Chapter 5
He didn't let go of my elbow until we reached the hallway.
The bedroom door was open behind us and I could hear the older woman still in there, straightening the bedspread like that would fix anything. Her pearls clicked when she moved. He'd left the bouquet on the rug and my shoe beside it. I hadn't picked either up and neither had he. That was the point, I realized. Leave them there and they stayed a private mess. Carry them downstairs and they became evidence.
"You good to walk?" he whispered near my ear, his hand tight around my arm. His shirt sleeve was still rolled to his elbow, his smile already back on.
I nodded because my throat wouldn't make sound. The foundation on my cheek felt thick and wrong.
The hallway was longer than I remembered. The floral wallpaper blurred past. At the top of the staircase I stopped.
Down below, the venue had reset itself. The onlookers from the doorway were gone — dispersed, acting like they'd never stood shoulder to shoulder watching me on the floor. One of the bridesmaids was by the bar laughing too loud at something. One of the groomsmen scrolled his phone with his thumb, then shoved it in his pocket when he saw us. The string quartet had started again. Someone had turned the lights up.
I felt his hand press lightly on the small of my back, guiding me forward. My veil brushed the banister. I was still barefoot on one foot, the other in a white heel that clicked too sharp on the wood. I hadn't realized I was limping until the stairs forced me to put weight on it.
Halfway down, I saw the phones.
Not everyone, just enough. A cousin held hers low against her skirt, screen lit. Two aunts with their heads together, whispering behind a champagne glass. A girl from college who'd been in the doorway — the one in the navy dress — glanced up at me, then down fast at her phone, then away. The whispering had that specific pitch, low and fast, the kind that stops when you get close.
My stomach dropped. Someone had the video.
He felt me hesitate and his fingers tightened on my waist.
"Smile," he breathed, not moving his mouth.
I did. I had practiced that smile for months for photos. It went on like the makeup.
We reached the bottom and the best man was already there, beer in hand, too quick to step in front of us. Jake. He'd been in the doorway too, closest to the hall.
"There they are," Jake said loud enough for the room. He clapped my husband on the shoulder and didn't look at me. "Man, I told him, don't go trying to carry her over the threshold before the reception. Dude tripped on the rug. You should've seen it."
He laughed once, hard.
I stared at him. The lie was so smooth, so ready, like they'd picked it in the thirty seconds it took us to walk downstairs. Tripped. Rug. Carry.
My husband laughed too, relief flooding his face. "Yeah, yeah, caught her. We're good. Just needed a minute."
I felt every eye flick to my face, to my cheek, to my bare foot, then away. No one asked if I was okay.
Jake lifted his glass higher, turning his body to block the view of us from the older tables. "Seriously, let's get these two a drink. Toast can wait till everyone's seated, right?"
It wasn't a request. It was a redirect. Give the room a job — get drinks, sit down, move on.
From across the room near the staircase, the girl in the navy dress looked up again. Our eyes met for a half second. I didn't plead with my face, I just looked. I needed one person to not look away.
She held it, then her mouth thinned and she turned her head. She turned fully toward the bar and started talking to the woman next to her, nodding too fast.
The cold hit me then, cleaner than the fear.
No one was going to say it first.
The older woman appeared at the top of the stairs behind us, her burgundy dress dark against the white banister. She paused, scanned the room, and gave a small, tight nod to two of the aunts. The whispering stopped. Glasses were lifted. A server moved in with a tray.
May you like
My husband's hand slid from my back to my hand. He laced his fingers through mine for the cameras. His palm was damp.
"We're going to say hi to your parents," he whispered, and steered me toward the crowd like we'd never left.
