“And the existential crisis?”
“Complimentary.”
We drove to the vineyard.
The ceremony began at five.
We arrived at six fifteen.
That part was deliberate.
I had no desire to watch Mason promise lifelong loyalty to a woman he’d met while breaking that same promise to me.
I wanted the reception.
The crowd.
The moment of recognition.
Nothing more.
At least that’s what I told myself.
Hawthorne Ridge looked like something from a bridal magazine.
String lights stretched across the terrace.
White roses covered the tables.
A jazz quartet played beside the fountain.
Waiters moved between guests carrying champagne.
Julian stepped out of the car first and offered me his hand.
“You ready?”
“No.”
“Perfect.”
I stared at him.
He smiled.
“Confidence is just panic with better posture.”
I laughed, took his arm, and walked inside.
People noticed us immediately.
Some of them were former friends.
Some were Mason’s colleagues.
Several had attended our wedding seven years earlier.
I saw recognition flicker across their faces.
Then curiosity.
Then the inevitable glance toward Julian.
I straightened my shoulders.
For the first time, I understood the brilliance of having an actor beside me.
Julian never looked uncertain.
He leaned toward me when I spoke.
His hand rested lightly against my back.
Whenever someone stared too long, he smiled at me like I was the only person in the room.
It was convincing.
Almost dangerously convincing.
Then I saw Mason.
He was standing near the bar with two men from his firm.
His face brightened when he noticed me.
For half a second, he looked pleased.
He had gotten what he wanted.
His lonely ex-wife had arrived.
Then his eyes moved to Julian.
And Mason stopped smiling.
I had imagined that moment dozens of times.
I expected irritation.
Jealousy.
Maybe surprise.
What I saw was something entirely different.
Fear.
Mason’s champagne glass froze halfway to his mouth.
His face drained of color.
Beside me, Julian stopped walking.
I felt the muscles in his arm tighten.
“Julian?”
He didn’t answer.
He was looking past Mason.
Toward the bride.
Vanessa stood near the center of the room wearing a fitted satin gown, speaking with an older couple.
She turned.
Her gaze landed on me.
Then on Julian.
The smile vanished from her face.
She dropped her champagne glass.
It hit the floor and shattered.
Several people turned.
