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While you’re mine, you’re mine.

This marriage may be destined for an annulment, but while I’m Liam’s bride, I am Liam’s bride. And despite myself, that thought fills me with joy.

It’s imagining his future bride, his real bride, that brings me back down to earth. And yet, I don’t think Liam’s been actively looking for her. We’ve been engaged for weeks, but from what I can tell, he hasn’t yet begun his search with this extra time I’ve bought him. I think I should be upset by that. But as it is, I’m struggling not to feel delighted.

As I try on my gown nearly every day, and see Liam in our penthouse nearly every night, the week is a blur of emotional confusion. One that’s layered with a gossamer happiness, as delicate as the lace on the train of my wedding dress.

When I leave work Friday evening, I head directly to youth group, and Gus accompanies me to the church. Just like before, he walks me to the side door, then sets himself to patrolling the building’s exterior.

In the basement, I keep my eye on the window as the kids trickle in. There’s the usual restlessness before we begin, but as I start reading to them, everyone settles into their seats in a way that makes my heart warm. I even catch the smallest smile from Little Seamus as I turn a page.

We transition from reading to arts and crafts, and I guide the kids through sculpting forest critters out of polymer clay. As I head to the cupboard for more plastic chopsticks, there’s a flash of white outside the window.

My scalp prickles, and my stomach drops. Harrison’s here.

His phone hacking has dropped off in the past couple of weeks. Since his Great party message after our engagement celebration, my screen hasn’t frozen with that creepy smile again. I’d convinced myself it was a good thing, that maybe my arrangement with Liam had actually frightened Harrison away. It hadn’t worked at first, not until the grand spectacle of the party to convince the world we were serious, after which Harrison had finally given up.

But that isn’t true.

Harrison’s last message had come the day before I’d seen him—or thought I’d seen him—outside this church, that night I’d overheard Father Naughton and Estelle. My ex hasn’t been stalking me via messages because he’s been stalking me in person.

I keep vacillating between believing what I’m seeing and blaming my paranoia. And it’s more difficult to brush away my fear each time.

Right now, though, I’m in a room full of children. I’m taking this threat seriously. There’s still a chance it’s all in my head, but I will follow up on this risk to my kids’ safety. Cold dread lurches through me, tugging my feet toward the door.

“I’ll be right back,” I tell the kids. Thankfully, they’re all preoccupied with their clay.

I unlock my cubby and grab my purse, my gun in its special pocket. My swirl of guilt over bringing a weapon here solidifies into determination. I keep my steps calm as I cross the room, but as soon as I’ve closed the door behind me, I break into a run. Up the stairs and through the side door, I burst out into the night.

There’s no one outside my room’s window, but fear squeezes my heart. If Harrison’s escalated from phone messages to physically following me, then he’s beyond his usual scare tactics. He intends violence.

My heart races as I sweep my gaze over the empty darkness.

“What’s wrong?” Gus sprints up to me, drawing the gun at his hip but keeping it pointed at the ground.

When he reaches my pool of light at the side door, he follows my gaze, and together we scan the churchyard. But it’s just shadowed trees and benches, with darkened headstones in the graveyard beyond.

“Nothing,” I say. “I spooked myself, that’s all.”

Gus doesn’t believe me. I don’t want to ask him not to tell Liam about this, because then he’ll know it’s a big deal. And I’ve promised myself I won’t cause any more trouble between Gus and Liam.

“I’ll be out in about thirty minutes,” I tell my guard, acting like nothing’s the matter.

He flattens his lips and grunts, and I turn back inside.

I take slow, steady steps back to the basement, trying to get my pulse back under control. When I’m outside the youth group room, I take a deep breath. Then I hear the sound of taunting coming from inside, and my heart squeezes.

I throw open the door. All my kids are gathered around Little Seamus, the clay leaves on the table in front of him smashed into one multicolored lump. The other kids laugh as Nyle shakes a snack pack of peanuts in Seamus’s face.

“Nyle!”

The children turn, looking guilty. I’ve never raised my voice at them before. The others rush back to their seats as Nyle turns to me, whipping the peanuts behind his back.

“Wait for me in the hallway,” I tell him. “Stay in sight.”

When he sulks out, I crouch beside Little Seamus. His lip is quivering, but he’s keeping a brave face for someone with a deathly peanut allergy.

“Are you okay, honey?” I ask quietly, too low for the other kids to hear.