Chapter Four

It’s just my mother and me now.

She sits beside me, fussing gently with the lace on my dress, her hands steady but soft. She doesn’t say much. For an instant, her palm rests upon my knee, mimicking childhood habits.

A short while later, she glances toward the entry.

“Edward’s mother wanted to come in to see you,” she says, voice low. “We told her you needed a moment alone.”

I nod without bothering to ask what excuse they gave. I honestly don’t care. Before I can say anything further, there’s a knock on the door. My mum rises to answer it, and my father steps inside. He’s dressed in that soft grey suit I picked for him months ago, when all of this still felt like a fairytale. The tie matches perfectly. He looks polished, calm. The calm that holds other people together.

He says nothing at first.

He walks straight to me and leans down, pressing a kiss to my temple. His hand rests lightly on my back. I just sit there with my eyes closed, breathing in the familiar scent of his aftershave.

“No matter what happens today,” he speaks with quiet warmth, “I’m proud of you.”

I blink back the stinging sensation in my optics, elevating my cranium to observe him. “Thank you, Daddy,” I say, my voice quieter than I expected. “That means a lot to me.”

And it really does...more than he’ll ever know.

My mother takes the lead. He offers his arm, and I take it. Together, we begin the slow walk down the aisle.

The reception awaits, sheltered beyond the hotel, under warm lights strung up near the shoreline, permitting the breeze to pass, bearing scents of salt plus jasmine, gently touching the skin, impossible to ignore. The sun is high; the sky is sharp and blue, and rows of white chairs line the path to the altar. The guests are all sitting, waiting. However, upon their view of me... when they really see me... gasps ripple through the crowd.

Voices rise in hushed murmurs.

My dress moves with every step, black lace clinging to my curves, trailing behind me like smoke. It wasn’t what they had expected. Not today. Not this sort of wedding, specifically from me.

But I keep walking. Eyes forward. Heart steady.

Edward stands at the front, flanked by his groomsmen. His suit is crisp, his hair styled just the way he likes it. But his face has shifted. The confidence drains from it with each step I take. The smile on his face is faltering. His forehead creases. His jaw is locking.

He knows something is coming. He just doesn’t know what.

My father and I reach the altar. He leans close and squeezes my hand before releasing it. Then he steps back and takes his seat.

The priest opens his book, his voice calm and measured, rising just above the soft rustle of the breeze.

“Dearly beloved, we gather here today in the presence of God and these witnesses to join this man and this woman in holy matrimony...”

He continues, words steady, familiar. A rhythm meant to soothe. But nothing about this moment feels calm.

Edward leans closer. His voice drops low, sharp, and urgent.

“Fiona, what is the meaning of this?” he hisses through clenched teeth. “Are you trying to embarrass me? You know my position. You know who I am. The press is here.”

He doesn’t look at me as he speaks. His jaw is tight. His eyes scan the rows of guests, all watching now, all whispering. The murmurs are constant, layered like waves crashing quietly into each other. Some guests sit still as stones. Others lean in. Some glance at me and Edward like we’ve turned into a spectacle.

The priest pauses and clears his throat. Edward still hasn’t noticed what’s about to happen.

But I have.

The projector screen near the altar flickers to life. A soft glow catches the priest’s attention, then the guests’. Edward has not seen it yet because he is facing me. 

My expression is calm, as I watch Edward, leaning close so only he can hear.

“My wedding dress got ruined,” I whisper, letting the words hang there for a breath. “Too much crawling around hotel carpets stains white silk.”

He stiffens.

I smile sweetly and look past him, just as the screen behind him flickers to life.

An unmistakable sound begins the audio. It is definitely a sound that should not belong at a wedding. The gasps begin again, louder now, sharper. Some people get up from their chairs. Some cover their mouths. Others squint at the screen, confused, trying to understand what they’re seeing.

But I know exactly what it is.

The video is playing.

Edward’s voice comes through first, rough, every word soaked in the filth I have heard too many times before. His face is twisted in pleasure, his body moving over hers in that same rhythm I once knew by heart. His hands grip the headboard, his mouth spilling those lines he always used, the ones he thought could make a woman lose herself and believe he meant every word.

It’s all there.

The crowd erupts in a wave of disbelief. His mother clutches her pearls, looking like she might faint. His father stands frozen, face pale. The priest takes a small step back and mutters something under his breath.

I turn my gaze toward the girl he cheated with... his own supposed distant cousin, the one who sat at our dinner table and smiled like butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth. The same girl we politely asked if she’d like to be a bridesmaid. She had declined, all soft apologies and a sweet smile, with the excuse that she didn’t want to “steal attention” since she’s a famous model.

The nerve of it!

But now we know the truth. She will certainly steal all the attention. Not just here. Not just today. She might be the talk of Florida by sundown. Maybe the entire country. Who knows, maybe even the Vatican.

After all, it takes a special woman to climb into bed with her own cousin and still pose for a campaign the next morning like nothing happened. At least now we know why.

The surrounding murmurs are louder now, rippling like a rising tide. Gasps. Whispers.

Edward is still standing there, stunned. His mouth opens. Closes. Opens again. Words are there, but none of them matter now.

I smile sweetly as syrup. “Well, at least now he can keep it in the family.”

That does it.

I hear my girls erupt into loud laughter just like we rehearsed, prompting other guests to join in.

And my dear cheating soon to be ex is now trembling, preparing to spew shit out of his dirty cheating mouth.

“Fiona… Baby,” he blurts out, “I can explain. It’s not...it’s not what it looks like.”

Why do cheaters always use the same damn line? It is exactly what it looks like. I smile at him with a soft, patient smile.

“It’s okay, darling.”

He looks confused. Hope flickers across his face for a second.

I turn to the priest. He’s watching me with quiet understanding, like he’s seen more heartbreak in satin shoes than most ever will.

“Forgive me, Father,” I say to him, steady and certain, though the words carry a weight of more than I can explain.

He gives a slow, kind nod. You’re forgiven, my child.

I draw a breath and face the crowd one last time.

“Everyone,” I say loud and clear, “the wedding is off.”