Chapter 2
The words didn't sound protective. They sounded like an instruction to a crowd.
"Give her space."
He'd said it with his hand still out toward the screen, not toward me. His voice was low and even and it carried. I watched it happen in real time. The two servers by the back wall took a step back. My sister in purple didn't move, but the couple beside her did. A half-circle widened around me and him, like someone had drawn chalk around us on the concrete floor of the conservatory.
I was left standing in the white gown under all that daylight. The glass walls made everything too bright. I could feel the heat from the string lights above even though they weren't needed yet. The air smelled like hydrangeas and coffee from the brunch service.
I hadn't moved since the image changed. The photo of us — him and me in the greenery, my hand on his lapel — had been replaced by that dark shape in a doorway. Overexposed. Out of focus. The webcam on top of the projection screen stared back at us with its little red light. I kept breathing through my mouth so no one would hear it shake.
His mother got there first.
She came from my right in that silver dress, the beaded jacket catching the light with every step. Her pearls didn't move when she walked. She didn't touch me. She didn't look at the screen.
"Everyone, let's give them a moment," she said, and her smile was already on. It was the same smile she'd used when the quartet had started late and when the florist brought the wrong shade of ribbon. "The slideshow had a glitch. We're going to reset. Please, more champagne while we sort the tech."
Not comfort. Optics. She was facing the guests, not me. Her hand hovered near my elbow but didn't land. She angled her body so the guests saw her back and saw me being handled.
I looked at her and realized she hadn't asked if I was okay. She'd asked the room to stop looking.
My husband — ten minutes a husband — was still staring at the screen. His shoulders were up inside that tuxedo. His bow tie was perfectly straight. His jaw was locked so tight I could see the muscle jump near his ear. He blinked once, slow.
"I'm going to turn it off," he said to me, quiet. It wasn't a question. He took a step toward the black-draped table where the laptop sat open, its screen glowing.
The young girl with the yellow bow was still there, half-hidden behind the table. She had her hands twisted in front of her navy sleeves. She was looking at me like she wanted me to tell her she'd done something right.
I didn't know why, but I put my hand on the edge of that table. The black cloth was cheap polyester and it slid a little under my palm.
"Don't," I said.
He stopped. His hand was inches from the laptop lid.
The older woman turned her head just enough. Her smile thinned.
"Hon," she said to me, soft but carrying, "let him close it. We don't need to stare at an error."
It wasn't an error. We'd all heard the audio. "It isn't a prank." "Once he signs after the wedding, the property becomes accessible through the trust." "I know him." Those words had filled the glass room and no one had gasped until that last line, when his face changed.
I kept my hand where it was. My fingers were cold. The laptop was warm.
"If we close it, we pretend it didn't happen," I said. My voice was lower than I wanted it to be. I didn't raise it. I couldn't. The whole conservatory was listening to how calm I could stay. "Leave it open."
He looked at me then, really looked at me for the first time since the image had blurred onto the screen. His eyes were wide and then he narrowed them like he was trying to decide if I understood what I was doing. I didn't, not fully. I just knew that if he shut the lid, his mother would clap once and the servers would pour and the string lights would get brighter and I would be the bride who'd made a scene.
He pulled his hand back. He didn't close it. The laptop stayed open, its light spilling onto the black cloth, the projection still throwing that dark silhouette onto the big screen behind us.
His mother exhaled through her nose. She recovered fast.
"Of course," she said to the room. "We'll leave it while we check the file. Everyone, please — the bar is open."
People started to murmur and shift, but they stayed at the perimeter. No one came back into the circle. They held their champagne and looked at the glass walls, at the flowers, anywhere but at the doorway on the screen and at me in the center of it.
May you like
He stepped closer to the table beside me, close enough that our sleeves almost touched. He didn't touch me either.
We stood there together at the black-draped table, alone in the middle of that bright room, with the laptop open between us and that unfocused shape still watching us from the screen.
