CHAPTER 9: Repeat It

The courtyard was suddenly enormous.

Gravel, a long white wall, and the four of them. Vivian felt her pulse in her ears. Julian waited, shoulders squared, and behind him his parents hovered like understudies who had lost their lines.

"Say what you said,"

Julian repeated.

"To the cameras. About my godfather. I want to hear it from your mouth without an audience."

"I'm marrying Vincent."

"Again."

"I said I am going to marry him, Julian."

She lifted her chin.

"Today. Right now. Do you need me to write it down?"

Something moved at her side. For a second Vivian thought Vincent had stumbled. Then two large hands caught her around the waist, and the ground vanished beneath her feet.

"Vincent!"

He lifted her clear off the gravel and spun her once, a full turn, the blouse billowing, and she heard herself laugh, a startled, real laugh that surprised her more than anyone. Then he set her down, and before she could breathe he kissed her. It was hard and certain and entirely unlike the kiss in the dark, a kiss meant to be seen. When he let go, her mouth was burning and his eyes were very bright.

"I thought I'd lost,"

He said, only for her.

"I was already planning how to say goodbye."

"I told you I wasn't leaving."

"You told me you needed time."

"I needed ten minutes."

She was out of breath.

"You gave me ten."

Behind them there was a sound like a plate being dropped. Celeste had sat down on the second step with one hand over her mouth, and Gerald stood rigid with his fists at his sides. Julian's face had gone from pale to a mottled red, and then to something very close to gray.

"After everything I did for you,"

Julian said, hoarse. He had found his voice, and it was low and venomous, pitched under his father's.

"Three years. I took you to dinners. I put up with your mother's funeral, your father's debts, your hysterics. I could have had anyone."

"You had anyone,"

said Vivian.

"You had Laila."

"You ungrateful little..."

"And every dollar I ever wired you, Julian? The rent, the car, the loans you swore you'd repay?"

Her voice trembled, and she let it.

"I'll count it today. I'll send you an invoice."

Celeste lunged.

It happened so fast Vivian barely saw it. Celeste's hand swung up, rings flashing, aimed at her face. It never landed. A broad arm intercepted it at the wrist, and Dario was suddenly there, holding Celeste's hand in the air as casually as a man holding a coat on a hook.

"Mrs. Marsh,"

He said politely.

"You'll want to be careful."

"Take your hands off me!"

"Gladly."

He let go, and she stumbled a step back, staring at her own wrist.

"Next time I won't be asked."

You bitch. It rang in his head so loudly he almost said it. You think you can climb into my godfather's bed and use it against me? Go on. Enjoy it. He never keeps anything past the first week. When he's done with you, you'll be on the street where I found you.

His mouth worked, but nothing came out.

On the step, Celeste was thinking in a hot, thin thread: Who does she think she is? A nobody with a dead father's name. She humiliated us in front of the whole city. She'll pay for this. I will see her pay for every second of it.

Vincent drew Vivian against his side. His arm settled around her waist, easy, possessive, and he looked down at the three of them as if only now noticing they were still there.

"What are you staring at?"

He asked.

"Do you want to watch while I enjoy my woman?"

"This isn't right,"

Gerald said hoarsely.

"Vincent, this isn't fair. Julian is your godson. You held him at the font. How dare you steal his fiancée?"

"I haven't stolen anyone."

"You took her into your house, you..."

"Vivian is a grown woman."

He did not raise his voice.

"She was sold to a drug lord by the man she thought she'd marry, and she walked out of that church on her own feet. Everything that happened afterwards, she chose. Ask her."

Every eye turned to her.

"He's right,"

Vivian said.

"Nobody stole me. I was sold. I'm the only one who stole myself back."

Julian flinched as though she'd struck him.

"And let's be honest about something,"

Vincent went on, almost gently.

"Julian never loved her. Not for one day of three years. If he had, he wouldn't have needed a stranger's money to make him feel secure."

"That's a lie."

But Julian's voice had no force in it.

Tires crunched on the drive. A taxi pulled in through the gates that had just closed, which meant someone had opened them, and stopped crookedly by the fountain. The door flew open.

Laila got out.

She was in yesterday's clothes. Her red hair was tied back anyhow, her eyes were swollen, and she looked like someone who had not slept either. She had a paper cup in one hand. When she saw the four of them she stopped dead with the cup half raised.

"Viv," she said.

"Oh, how convenient,"

Said Vincent.

"Look beside you, Julian. There's the woman you truly love."

Laila's gaze flicked, helplessly, from Vivian to Julian to Celeste, who had risen from the stair with murder on her face.

"I didn't... I came to find..."

"You came here?" Celeste hissed.

"Be quiet,"

Julian said, without looking at her.

Vivian watched Laila's eyes. She had known them for eleven years. She knew what they looked like when Laila was lying, and what they looked like when she was ashamed, and neither of those was what she saw now. Laila was frightened, and not of Vivian.

"Viv, please."

Laila took a step toward the car, and Dario shifted without a word to stand between them.

"Just let me talk to you. One minute. You don't understand what's..."

"You had three years, Laila."

"It isn't what you think."

"Then it's worse than I think,"

Vivian said, "and I don't have time for it today."

Laila's face crumpled. Julian saw it and his lip curled, and he reached out and caught her elbow with something very like contempt.

"Stop embarrassing yourself."

It was the second time in two days Vivian had seen Laila obey him, and the second time she felt that something in the picture did not fit. She set it aside. She had a wedding to get to.

Vincent turned and put his hand over Vivian's.

"Come. The church is waiting, and I'd rather not keep a priest on his knees."

"Now?"

"Now."

Dario had the car waiting at the foot of the steps, doors open. Vivian climbed in. Through the rear window she saw Julian standing white-faced by the fountain, his mother clutching his arm, his father already pulling out a phone.

And at the edge of the courtyard Laila lifted one hand and made a small, urgent motion with her lips. Vivian could read it as clearly as if it had been shouted.

Don't go to the church.