The Restaurant’s Cleared
The restaurant’s cleared out when Celia and I go back inside, only Jen and a few straggling relatives remaining.
“They’ve all gone off to some bar,” says Jen. “As the bride, you’re not invited. You’re supposed to head back and rest up. Can’t see the groom until you get to the altar.”
“It’s more romantic that way?” Celia frowns.
“Much less romantic,” says Jen. “But it’s tradition.”
“Did Maggie McKee show up early?” My voice sounds strangled to my own ears, but my friends don’t seem to notice.
“I don’t think so. Still expected late tonight.” Jen finds my purse, then Celia’s. “But she and Jason will definitely be there tomorrow to take the pressure off you guys.”
The pressure. Tomorrow. I’m supposed to put on a bridal gown and talk into a camera about how glad I am to marry my fiancé.
Sentiments that, until about ten minutes ago, were totally genuine.
I’m supposed to smile and laugh and be aspirational, but also down to earth.
Pretty, but not too pretty. Suddenly, I’m remembering Maggie on set, reading Time magazine.
The way she’d looked up at me, the resignation in her smile.
How well do you really know him, Cassidy?
I call Gabe, but his phone goes to voicemail.
In the cab back to the venue, I listen to Celia babble on about one of Gabe’s hot cousins, and type out a long text message I know I won’t send.
I flick through my phone contacts, hoping futilely to come across Maggie’s number, long deleted, likely changed.
Jen said she’s not in town yet. Gabe could have been talking to anyone.
It could be any secret he was referencing, any disaster.
But I’m convinced Maggie McKee has something to do with this. Yet again, Maggie is sticking her fingers in the pie, then coquettishly licking off the obvious evidence.
Maggie McKee. She is attraction and repulsion. She has ruined my best thing, but also brought it into being. I don’t know if, from the start, she has been clawing me down with her or trying to save my life. I have to know before I’m asked at the altar if I do.