Chapter 3
The muffled strains of a string quartet warming up drifted up through the floorboards, playing a cheerful Vivaldi concerto that felt entirely surreal given the devastation inside the bridal suite. One hundred and sixty people—colleagues, university friends, distant relatives who had not seen each other in a decade—were currently mingling in the grand ballroom below, sipping mimosas and admiring the floral arrangements that Claire had spent four months designing. None of them knew that the foundation of the entire event had just cracked wide open.
Julian rubbed the back of his neck, his dark wavy hair slightly disheveled from the stress of the confrontation. "You are projecting your own anxieties onto a completely innocent moment," he insisted, though the conviction in his voice was beginning to fray at the edges. He glanced sideways at Lily, a silent plea for her to back him up, to offer some plausible explanation that would satisfy Claire and allow them to salvage the afternoon. But Lily remained mute, paralyzed by the sudden exposure of their shared transgression.
Beatrice looked from Julian to Claire, her initial annoyance shifting into genuine alarm. As a woman who prized social standing above all else, the prospect of a public cancellation was a nightmare of epic proportions. "Claire, think of the optics," Beatrice hissed, stepping closer and lowering her voice as if shielding the conversation from the invisible guests below. "If you walk out of this hotel right now, do you have any idea what people will say? The rumors will be catastrophic for our family name, not to mention your own professional reputation in the design community."
"Let them talk," Claire replied calmly, her gaze drifting toward the heavy mahogany door. "Reputations can be rebuilt. Lives built on lies cannot. I am not going to walk down an aisle knowing that the man waiting for me has spent the morning admiring another woman wearing my identity. Julian can explain to the guests that the bride refused to participate in a farce. Or he can go down there, put on a brave face, and marry Lily in my dress for all I care. But I am walking out of this building in five minutes."
May you like
Lily finally found her voice, the sound small and strained. "Claire, please," she whispered, taking a tentative step forward, the long train of the lace dress dragging heavily across the Persian carpet. "Do not do this over a misunderstanding. I only put it on because... because I wanted to know what it felt like to be loved the way you are being loved. That is all. There was no master plan. There was no betrayal."
Claire turned her head slowly, looking at Lily with an expression that was infinitely sadder than her previous coldness. "You wanted to know what it felt like, Lily? Then you should have found your own man, not tried to slip into mine while the ink on the marriage license was barely dry." She turned back to Julian, whose face had gone pale under the harsh bedroom light. "You have five minutes to clear the room, Julian. After that, I am making an announcement to the ballroom myself."
