Chapter 5 - THE WEDDING TRAP
Marcus wanted to confront her privately.
I said no.
He looked at me.
“Why?”
“Because she’ll deny it.”
“She’ll deny it publicly too.”
“Not the same way.”
He understood.
“You want witnesses.”
“I want her to see me before she has time to prepare.”
The wedding was six weeks away.
Marcus leaned back.
“That’s a terrible idea.”
“Yes.”
“It could go wrong in twenty different ways.”
“Yes.”
“You may not get the reaction you think.”
“I know.”
He studied me.
Then he asked, “Why the wedding?”
I looked at the society announcement on his desk.
Juliette was smiling beside Grant.
Around her neck was my mother’s emerald necklace.
“Because she’s wearing my life.”
So I walked out of the rehabilitation center on the morning of my sister’s wedding.
I wore hospital bandages because I refused to hide what had happened.
I wore the trench coat because the September air hurt my grafted skin.
And I walked barefoot into the Saint Aurelia Ballroom.
Now, standing beneath the chandeliers while Juliette stared at me, one new memory returned.
A door.
Smoke.
My fist pounding against wood.
And Juliette’s voice through the other side.
I could almost hear the words.
Almost.
But not yet.
Marcus must have seen me struggling.
“Don’t force it.”
Juliette found her courage again.
“This is insane.”
She turned toward the guests.
“This woman is unstable. She’s spent years claiming to be my dead sister.”
Grant stared at her.
“Years?”
The word landed heavily.
Juliette froze.
Grant stepped closer.
“You knew about her?”
“She contacted us.”
My father turned toward Juliette.
“What?”
She looked at him.
I watched them.
There it was.
Another crack.
My father genuinely did not know.
Not about me.
Maybe not about everything.
Juliette realized too late what she had admitted.
I stepped toward her.
“You told me nobody knew.”
Marcus looked at me.
Juliette’s eyes sharpened.
I continued.
“The hospital calls. The letters. The attorney warning me to stop impersonating myself.”
My father looked as if someone had struck him.
“What attorney?”
Nobody answered.
Douglas Mercer turned toward Marcus.
“What attorney?”
Marcus removed another file from the briefcase.
“An attorney whose invoices were paid through a Mercer family account authorized by Juliette Mercer.”
My father slowly turned toward his younger daughter.
Juliette shook her head.
“Dad, listen to me.”
But Douglas was no longer looking at the bride.
May you like
He was looking at the papers.
And Marcus had not yet shown him the worst one.
