Chapter 3 - The Silhouette Above
The figure on the mezzanine leaned against the wrought-iron railing, draped in a shawl of deep crimson silk that defied every pastel rule of the wedding palette. Even from a distance of forty feet, the sharp, ironic smile cut through the dimness of the upper landing. It was a face Julian hadn't seen in five years—a face the internet presumed was buried six feet deep beneath a headstone in upstate New York.
"Well, well," a smooth, cultured voice drifted down, rich with amusement. "I thought the groom would run faster when he finally got the message."
Julian staggered backward, his heels colliding with the edge of a floral arrangement. Fine china and porcelain vases crashed to the floor, scattering white petals across the marble. "Maya?" he breathed, the name tearing from his throat like broken glass. "No. That’s impossible. You're dead. We have the death certificate."
"Paper is so easily forged when you have a good graphic designer and a compliant county clerk," Maya replied casually, pushing off the railing and beginning her slow descent down the grand staircase. Each step was a metronome of dread. "Isn't that right, Clara? Or should I call you by the name you used when you helped me pack my bags?"
Clara’s knees buckled, but she caught herself against the edge of the altar table, her breathing turning hyperventilating and shallow. "Julian, she's lying. She's unstable. She tried to ruin my life back then, and she's doing it now for the cameras."
"The cameras are still rolling, folks," a muffled voice from the back of the hall reminded them, as the panic-stricken wedding planner desperately tried to shoo away the livestream operators.
Julian didn't look at the cameras. He didn't look at little Lily, who was now hiding behind a pillar. He kept his eyes locked on Maya, who had reached the halfway landing, her red silk dress catching the light like a spreading stain.
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"You didn't answer my text, Julian," Maya purred, stopping three steps from the bottom. "I asked why you stopped the wedding. Were you afraid of committing bigamy, or just afraid of the truth?"
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