บททั้งหมดของ Falling For His Forsaken Wife: บทที่ 71 - บทที่ 80

The Plaza ballroom glittered like something out of a dream. Crystal chandeliers cast prismatic light across tables draped in ivory linens, each centerpiece a carefully arranged collection of white orchids and eucalyptus. Wait staff moved through the crowd with trays of champagne and hors d'oeuvres that probably cost more per bite than my first week's rent at Mrs. Martinez's motel.I stood near the entrance in a floor-length emerald gown Sarah had insisted I buy for occasions exactly like this. The silk clung in all the right places, the back cut low enough to be elegant without being scandalous. My hair was up in a loose chignon, small diamond earrings—a gift from Alex—catching the light."You look like you want to bolt," Miguel said, appearing beside me with two glasses of champagne."Is it that obvious?""Only to people who know you." He handed me a glass. "Alex is backstage going over his speech for the third time. He asked me to make sure you do not disappear before he has to go o

I woke to sunlight streaming through the bedroom windows and the smell of coffee. For a moment, I just lay there, disoriented by how rested I felt. Then I checked my phone. Nine-thirty in the morning. I had slept for over nine hours. Alex was sitting in the chair by the window, laptop balanced on his knees, already dressed for the day. He looked up when I stirred. "Good morning, sleeping beauty." "Why did you let me sleep so late?" "Because you needed it. Also because Sarah threatened to physically remove me from the apartment if I woke you up before nine." He set aside the laptop and brought me a cup of coffee. "How do you feel?" I took the coffee and assessed. My head felt clearer than it had in weeks. The constant anxiety that had been humming under my skin had quieted to something manageable. "Better," I admitted. "Much better." "Good. I took the liberty of canceling your morning. You have nothing scheduled until three, when Margaret Whitmore is coming for her studio visi

Three weeks before the wedding, the London pieces shipped. I watched the art handlers carefully wrap each painting in protective materials, secure them in custom crates, and load them into the climate-controlled truck. It felt like watching my children leave for college—proud and terrified in equal measure."They will be fine," James said, reading my expression. "This company has shipped millions of dollars of art without incident. Your paintings are in good hands.""I know. It just feels strange. Letting them go.""That is the hardest part of being an artist. Creating something intensely personal, then releasing it into the world for strangers to judge and interpret and own." He signed the final shipping documents. "You will see them again in London. Six weeks from now, you will stand in that gallery surrounded by your work and realize this is what you were meant to do."After the truck pulled away, I felt untethered. For months, those five paintings had been my focus. My purpose. No

Ten days before the wedding, I woke at three in the morning with my heart racing and my chest tight. Panic attack. I recognized the signs immediately—the irrational fear, the sense that everything was about to collapse, the inability to catch my breath properly.I slipped out of bed carefully, not wanting to wake Alex. Made my way to the bathroom and sat on the cool tile floor, trying to remember the breathing exercises my old therapist had taught me years ago.In for four. Hold for seven. Out for eight.It was not working.The panic was about everything and nothing. The wedding. The London exhibition. The Met acquisition. The pressure to maintain success. The fear that I was not actually good enough and everyone would figure it out simultaneously."Emily?"Alex stood in the doorway, hair rumpled, eyes concerned."I am fine. Just could not sleep.""You are having a panic attack.""I am fine," I insisted, even though I clearly was not.He sat down beside me on the bathroom floor. "Talk

The cocktail hour passed in a blur of congratulations and embraces. While the crew flipped the courtyard from ceremony space to reception venue, guests mingled with champagne and appetizers that were somehow both elegant and approachably delicious.Catherine Reed pulled me aside, mascara slightly smeared from crying."That was the most beautiful ceremony I have ever witnessed," she said. "Not the most elaborate or expensive. The most honest.""Thank you. That means a lot coming from you.""I am sorry it took me so long to see what Alexander saw in you. What everyone else seemed to see immediately." She dabbed at her eyes with a tissue. "Watching you two today—the way you looked at each other, the promises you made—I finally understood. This is what marriage should look like."Richard appeared and handed her a fresh champagne glass. "My wife is not usually this emotionally vulnerable in public. You should feel honored.""I do," I said sincerely.Mrs. Martinez found me next, pulling me