Chapter 4
Sedan door clicked shut behind me. Night air cold against my ankles. Heels hit pavement. Hotel glowed ahead, warm lights spilling from ballroom windows. Guests still inside. Music faint through glass.
I didn't use front entrance. Turned left toward service side. Driver stayed parked, engine low. I didn't look back.
Service door steel, chipped paint near handle. Propped open with rubber wedge, kitchen light bleeding out. Smell of dish soap and warm bread. Busboy pushed rack past me, nodded, didn't stop. I slipped inside before door swung shut.
Hallway narrow, concrete floor, pipes overhead. Fluorescent buzz. My veil caught on doorframe, I tucked it. Beaded gown shushed with each step. Pearl waistband pressed against ribs. Sapphire brooch cold at chest.
I knew this hallway. Walked it that morning for rehearsal, when staff showed dressing suite. Second left, past linen carts, past ice machine. My nude heels from exit still in memory, but now bare feet inside gown? No, heels back on, quiet now on concrete.
Staff radio crackled somewhere ahead. Laughter from ballroom filtered through vent, distant. No one expected bride in service hall. That was advantage.
Turned corner. Private dressing suite door halfway down, brass plate engraved. Light off inside. I tested handle. Unlocked. Housekeeping left it for me earlier. Pushed open.
Suite smelled like my perfume from morning and fresh lilies. Ballroom visible through tall interior window, draped fairy lights still burning below. Guests blurred shapes around tables. Arch still standing. Empty center where I had stood with Rafael.
I stepped in, shut door. Turned lock. Click loud in quiet room.
Breath came out. Shoulders dropped for first time since box.
Mirror ran full length of wall. I faced it. Long dark wavy hair mussed under veil, pearl earrings still in, beaded gown still catching light. Looked intact from distance. Closer, threads at shoulder pulled slightly. Beads along pearl waistband scuffed in one spot. Not torn. Just worn by someone else.
Hand went to brooch. Antique sapphire, mom's. Setting tight. I lifted it, checked pin back. Clasp held. Stone clean, no chip. My thumb rested on its edge till metal warmed.
Veil still pinned. I reached back, eased pins out one by one. Laid veil flat on vanity. White sheer, no tear. I smoothed it with palm.
Gown needed closer check. Turned sideways to mirror, lifted skirt slightly. Hem had faint gray smudge near back, like floor dust from ballroom. Brushed at it, didn't come off fully. Beading at hip, where Bianca would have stood, showed loose thread. One bead tilted wrong. I pressed it flat.
May you like
Sat on velvet bench finally. Phone still in hand from car call. No confirmation yet on venue hold. That was pending. But door locked, suite mine again. Hallway quiet outside. No knock. No Rafael.
I pulled chair against door for extra weight, just in case. Checked brooch once more. Still there. Still mine.
