All Chapters of The Fine Print of Falling: Chapter 31 - Chapter 40

The knock on Veridian’s office door came during a planning meeting with Sophia about the rooftop garden layout.“Come in,” I called, expecting Marcus or one of the staff.Instead, Vivienne Lockwood stood in the doorway.I hadn’t seen her since the night Xander cut her off. She looked different. Thinner. Her clothes were less ostentatiously expensive—still designer, but subdued. Her hair was pulled back in a simple ponytail instead of her usual elaborate styling.She looked, for the first time since I’d met her, uncertain.“Diana. I’m sorry to interrupt. I can come back—”“Sophia, can we continue this later?” I asked.“Of course.” Sophia gathered her notes, nodding politely to Vivienne as she left.We sat in silence for a moment. Vivienne perched on the edge of the chair across from my desk, her hands clasped tightly in her lap.“I’m sure you’re wondering why I’m here,” she said finally.“The thought crossed my mind.”“I came to apologize. For everything. The things I said at the gala.

The forensic analysis took seventy-two hours.Seventy-two hours of living under siege. Photographers camped outside the penthouse. Reporters shouting questions whenever we left the building. Social media dissecting every aspect of our lives, our relationship, our credibility.Veridian’s reservation line was overwhelmed. Half the calls were from supporters making bookings to show solidarity. The other half were people calling to cancel, saying they wouldn’t eat at a restaurant owned by someone married to a “deadbeat father.”“Don’t look at the comments,” Maya advised during one of her daily check-in calls. “Seriously. Nothing good comes from reading what strangers think about your life.”“Too late. I’ve already seen them.”“Di—”“I know. I know I shouldn’t. But it’s like watching a car crash. I can’t look away.”The worst part wasn’t the strangers condemning Xander. It was the doubt. The quiet, insidious voice asking: what if there was some truth? What if he did have a child and didn’t

“I don’t understand why we need to do this,” I said as Maya dragged me toward a bridal boutique in SoHo. “The ceremony is in three weeks. Isn’t that rushing it?” “Three weeks is plenty of time for alterations. Besides, you deserve a perfect wedding dress. You deserve the whole experience. The trying on. The crying. The moment when you see yourself and think ‘this is it.’” “What if I don’t have that moment?” “Then we keep looking until you do.” The boutique was invitation-only, the kind of place that required appointments booked months in advance. But Xander had called in a favor, and suddenly they had availability. Because that’s what happened now. Doors opened. Impossible things became possible. I was Diana Pembroke, soon to be Diana Lockwood, owner of Veridian, and people treated me accordingly. It still felt surreal. The consultant, an elegant woman named Genevieve. I tried not to flinch as the name reminded me of my step-sister. She looked like one who had an impeccable tas

Three days before the wedding, Vivienne called while I was reviewing final seating arrangements with the wedding planner.“Diana, hi. I hope I’m not interrupting.”“Just wedding chaos. What’s up?”“I was thinking about the ceremony. About what you’ll wear. And I remembered something. Our grandmother, Alexander’s and mine, she had this incredible jeweled hair pin. Art deco, platinum with diamonds and sapphires. It’s been in the Lockwood family for generations.”“That sounds beautiful.”“It is. And I think it would look perfect with your dress and veil. I remember Alexander mentioning years ago that it was supposed to go to his wife. I thought maybe you’d want to wear it.”I paused, touched by the gesture. “Vivienne, that’s really thoughtful. Let me talk to Xander about it.”“Of course. I just wanted to mention it. It’s such a beautiful piece and it would be meaningful. A connection to the family.”After we hung up, I found Xander in his office, reviewing contracts.“Your siste

I don’t know how long I sat there, staring at the documents scattered around me, trying to make sense of something that made perfect, horrible sense. The door to the office opened. “Diana? Did you find the hair pin? You’ve been quiet for a while and I wanted to make sure…” Xander’s voice trailed off. I heard his footsteps stop. Heard his sharp intake of breath. “Diana?” I couldn’t look at him. Couldn’t move. My hands were still shaking, the plan clutched between my fingers. “Baby, what’s wrong? Are you sick?” His footsteps rushed toward me. He was kneeling in front of me within seconds, his hands reaching for mine, concern flooding his face. Then his eyes dropped to the documents in my lap. The photograph of our fathers. The newspaper clippings. The death certificate. The plan in his own handwriting. All the color drained from his face. “Diana.” His voice was barely a whisper. “Diana, I can explain.” I finally looked at him. He flinched at whatever he saw in my eyes.