It was beautiful.
I had asked Celeste to incorporate it into the underdress.
That was all.
At least, I thought it was.
Victoria stared at those lines like she was seeing a ghost.
And suddenly I remembered the anonymous envelope.
SHE WILL MAKE SURE YOU NEVER REACH THE ALTAR.
I lowered the microphone.
“Victoria.”
She looked at me.
“How did you know my father?”
Adrian’s head snapped toward his mother.
She said nothing.
“Mother?”
Victoria’s face transformed.
The fear disappeared.
In its place came the cold, aristocratic mask I knew.
“I didn’t.”
I held her gaze.
“You recognized his drawing.”
“I recognized nothing.”
“You just asked where I got it.”
“You’re twisting my words.”
Then Adrian spoke.
Very softly.
“Her father was Michael Bell.”
Victoria closed her eyes.
Only for a second.
But it was enough.
Adrian saw it.
So did I.
“What does that mean?” I asked.
He did not answer.
“Adrian.”
He looked at me.
There are silences that contain confusion.
Others contain guilt.
I had never heard the difference before.
I did then.
My hand tightened around the microphone.
“You know something.”
“No.”
“You hesitated.”
“Emma—”
“What do you know?”
He glanced at the guests.
“We should talk privately.”
Every nerve in my body went cold.
“No.”
“This isn’t the place.”
“Your mother cut my wedding dress in front of a security camera three minutes before the ceremony. I think we passed ‘private conversation’ fifteen minutes ago.”
Someone in the audience laughed nervously.
Adrian did not.
Victoria suddenly moved toward us.
“Stop this.”
I turned.
She was no longer embarrassed.
She was frightened.
Actually frightened.
And it wasn’t because five hundred people had watched her destroy my gown.
It was because I had said my father’s name.
Claire came beside me.
“Emma.”
She held my phone.
“There’s something you need to see.”
On the screen was an email.
It had arrived twenty minutes earlier.
Sender:
ELEANOR HARRINGTON LEGACY TRUST — COUNSEL’S OFFICE
Subject:
RELEASE AUTHORIZED UPON COMMENCEMENT OF CEREMONY
I looked at Adrian.
His face went white.
Victoria whispered, “No.”
Claire opened the attachment.
A scanned memorandum filled the screen.
Dated twenty-three years earlier.
Three names appeared on the first page.
Jonathan Harrington.
Adrian’s father.
Victoria Harrington.
His mother.
And—
Michael Bell.
Mine.
For a moment I could hear nothing.
Then Adrian stepped toward me.
“Emma, listen to me.”
I backed away.
“You knew.”
“I knew there were sealed records.”
“How long?”
He swallowed.
“Three months.”
The answer hit harder than the scissors ever could have.
Three months.
Three months of dinners.
Three months of choosing music.
Three months of tasting cakes.
Three months of him touching my face in bed and promising there were no secrets between us.
“What records?”
“I didn’t know exactly.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
His jaw tightened.
“My grandfather’s estate documents.”
“Why were they sealed?”
“Emma—”
“Why?”
Victoria spoke first.
“Because Michael Bell was trying to extort this family.”
Claire lunged verbally before I could.
“You lying—”
“Claire.”
I stopped her.
Victoria looked at me.
“Your father discovered inconsistencies in a construction budget. He became obsessed. He made accusations.”
“What construction?”
She said nothing.
Adrian did.
“Harrington Centre.”
My breath stopped.
