You Left Me At The Altar, Now You Beg Me

ARIA

“The groom ought to be here by now.”

The compere’s voice rings out for the second time.

I have been smiling the entire time. Not because I am happy. Because over five hundred guests are watching me, and if I stop smiling, they’ll know something is wrong before I do.

“He’s probably still in a meeting,” I whisper to my father for the third time.

Dad squeezes my hand. Tighter than usual. “Whatever happens today,” he says, “promise me one thing.”

I do not let go of his hands. “What?”

He shifts closer. “Never believe you are less because they have money.”

I laugh softly, a little confused. “Dad—”

“Promise me.”

I nod. “I promise.”

The orchestra plays the same sixteen bars of Pachebel’s Canon for the fourth time because no one has told them to stop.

The wedding planner downs the first time. Everything is fine; her calm demeanour and smile say it. But she won’t meet my eyes.

A second time, my eyes catch her as she walks, leans into Marcus and whispers something I can’t hear.

Behind me, Marcus is staring at his phone like it bites him.

“Marcus,” I say, “Where is he?”

He steps forward and opens his mouth. “Aria… I—”

Just then, his phone rings. He looks down, and whatever was climbing up his throat goes back down without it. His expression darkens as he mutters under his breath.

“I have to take this,” he says and walks toward the vestry.

It is almost an hour. Damian is not here, and his best man is suddenly acting strange. My heartbeat increases with each second that passes. I grab my phone and dial Damian.

Voicemail.

“His battery’s probably dead,” I say, to no one, to everyone, to myself.

The wedding planner comes again a third time. She is crying. That’s when I stop waiting for someone to explain it to me.

“I’m going to Sinclair Group,” I say to my father. “I’ll find out myself.”

He tries to stop me, but I will not stand here thinking of what people will say anymore. I take one step down the aisle. My phone rings before I take the second. Unknown number.

“Miss Cole?” A man’s voice, calm and steady.

“Yes, is this about Damian?” I cut in, “Is he—”

“I’m calling on behalf of Mr. Sinclair. I’m sorry to inform you that today’s ceremony has been cancelled.”

My head spins immediately. The organ keeps playing. I keep smiling. My brain simply refuses the sentence.

“Cancelled?”

“Mr. Sinclair will not be attending.”

“Wait… I don’t… Can I speak to him? Can you put him—”

The line goes dead.

No apology. No explanation. Nothing. I’m still staring at the phone trying to process everything when a phone buzzes loudly behind me. Then another. Guests all around the cathedral look down their screens at once; the murmurs increase.

Suddenly, the lights above the altar flicker and the cathedral screen changes.

People gasp. Heads drop. Faces change, one after another, with confusion, then shock, then something close to pity.

SINCLAIR GROUP ANNOUNCES THE ENGAGEMENT OF CEO DAMIAN SINCLAIR TO VICTORIA HARGROVE, CALLING OFF HIS WEDDING WITH MISS ARIA COLE.

“Oh my God,” someone breathes.

My knees nearly give away. I grip my bouquet until my knuckles turn white. A camera flashes inside the church. Then another. A boy near the front is already filming me.

Beside me, my father rises to his feet.

“Everyone remain seated,” he says as loud as his voice can carry, and reaches for the compere’s microphone, trying to control the damage alone. “ My daughter…”

His voice shakes, then it stops. Then his hands fly to his chest, and his knees buckle.

“Dad!”

He is on the marble before I finish the word.

“Somebody call an ambulance!” I’m screaming it, on my knees in my wedding dress, his hand cold in mine while cameras that were pointed at me minutes ago swing toward him instead.

Everything happens so fast. Within minutes, I am at the hospital, defying voices, murmurs and camera flashes.

I remember running down the aisle, holding my wedding dress, pursuing the stretcher as they wheel my father away.

At the hospital, a nurse cuts the veil from my hair with a pair of scissors because it won’t fit through the scanner door. I watch the netting fall to the floor, and I don’t move to pick it up.

“The shock triggered a stroke,” the doctor tells me.

I stare at him and nod. Because nodding is easier than screaming. My throat locks, and nothing moves on them for seconds.

My phone won’t stop buzzing.

AGATHA GENERAL: ICU Deposit Required Within 24 Hours.

Then seconds later, another message.

BANK ALERT: Outstanding Wedding Loan; Payment Overdue.

Dad had taken that loan so I could have a wedding he thought would make Damian’s family finally see me as an equal. Now the wedding is gone, the debt remains, and the only man who could carry both is lying on a bed with a tube in his arm.

I make it to the parking lot as fast as my legs can carry and throw up. I lean against my car, breath shallow, a cold sweat breaking across my neck.

I take off the ring because seeing it still on my finger rips my heart apart.

That’s when I notice the black SUV parked across the street. Windows blacked out. Engine running. For a second, I am certain someone is inside watching me. It pulls away before I can read the plate.

I get in my car, and I know exactly where I am going.

I’m not going home to cry into a pillow. I am not disappearing quietly so Damian can humiliate me before the world and go on with his life. He owes me answers, and I am going to get them.

Sinclair Group headquarters rises out of the skyline as I approach. I park across the street, still in my dress, makeup ruined.

I walk toward the revolving doors like I have every right to be there. The security guard at the front desk looks up, recognizes me, and reaches for his radio.

“Ma’am, I need you to wait right—”

“I’m not waiting,” I scream. “I’m the woman he was supposed to marry two hours ago. Now get out of my way.”

You do not leave a woman at the altar and expect her to disappear quietly.

Damian Sinclair took everything from me in a single morning.

I am about to make sure he looks me in the eye and tells me why.