Chapter 1: The Glass She Would Not Let Me Drink
The champagne was already at my lips when Nora shouted.
I could feel the cold of the flute against my fingers, the bubbles still rising, Vivian's hand light on my forearm as she smiled up at me for the toast. The ballroom at the Whitmore was warm with chandelier light, cream walls glowing, guests blurred behind us in tuxedos and dark dresses. I had just tilted the glass, just inhaled that sweet sharp champagne smell, when her voice cut across the string quartet.
"Stop! Don't drink it."
Nora Hale came from the side near the head table, her right arm extended toward me, palm open, fingers tense. She was in that dark navy wrap dress, her dark brown hair still pulled back in the low bun she'd worn all day working the wedding, and her eyes were wide with a kind of restrained fear that made her mouth stay slightly open after she spoke. She wasn't screaming. She was breathing hard, like she'd run. Every head turned, and the quartet stuttered to a stop.
My name is Daniel Mercer, and four hours earlier I had married the woman in the white lace gown standing next to me.
That morning I had told Vivian I wanted a simple ceremony, just family at the courthouse, and she'd laughed and called me boring and spent six months planning this night at the Whitmore instead. Now she was clutching her crystal tiara straight with one hand and my sleeve with the other, and the champagne I'd been about to drink was still perfectly level in the glass, not spilled, not sipped.
I looked at Nora and my brow furrowed before I could control it. My voice sounded smaller than I wanted it to in that quiet room.
"What is the meaning of this?"
Nora didn't lower her arm. She took one more step forward, close enough that I could see her chest rising fast, her eyes locked on the flute in my hand.
"It's poisoned."
The words hung there. Someone gasped near the cake table. Vivian's fingers dug into my arm.
I stared at the glass. The champagne looked normal. Clear gold, bubbles, a little lipstick mark from Vivian where she'd handed it to me. My mouth was dry. I could taste nothing, I'd tasted nothing, and for a second I felt stupid holding it out like that while two hundred people watched.
"How do you know that?" I asked her. My voice was low and I didn't mean it to be an accusation, but in the small silence it sounded like one.
Nora swallowed. "I saw her. I saw what she put in it."
Vivian made a sound then, sharp and hurt, and pressed herself against my side, both hands clasped tight at her chest and then grabbing for my elbow. Her long wavy blonde hair had come loose around her shoulders and her face was flushed under the chandelier light, eyes wide and mouth open like she couldn't believe what she was hearing.
"She's lying. She tried to kill you." She said it looking right at Nora, then up at me, her voice shaking. "Daniel, she's lying. She was fired. She is obsessed with you. Don't listen to her."
My former executive assistant and my bride of four hours were three feet apart, and both were looking at me to decide which one of them was telling the truth. The guests had gone completely still. I could hear the air conditioner humming and my own breathing.
I didn't drink. I lowered the flute slowly from my mouth and held it out away from my body, elbow locked, so neither of them could grab it. The liquid barely moved. My hand was steady but I could feel a tremor starting in my forearm.
"We are going to find out," I said. I meant it to calm the room but it came out flat and hard.
A man in a black vest came forward fast from the paneled doors - Mr. Ellis, the Whitmore's venue manager, who'd been checking coats all night. He looked at the glass in my hand, then at Nora and Vivian, and his face went pale.
"Sir, do not put that down," he said quietly to me. He held his hands up toward the guests. "Everyone, please remain where you are. No one leaves this ballroom right now."
He pulled a silver tray from the service station and held it out to me without touching the glass himself. I set the flute down in the center of it, careful, both hands now. The champagne shivered but didn't spill. It sat there untouched, catching the chandelier light, a perfect untouched glass while the whole room stared at it.
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Ellis walked to the double cream-paneled doors at the far end and turned both locks with a click that echoed. He stayed there with his back to the doors, arms crossed.
The murmuring started then, low and fast, guests leaning into each other, phones coming out but no one calling anyone yet. Vivian was still holding my arm, her nails biting in. Nora stood alone with her arm finally lowered, watching the tray like she was afraid someone would knock it over. And I stood between them with the taste of nothing in my mouth and a glass I had almost drunk sitting two feet away, waiting for someone else to tell me what was inside it.
