Chapter 1 - THE BRIDE WHO NEVER KNEW SHE WAS SECOND
I did not storm into the ceremony.
That would have been easy.
Too easy.
Instead, I walked back into the reception hall, straightened a centerpiece, corrected a crooked boutonniere, and asked the coordinator one question.
“What’s the bride’s name?”
She smiled distractedly.
“Rebecca Langley.”
I knew the name.
Everyone in Massachusetts knew the Langley family.
Old money.
Hospitals.
Real estate.
Political donations large enough to buy entire rooms of gratitude.
“Beautiful couple, aren’t they?”
I looked toward the ballroom doors.
“I haven’t met her.”
“You will. She’s lovely.”
Apparently Adrian had upgraded.
That thought should have destroyed me.
Instead, it made me calm.
I asked where Rebecca was getting ready.
Upstairs.
East suite.
Ten minutes later, I knocked.
A bridesmaid opened the door.
“I’m the florist. I need to check the bouquet.”
She let me in.
Rebecca stood beside the window in a silk robe while two women adjusted her veil.
She was beautiful.
Not cruel-looking.
Not smug.
Nervous.
Happy.
Which somehow made everything worse.
I picked up her bouquet.
White roses.
Gardenias.
Italian ruscus.
The exact combination Adrian and I had chosen for our wedding.
My hands tightened.
Rebecca smiled.
“They’re perfect.”
“Did Adrian choose them?”
“Yes.”
I looked at her.
“He said they were his favorite.”
Of course he did.
I swallowed.
“How long have you known him?”
“Almost a year.”
My blood went cold.
A year.
Adrian and I had been engaged during that year.
Rebecca continued.
“We kept it quiet at first.”
“Why?”
“Family complications.”
I almost laughed.
“Does he have many of those?”
She smiled.
“You have no idea.”
I did.
Then she noticed my face.
“Are you okay?”
“No.”
The word came out before I could stop it.
Rebecca frowned.
I put down the bouquet.
“My name is Meredith Cole.”
Nothing.
Then recognition flickered.
Not guilt.
Confusion.
“Meredith?”
“Yes.”
Her face went pale.
“Oh my God.”
“You know me.”
She looked toward the bridesmaids.
“Could you give us a minute?”
They left reluctantly.
The door closed.
Rebecca whispered:
“Adrian told me you died.”
I stared.
For one second, neither of us breathed.
“What?”
“He said his fiancée died in a house fire three months before we met.”
The room tilted.
“He told you I was dead?”
“Yes.”
I laughed.
It sounded broken.
Rebecca stepped backward.
“But his mother said—”
“What did Colleen say?”
“That you were gone. That Adrian had suffered terribly.”
I almost admired the symmetry.
He buried me in his story too.
Rebecca covered her mouth.
“What is happening?”
I looked at the wedding dress.
At the flowers I had unknowingly arranged for the man who buried me alive in another woman’s mind.
Then I said:
“Your fiancé faked his death three months ago.”
Rebecca’s face emptied.
I expected disbelief.
Instead, she reached slowly toward the vanity.
Picked up her phone.
Opened a photograph.
Adrian.
Alive.
Standing beside Rebecca.
The date on the image was six weeks before his supposed accident.
I stared.
Rebecca whispered:
“He didn’t meet me after he died.”
May you like
Her hands began shaking.
“He was already with me before you buried him.”
