The silver trays shook as the champagne flutes sat on them. I could feel two hundred pairs of eyes on me. It felt like the fire on my left cheek was spreading through my whole body, like ripples in poisoned water. The string quartet had stopped playing in the middle of a note, and their bows were frozen in the air. The June breeze seemed to hold its breath, too. My bridal veil was now twisted because he had pushed it with his hand.
My teeth had cut the inside of my cheek, and I could taste copper in my mouth. The white roses in my bouquet shook in my hand, and the edges of their petals started to turn brown, as if they had also felt the violence of this moment. And there he was.
My hubby for exactly forty-seven minutes. The man I had adored for three years. The man whose child I was carrying, even if no one else knew.
Not even him. His hand was still up a little, and his fingers were curled as if he couldn’t believe what they had just done. His sister stood behind him, her red lips curled into a tiny smile, and her eyes sparkled with what looked like victory.
What did she say to him in a low voice? What could a person say to get a man so angry that he would hit his wife in front of everyone they knew?
I opened my mouth. The quiet went on and on, like a wire that was about to break. Everyone leaned in, waiting for me to cry, run away, or fall apart.
But I didn’t cry. Did I smile? And what I did next? What I spoke in that loud voice that resonated across the shocked garden reception would hurt him in ways he couldn’t even begin to understand. But I’m getting ahead of myself.
Please let me take you back. Let me show you how we came to this point of beautiful, awful destruction.
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The day I met Julian Clark was the worst day of my life. My mom had just passed away. Pancreatic cancer is quick and cruel.
I was 26 years old and stood in the parking lot of the funeral home, trying to remember how to breathe. The air smelled and tasted like cut grass and exhaust. The black dress I wore was uncomfortably snug around my ribs.
I wasn’t able to get back inside. I couldn’t stand to hear another person tell me that she was in a better place or that time heals all wounds. Time doesn’t make things better.
It merely shows you how to stroll around with the cut and seem like you’re not bleeding. I was resting against my car, pressing my palms on the hot metal hood, when I heard footsteps on gravel.
“You seem to need this more than I do.”
I raised my head. A man stood there, tall and thin, with dark hair that fell across his forehead. His eyes were a unique tint of grey-green, like sea glass.
He was offering a silver flask.
“I don’t drink with people I don’t know,” I said.
“Good policy.” He took a sip from the flask himself first, then offered it again. “I’m Julian.” «Now we’re not strangers.»
I took it. It hurt to drink the whiskey, but it was a different type of hurt than mourning. A pain that is cleaner.
“Who did you lose? I asked.
“My aunt. You? »
“My mom.” He nodded slowly. There was something about his face.
Maybe an award. It was like he knew there were no proper words, therefore he wasn’t going to look for them. We stood there for a long time, not saying anything, just passing the flask back and forth.
Just being united in our own sadness. That’s how it all began. That’s how he got into my life, into the empty, raw space that my mother’s death left behind.
Julian worked in real estate development. Successful, driven, and full of that special kind of confidence that comes with never having been really broken. His family had money, ancient money, the kind that spoke softly instead of loudly.
His dad ran a huge construction business. He remarked that losing his mother when he was young helped him understand loss. But knowing what loss is and living with it are not the same thing.
He asked me out in the old-fashioned way. Flowers were sent to my office. I worked as a junior accountant at a medium-sized company. It wasn’t really exciting.
Going out to eat in places I couldn’t afford. We would go to bed-and-breakfasts in Vermont on the weekends, where we would make love as it rained on the windows and he would run his fingers over the curvature of my back.
He told me once, with his warm breath on my neck, “You’re different.” “Everyone else just wants something from me.” You only want me.
I trusted him. I really believed all he said.
After we had been dating for six months, he introduced me to his sister Veronica. She was three years younger than Julian and had the same sharp cheekbones and calculating eyes.
But his eyes were warm, while hers were cold. We had breakfast at a fancy café in the city. Veronica was twenty minutes late and wore a white outfit that was probably more expensive than my monthly rent.
She kissed Julian on both cheeks and then held out a limp hand to me.
“So you’re the bookkeeper,” she continued. Not “Nice to meet you” or “I’ve heard so much about you.”
She said that with the slightest twist of her lip, just a declaration of my job.
“That’s right,” I responded, keeping my voice calm.
“How cute.” She took her menu. “Julian always liked strays.”
“Veronica,” Julian began, his voice sounding like a warning.
She shrugged and called the waiter over. “What? I’m just saying she’s not what we thought she’d be.
That should have been my first hint. But I was so desperate for love and so eager to replace the hole my mother had left that I overlooked the warning signs.
I told myself Veronica just needed time. That she cared about her sibling. That I could win her over.
I was wrong on a lot of things. On the anniversary of my mother’s passing, Julian asked me to marry him.
He drove me back to the parking area of the funeral home. The precise place where we first met. At first, I felt it was mean. But then I realized what he had done.
The whole area changed. There were string lights hanging from the trees. There was a violinist nearby who was playing something quiet and spooky.
The ground was covered in rose petals. Julian knelt on one knee in the middle of it all, clutching a ring that caught the last rays of sunshine like a star that had been caught.
“You’ve made me believe in second chances,” he said. His voice broke with emotion. “I want to spend the rest of my life showing you that you made a good choice by taking a chance on me.”
“Marry me.” Please.
I agreed. How could I not?
The ring was made of platinum and had a diamond that weighed three carats. It felt weighty on my finger, full of promise and opportunity. We kissed while the violinist played, and I allowed myself think that I could have this.
That I was worthy of happiness. That the universe might finally be giving me something good after all the bad things that had happened to me. We picked a date: June, which is 18 months from now.
You have plenty of time to organize the perfect wedding. Veronica wouldn’t let anybody else be my maid of honor.
She squeezed my hand tightly and added, “We’re going to be sisters.” “We should be close.”
I wanted to trust her. I wanted to believe her. But at every dress fitting, cake tasting, and vendor meeting, I saw her looking at me with those frigid eyes.
And sometimes, when she thought I wasn’t watching, she would lean over and say something to Julian. His face would get a little darker before he smiled again.
“What does she keep saying to you?” I asked him once after a really stressful meeting with the florist.
“Nothing important,” he said. “She is just worried about her own life.” Don’t let it get to you.
But it did bother me. It felt like a splinter that I couldn’t quite get to. I discovered out I was pregnant three months before the wedding.
I took the test in the workplace bathroom, and my hands were shaking so severely that I could hardly keep the stick still. Two lines in pink. Without a doubt.
I was pregnant with Julian’s child. The timing was awful. We had agreed to wait until after the wedding, when we had been married for at least a year.
But it was occurring anyway. Life not going the way we planned it. That night, I chose to inform him over dinner.
I picked out a small onesie that stated “Worth the Weight” and wrapped it in tissue paper. I was both scared and excited. This was the future that was growing inside me.
This showed that all the agony may lead to something beneficial. I got to his place early with the key he had given me. I could hear voices coming from the bedroom even though the lights were off.
Julian’s voice and another one. Woman. My heart stopped.
For a terrible moment, I thought… But then I heard the second voice. Veronica.
I moved closer, not meaning to listen in but unable to stop myself. The door to the bedroom was slightly open. I could see them seated on the edge of the bed with their backs to me through the gap.
Veronica said, “You have to tell her before the wedding.” “It’s not right to let her go into this without knowing.”
Julian responded, “I can’t.” There was something thick in his voice. Do you feel guilty? Scared? “If she finds out, she’ll go.”
“Then she might want to go. You know this is going to end badly.
“I love her.”
“Do you? Or do you just love the thought of her? The broken young orphan who loves you more than anything else.
Veronica’s voice was sharp. “But I’ve looked into it, Julian.” Her money problems are a disaster.
“She has credit card debt, student loans, and a bankruptcy from when she was 22.”
“That’s not her now.”
“Isn’t it? Get up. She’s taking advantage of you. She saw money and a route out of her sad little life, and she grabbed on. Just like…
“Don’t.” Julian’s voice was sharp like a whip. “Don’t put her next to Mom.”
A long period of silence. Then Veronica’s voice got quieter and more menacing. “I’m just trying to keep you safe.”
“Do you know what happened to Dad after Mom died?” That woman came in, pretended to be a weeping widow, and took half of his money. I won’t let you go through the same thing.
I had my palm over my lips to keep a sound that was part gasp and half sob from coming out. Debt on your credit card. Going bankrupt. Yes, I experienced money problems when I was in my early twenties.
Everyone did. But I had slowly and painfully gotten out of them. And I never thought of Julian as a way to get money.
Had I? The doubt came in like poisonous gas. Was there something deep down in me that was lured to his stability, affluence, and capacity to give me the safety my life had always lacked?
I loved him. I loved him for who he was, not what he owned. But as I stood there in the dark, listening to them pick apart my character, my motives, and my worth, I felt something break inside me.
I didn’t even know it was fragile until it shattered. I quietly stepped back. I went out of the flat.
The onesie sat in my purse, unwrapped, and the secret of our child was never spoken. I didn’t tell him what I heard. I told myself I was being paranoid and that I had gotten it wrong.
But the phrase stayed in my head for weeks. “She’s using you.” “What a sad little life.” “Just like Mom.”
The preparations for the wedding sped up to a crazy blur. I was becoming worse with my morning sickness, but I didn’t let anyone know. I smiled through the last fittings, the rehearsal dinner, and the constant stream of family members coming from out of town.
Julian seemed like he was thinking about something else. He worked late more often. He answered the phone in other rooms.
There were times when I saw him looking at me with an unreadable look, as if he were trying to figure out a riddle he didn’t get.
“Are you happy?” I asked him one night, a week before the wedding. We were in bed with the lights off and the city shining through the windows.
He turned to look at me, but the shadow hid his face. “What kind of question is that?” “
“An honest one.” Are you content? About us. About getting married.”
He didn’t say anything for a long time. For too long.
“I love you,” he finally said, which was hardly the same as “yes.”
I wanted to press and get actual answers. But I was scared of what I might hear. So I let it go, along with all the other things we didn’t say to each other.
Veronica threw me a bridal shower that seemed more like an interrogation than a party. His aunts and cousins asked me very specific questions about my family, my background, and my goals for the future.
Someone said I would be signing a prenup, right? The crowd got quiet when I replied we hadn’t talked about one.
Veronica smiled. “Oh, how modern of you both.” But her eyes conveyed something else.
I asked Julian about the prenup that night. I answered carefully, “Veronica brought it up.” “Should we?” I mean, do you want me to sign one? »
He seemed to be in pain. “My lawyer brought it up, but I told him no. I don’t want to start our marriage thinking it would end in divorce.
“But if it would make you feel better…”
“I said no.” His voice was stern. Then, in a gentler voice, “I trust you.”
But did he? Is that true? The doubt was now a living entity, curled up in my stomach with our growing child.
There was a lot of chaos on the morning of the wedding. While a team of stylists worked on my hair and cosmetics, my bridesmaids flitted around me like nervous birds. The ivory silk garment with a long train and beautiful beading hung on the back of the door like a ghost.
I woke up feeling sick, which was becoming normal. But today, it was far worse. I barely made it to the restroom before puking up the tiny bit of breakfast I had eaten.
“Nerves,” one of the bridesmaids said with sympathy.
Not nerves. Our baby is here and making itself known.
I still hadn’t told Julian. I always meant to, but the time never felt right. Now it was our wedding day, and I had to wait until tonight, when we were alone in the honeymoon suite, for everything to be legal and final.
The ceremony was set for three in the afternoon in the gardens of Julian’s family’s estate. A large piece of land with well-kept lawns, old oak trees, and a view of the river that seemed like it came from a painting.
Two hundred people. An orchestra with eight pieces. Flowers that had come from Ecuador by plane. It was everything I had hoped for and nothing I wanted.
An hour before the event, Veronica arrived to my dressing room. She was already wearing her maid of honor attire, which was a deep burgundy color that made her skin look like porcelain.
“You look beautiful,” she murmured, but the compliment didn’t mean anything.
“Thanks.”
She got closer and looked at my reflection in the mirror. “Can I say something to you? Sister to sister.
My stomach hurt. “Of course.”
“Julian has been through a lot.” Our father’s life was almost ruined by our mother’s death. He got anxious and thought that every lady who showed interest in him merely wanted his money.
“It made him sick. “Made him suspicious and cruel.” She stopped and looked at me through the glass.
“Julian is scared of turning into him.” Of being used.
“I don’t need him,” I answered softly.
“I know that.” You already know that. “But Julian…” she said with a sigh. “Be patient with him. And know that I’m only trying to keep my brother safe.
“That’s what family does.” She squeezed my shoulder and left, leaving behind a faint smell of her perfume.
Something that costs a much and is frigid, as winter roses. The music got louder. The doors opened.
My uncle, my mother’s brother, was the only family I had left. He led me down the aisle. Julian appeared at the altar in a black tuxedo, looking like all of my dreams come true.
The sun in the late afternoon made his hair bronze. As I got closer, his eyes stayed on mine, and for a time, just a moment, everything else faded away. This was real.
This was going on. We were planning to get married. It was a traditional ritual.
The officiant talked about love, commitment, and becoming partners. We made promises to each other, but they weren’t personal ones because Julian said he wasn’t comfortable speaking in front of people.
We gave each other rings. He pulled up my veil.
“I now declare you husband and wife.” You can kiss the bride now.
He kissed me, and the guests clapped. I could taste salt. I wasn’t sure if it was from my tears or his.
We walked back down the aisle together, holding hands, while the symphony played and rose petals fell like snow. People were happy. The cameras went off.
Everything was great. Then we went to the reception in the garden. Time for cocktails.
The golden light of late afternoon paints everything in gold. Waiters walking about with champagne and snacks. People are laughing, drinking, and enjoying in small groups.
Julian and I stood by the fountain and accepted congratulations. My heels hurt my feet, but I kept smiling. His hand was on my lower back, warm and possessive.
“Excuse me for a moment,” he said, kissing my head. “I need to talk to my dad.” Family communication courses
He walked away. A number of his business partners came up to me right away and asked me about the honeymoon, where we would live, and what I planned to do for work after the wedding.
I answered without thinking, and my answers were slick and prepared. But I kept my eye on Julian.
He was talking to his father near the edge of the garden. And then Veronica showed up. She touched Julian’s elbow and pulled him to the side.
They walked away from the crowd and into a group of rose bushes. I couldn’t hear what she was saying, but I could see that her lips were moving quickly. She took something out of her purse.
A piece of paper that has been folded. She gave it to Julian. He opened it.
He looked at it. And I saw his face shift. It was like seeing ice develop on top of water.
His whole body went cold and stiff. He clinched his jaw. Those hands, the ones that had stroked me so sweetly just hours before, folded the paper into a tight ball.
He raised his head. He saw my eyes across the garden. And I didn’t know anything about them.
He began to walk toward me. The mob moved out of the way without thinking. People backed away because of the look on his face.
My heart was racing. I didn’t know what was going on, but I knew it was horrible. I could feel it in my bones, like the air pressure was dropping like a storm was coming.
“Julian?” My voice came out smaller than I wanted it to.
He came to a stop in front of me. I could smell the champagne on his breath and see the muscle in his jaw jumping.
“Is it true?” His voice was low and scary.
“What is true? I don’t…
And suddenly his hand moved. Quick and harsh. The sound of his palm hitting my cheek was like a gunshot in the garden.
Pain shot into my face. I almost lost my footing when I stumbled to the side. My veil fell off.
Tears that were both painful and shocking made my eyesight blurry. Everyone at the reception stopped talking. I felt my burning cheek and tasted blood.
I looked up at my husband, who had only been married to me for less than an hour, and saw a stranger looking back at me.
“How could you?” His voice broke. “Why would you do this to me?” »
I had no idea what he was talking about. I was having trouble processing what had just transpired. He’d hit me.
In front of everyone. The day of our wedding. Veronica stood behind him with her palm on her lips and her eyes wide.
There was, however, something else in her face. Something it looked a lot like happiness. The guests were stuck.
Two hundred people were shocked and stopped. Then I got it. No matter what was written on that document or what Veronica had told him, it wasn’t true.
It had to be. She had been planning this moment and setting me up from the start. The anger that came over me was clearer than anything else I’d ever felt.
It took away the agony, the perplexity, and the hurt. It merely made things clear. I stood up straight, raised my chin, and looked my husband right in the eye.
“Ask me what you think I did,” I said. My voice was steady like a rock. “Say it out loud.”
“In front of everyone. Say what you’re accusing me of.
Julian’s face changed. “You know what you did.”
“Say it.”
“The cash. The accounts in other countries. For the past year, you’ve been stealing from my business.
He raised his voice, which was full of anger at being betrayed. “Veronica showed me the proof. All of the bank statements and wire transfers go back to you.
“You’ve stolen almost $500,000.”
The accusation was like poison gas in the air. Five hundred thousand bucks. Stealing money. Accounts in other countries.
I almost laughed. It was so silly and clearly made up that for a moment I couldn’t see how anyone could believe it.
“Show me,” I responded.
“What?” »
“Show me this proof.” Show it to everyone.
Julian thought for a moment. He stared at Veronica, who instantly moved up.
“I don’t think this is the right place,” she said.
“Show me.” I put my hand out.
Julian took the wrinkled paper out of his pocket and smoothed it down. It was a printout of bank statements, account numbers, and details of transactions.
The yellow emphasized my name. Hundreds of transfers, each worth thousands of dollars, all going into an account in the Cayman Islands. I looked at it quite closely.
The fake was good. Professional. Someone put in a lot of effort and money to make this.
I said, “These are fake.”
“Don’t,” Julian said, his voice breaking. “Stop lying to me.”
“I had my lawyer check everything. There is an account. The cash is real. The transfer authorizations have your signature on them.
“Then your lawyer isn’t very good. Or in on it.
I turned to look at the crowd. A few of them looked away, ashamed. Others leaned in, eager for the drama.
I spoke louder so that everyone could hear. “I’ve never taken a single dollar from my husband.” I have never established an account in another country. I have never signed anything that gave someone else permission to move money.
“This is a lie,” I said as I turned back to Julian. “And I can prove it.”
“How?” “Veronica’s voice was sharp.”
I smiled back at her. A smile that was frigid and awful. “Because I’m an accountant.”
“And I spent the last six months going over every single financial record in Julian’s company in order to get ready to integrate our finances after the wedding. I know all the accounts, all the transactions, and all the signatures. I held out the documents and said, “These are not mine.”
I headed to the table that was closest to where my maid of honor had dropped her purse. I took out my phone. I checked my email. I found the folder I had been making just in case I needed it.
I said, “These are the real financial records of Clark Development,” holding up the phone. And you know what I found when I looked at them? Patterns that are interesting.
“Money moving in ways that don’t make sense.” Payments made to fake corporations. Bills for work that was never done.
Julian’s face had turned white. “What are you talking about?” »
“I mean stealing money.” Actual theft. Someone has been stealing from your business for a long time. And I know who.
I looked at Veronica. “It’s you.”
Veronica laughed. Really laughed. “That’s crazy.” Why would I take something from my own family?
“Didn’t your father cut you off two years ago?” After you lost all your trust money playing games. Because you have debts that would kill you if they came to light.
“Because you thought your brother’s business was a piggy bank.” And you know exactly how to get to it without being caught.
I opened a spreadsheet on my phone. “Until I started to look. Until I saw that every shell company you created to transfer money goes back to a single legal firm.»
The law firm of your guy. The same lover you’ve been keeping from your family since they wouldn’t like you dating someone from a lower social class.
She turned pale. “You’re not telling the truth.”
“Am I? Do you want me to show everyone his name? Do you want me to tell you how he helped you make fake businesses, fake invoices, and fake vendors? How have you stolen more than three million dollars in the last five years? »
The crowd gasped. Julian fell back as if I had punched him.
He answered, “That’s not possible.” “Veronica would never.”
“She would.” Yes. And she’s been frightened that I’d discover it.»
“That’s why she’s been trying to turn you against me from the start. That’s why she made up this proof tonight. She wanted you to divorce me right away, before I could conclude my audit. Before I could tell her the truth.
I looked at Veronica. She was shaking, and her immaculate calmness was breaking.
“You almost got away with it.” You’re smart. The accounts are hard to find.
“But you did something wrong. You used the same route number for more than one transfer. “The rest fell apart quickly once I saw the pattern.”
Julian was looking at his sister as he had never seen her before. “Veronica?” “
“She’s lying,” she said, but her voice was faint now. “Julian, you can’t trust her. She’s just trying to get away with it.
“Show me,” I responded. “Let’s call the cops right away.” Allow them to look into it. Let’s see whose accounts stand up to close examination. “Mine or yours?”
Be quiet. Long and awful. Then Veronica’s face did something odd.
The fear went away. Her face became smooth and frigid, like glass.
“You’re such a dumb little bitch,” she murmured quietly. “Do you think you’ve won?” »
“I believe the truth will come out. In one way or another.
“The truth?” « She laughed, and it sounded like glass breaking.
“The truth is that Julian never loved you. I made sure of that. “Every doubt I planted and every suspicion I fed… it was all real.”
“Deep down, he never believed in you. He never thought you loved him for who he was.
She looked at her brother. “Say it to her. Let her know how many nights you spent up worrying that she was using you. Tell her about the private eye you hired to look into her background.
Julian’s face said it all. He did. He had really hired someone to look into me.
Something inside me finally broke, and it will never be fixed.
