Chapter 4

I patted her back and said, "Thanks for this, maid of honor. You've got to fend off the drinks for me today."

She thumped her chest and said no problem, leave it all to her, and choked a little on her own spit.

I stared at the necklace against her collarbone for three seconds. Cartier, set with a diamond, twelve grand at least. Last Valentine's Day, Charles had said he was buying me one, then told me it got lost in the mail. He offered to replace it. I said don't bother. So it had been sitting on her neck the whole time, the chain shinier than I remembered, better cared for than someone careless like me ever managed.

When the makeup artist did my lips, I chose the truest, boldest red.

At nine-thirty the wedding party arrived downstairs. The firecrackers rattled the windows.

Charles knocked at the door, calling out for his wife to open up, saying he'd brought me my favorite milkshake. The bridesmaids inside made him work for it, demanding red envelopes, a love song, a written pledge three pages long. From the bed I could hear his voice, full of confidence, the same easy confidence he carried into any morning and any night.

I sat on the bed, the train of my gown spread across the floor, holding the bouquet he'd given me the day before. The roses were fake, the perfume heavy, heavy enough to turn my stomach. The petals were plastic and creaked when I pinched them.

When the door opened, Charles rushed in, wearing the suit I'd ordered for him, thirty-two thousand, charged to my card. The cuff buttons were done up neatly, the tie knotted by his father, a dated dark red, like blood that had dried a long time ago. He knelt on one knee to slip on my shoes, shoes I'd picked, thin heels, eight centimeters, comfortable enough to wear all day.

When he looked up at me his eyes were bright. "Wife, you look beautiful today."

I smiled and reached out to touch the silver chain on his neck. Still there. Cold, pressed against the warmth of someone else's body from the night before.

The pickup went smoothly. At the tea ceremony my parents gave him ten thousand and one for the change-of-address gift, and his parents gave me a red envelope of eight thousand eight. I put them all in the bag I carried, the one I'd bought myself last year, twelve grand, lambskin, very soft, one I'd never let him touch. In the inner pocket, along with the envelopes, sat a USB drive.

On the way to the hotel, Charles sat beside me holding my hand, his palm slick with sweat. Wet, sticky, clammy, like something just fished out of hot water.

He said, "Wife, we're finally married."

I said, "Mm. Finally."

He didn't hear how heavy that "finally" was. He leaned in to kiss me and I turned my head away, saying not to ruin the makeup. He gave a sheepish little laugh, settled back against the seat, and played on his phone. I glanced over. He was texting Gay, their chat pinned at the top. The last message was from her. Today I'm the prettiest bridesmaid.

The arch at the hotel entrance was one I'd chosen, pink roses, our wedding photo hanging above it. In the picture I was smiling sweetly and so was he, and the photographer said it was the best bridal shot he'd ever taken. The prints were a hundred each and I bought the whole set, meaning to hang them in the living room of our new home. Now that photo probably had until tonight.

The relatives and friends had all come, thirty-two tables, eight thousand eight each, half of it settled two weeks ago. Not generosity. I just wanted to make sure no one got away today. I'd arranged every seat myself. Gay and her parents sat in the front row, facing the stage. I put her parents in the best seats on purpose, because from the best seats you see the show clearest.

During the welcome, Gay stood beside me, and when someone praised the bridesmaid, she laughed until she trembled, glancing now and then toward Charles. Charles stood on my other side handing out cigarettes to the guests. When his hand touched mine, I pulled away. He froze for a beat, said nothing, kept handing out cigarettes. His fingers were shaking, shaking ash loose from the cigarette.

One of Charles's colleagues came over and clapped his shoulder. "Not bad, Charles. Landing a wife this pretty. You'd better treat her right from now on."

Charles smiled. "Of course. She's the only one I'll ever be good to." He said it louder than usual, like he was shouting it at himself.

I held up my glass, smiling. "Thank you all for coming to our wedding. Eat well, drink well."

While he was lying, I toasted every person in the room. Thirty-two tables. I toasted every one of them.

At eleven fifty-eight, the ceremony began.

The officiant read his lines on the stage, something about three years of chasing love finally paying off. I stood at the side of the stage, hand in the pocket of my gown, gripping the USB drive, palm soaked with sweat. The drive had a metal shell. After all that time in my fist it was still cold.

My father took my hand and walked me over to Charles, and when he placed my hand in his, his own was trembling a little. He said, "Charlie, take good care of my daughter from now on."

Charles said, "Don't worry, Dad. I'll be good to her, I promise." Voice perfect, expression right, gaze sincere.

I looked up at my father, smiled. "Don't worry, Dad. I won't let myself be wronged."

My father paused. He'd raised me for twenty-six years. He heard what I was saying. He said nothing, patted my hand, and walked off the stage. His steps were much slower than when he'd walked up.

The officiant asked Charles, "Do you take Sophie Pruitt to be your wife, to love her and care for her all your life, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health?"

Charles held the microphone, his voice loud. "I do."

The applause thundered. The wedding march swelled to its peak.

The officiant turned to me. "Do you take Charles Fox to be your husband, to love him and care for him all your life, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health?"

The whole room went quiet.

I said nothing. I reached out and took the other microphone from the officiant's hand. It was warm, held all through the ceremony.

The officiant blanked. So did everyone below.

Charles looked at me, the smile still on his face. "Wife, what's wrong?" When he said that word, his mouth was still curving up, the laugh lines at his eyes not yet gone. This man still had no idea what was coming.

I said, "Hold on. I have something to show everyone."