Chapter 2 - The Bride Turns Away
For a terrible, agonizing heartbeat, my breath caught.
I wondered whether Claire had noticed the rough cotton, the hand-stitched cuffs, or the loose hem, and felt a sudden pang of high-society shame. The guests around me were holding champagne flutes and carrying designer leather clutches; I smelled of old cedar and drugstore rosewater.
Claire stopped completely.
The organist’s fingers faltered on the keys, producing an awkward, vibrating chord before dropping to silence. The four violinists lowered their bows in confusion.
Beside her, Richard Sterling—her father, a commanding real estate magnate dressed in a bespoke tuxedo—tightened his grip on her elbow, leaning down to whisper: “Claire, what are you doing? Everyone is looking at you.”
Claire did not answer him.
With a slow, decisive motion, she slipped her arm free from her father’s grasp.
She reached up and lifted her lace veil back over her shoulders, revealing eyes glistening with bright, unshed tears.
Then, before four hundred elite guests from Chicago and New York, the bride turned her back on the altar.
Gasps rippled through the oak pews like wind through dry leaves.
“Claire?!” Richard hissed under his breath, reaching out for her train.
Claire ignored him. Gathering the heavy folds of her ivory silk gown with both hands, she began walking toward the back of the chapel.
Her steps were purposeful, rhythmic, and unhurried. Her heels clicked firmly against the polished marble floor.
Benjamin stepped forward from beneath the white rose arch, his eyes wide in astonishment. The best man caught his arm, but Benjamin shook him off, his gaze fixed on his bride.
Claire walked past her sorority sisters, past the partners of Sterling Capital, past the state senators seated in the third row.
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She didn't stop until she reached the dusty wooden banquette of row twenty-four.
She stopped directly in front of me.
