Chapter 16
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
By the next afternoon, the rehearsal dinner festivities are already underway. The vendors Rachelle has hired are working on skeleton crews per her instructions, with each company only sending the employees who’ve worked for them the longest without incident.
Everywhere the eye can see across the Morning property, crews are working.
Tables, chairs, and dinnerware are being delivered to the guest house.
There’s a group of men installing a wooden trellis at the end of the aisle near the pond, carefully draping it with the most beautiful chiffon curtains and lilac-hued wisteria.
Chairs are being set in careful rows and covered with sheets to keep them clean until tomorrow.
The wedding cake is being transported to the guest house by a group of six men, some of whom Rachelle recruited from other teams, all moving carefully on foot and under Rachelle’s watchful eye.
It seems like there would be a better way, but the golf carts feel riskier, and a vehicle won’t make the full trek. So, there it goes, disappearing into the woods slowly.
Inside Morning House, everything is covered with strands of greenery, wisteria, and white roses.
There’s the warm, yellow glow of string lights everywhere they can be hung.
It’s like a fairy tale. Beautiful and serene, magical.
It feels exactly like Marlie—as if somehow, someone painted her aura onto a canvas with this scene.
When the bride and groom arrive in the late afternoon, back from their smooth trip to the lighthouse, we don’t have long before the guests are set to arrive. Rachelle dismisses us all, telling everyone to get dressed and meet back downstairs promptly at six.
I put on my makeup and place a few careful curls in my hair while Simon showers.
Then we dress across the bed from each other, not really talking.
He zips up my dress, his fingers brushing my bare back and sending a shock of lightning through my core like it always does.
No matter how frustrated I am with him, my body knows the truth.
I spin around, throwing my arms around his neck and pressing a light kiss to his lips, trying not to share my lipstick.
“I love you,” I whisper, my voice soft.
He returns my kiss, not caring about the lipstick. His lips are slow and deliberate, needy. His hands adjust on my back, fingers splaying, kneading my skin. When he pulls away, there’s regret in his eyes. He rests his head against mine. “More than you know.”
I nod, because I do know. These past few days have been tense, but they mean nothing with regards to our relationship. We are solid. Stable. He still loves me.
He just worries. I need to show him there’s nothing to worry about, so that’s what I’ll do.
We make our way downstairs together hand in hand—a perfect, solid team.
He lowers his chin close to my ear. “Let the madness begin.”
Marlie is glowing throughout dinner. She and Warren barely take their eyes or hands off each other.
There are toasts all around—from family I know and family I don’t, and a few of Morning Capital’s employees who’ve known Marlie since she was an infant.
Warren’s family is here, and his mom gives a short speech in a soft, shaky voice.
Rachelle seems to have relaxed, leaning against Pierce, a glass of champagne held in her thin, perfectly manicured fingers as she laughs along with the anecdotes.
Everything is flawless.
Everything is right.
After dinner, we disperse from the tables, mingling and talking in small groups. Everyone seems to be in a hurry to get to Marlie, fighting over their turn to remark on how beautiful the house is, how sorry they are that the original plan was ruined, or some iteration of the two.
Simon excuses himself to go talk to some employees I don’t recognize, leaving me alone in the corner of the room. A waitress crosses in front of me, noticing my empty glass. “Another?”
“Non-alcoholic, please,” I tell her, keeping my voice low as I pass her the glass.
“What’s that about?” A voice to my left startles me.
I turn, shocked to see Polly standing nearby, eyeing me curiously.
Guilty heat smacks my cheeks as I formulate my lie. “Tomorrow’s a big day.”
Her brows shoot up dubiously. “All the more reason. Trust me, no one is going to be sober tomorrow.”
I give her a small smile. “Fair enough.” Then, a sigh escapes that sounds too forced, like I’m on stage in a high school play. “Rachelle really outdid herself with this one, hmm?”
Thankfully, Polly’s eyes travel the room slowly, thoughtfully.
“Her only daughter.” She’s quiet for a moment, her eyes falling back to me.
“I always wanted a little girl. I love Monty, of course. Wouldn’t trade him for the world.
But…I don’t know. Something about daughters is just magical, isn’t it? ”
Butterflies flutter in my stomach. “Are you going to have any more?” I flash back to the conversation I overheard last night, where Preston said they were done with all that. Maybe Polly’s not so done after all.
“Oh, no. Preston always said he just wanted one. He had a vasectomy a week after Monty was born.”
My eyes bulge too much, and I instantly regret it. “Wow, that’s…intense.”
“That’s my husband.” Her tone is warm, but there’s a lingering sense of something else in the air between us.
Her gaze falls to my stomach, and my legs go numb underneath me.
Then, as if nothing happened, she meets my eyes again.
“Always sure of his decisions.” The smile on her lips doesn’t touch her eyes.
I open my mouth, ready to say something, but we’re interrupted by the waitress returning with my drink. “Thank you.” I take a sip to fill the silence stretching between us like a rubber band waiting to snap.
“This week’s been a lot,” she says after a beat. “We haven’t had a chance to talk much, just the two of us, but…you’re okay?”
Her concern touches me. No matter how much the family tries to make us feel like we belong, the truth has always been that Polly, Vic, and I will never fit quite like the Morning pieces of the puzzle. We weren’t cut with the same machine.
I bump her arm with mine. “Always.”
She lifts her chin. Just then, I spot a familiar face crossing the room.
Officer Carl Watson makes his way across the crowded space, arms outstretched, and pulls Marlie into a hug. He says something I can’t quite hear and laughs.
Static fills my ears, a dull ring.
“They’re close.”
I’d almost forgotten about Polly, still watching me. Following my gaze. When I look at her, she turns her head, staring straight. “The Mornings have people in their pockets everywhere. You should know that.”
Though she isn’t acting like she’s telling me a secret, the words feel heavy. Important.
“They can make reality whatever they want it to be.” Her eyes flick toward the door as she takes another sip of her wine. I don’t know what to say.
She swallows and looks down, her voice lower. “Pierce had me take the radio back to the guest house this morning. To the closet next to the bathroom.” She says this without flinching or blinking, like she’s talking to someone else entirely.
“What?”
Without another word, she moves forward. Away. And then she’s gone.
Why would she tell me that?
What is she expecting me to do? What does she want me to do?
Does she not believe their story? About it all being a prank.
Does she think I was right all along? That the little girl is real, after all?
I pour more of the non-alcoholic champagne into my mouth, thinking.
Across the room, Simon is still lost in conversation with a group of men I don’t recognize.
Rachelle and Pierce move as one through the room, slithering like snakes through the crowd.
Polly has disappeared out of the room, probably headed upstairs to check on the kids, though I thought that was where Vic was already.
Duncan is doing shots with Warren and his groomsmen.
In short, no one is looking at me. Or for me.
What if Polly’s trying to tell me something important? What if she’s telling me not to give up? To keep trying?
If she thinks there’s a reason to dig, maybe there is.
This isn’t about hurting the Mornings—I would never do that. It’s only about protecting the girl, should she exist. What if they’re wrong? What if Polly knows something they don’t? What if I’m the only one in a position to learn the truth?
It would be easy enough to sneak out of here, to get down to the guest house and take the radio back.
But is it really so tempting? No. It’s not.
I can’t do that to Marlie. Not tonight, just before her wedding.
I refuse to embarrass myself with all of these people here, refuse to have Simon look at me again in that disappointed way he has been lately.
Refuse to hurt this family any more than I have.
We’re a team.
We’re strong.
They need me to keep it together right now.
Whatever is going on with the radio is none of my concern. Pierce called the police. Then I called the police. We searched the woods.
What else can I possibly do?
I swallow, repeating these things in my head. Repeating the lies in my head.
Until it becomes a mantra. A haunting chant. An ancestral cry from something witchy deep within my bloodline. A spell I desperately need to work.
It repeats until my inner voice becomes distorted. Fast. Panicked.
I set my glass down on the nearest table, clasping my hands in front of me to stop the shaking. My skin is like ice, and I feel like an ant under a microscope, like everything else has faded away and this one moment—this one choice—is the only focus.
It will change everything.
I move forward, thinking I can just slip out onto the porch. Just catch my breath in the fresh night air.
And the second I’m outside, something deep in my mind snaps. The cop is here. If I can get the radio, if I can get her to answer again, maybe he will listen. Maybe I can record it this time. I can take it up to my room, grab my phone, and record the voice.
Even if it’s not the girl, maybe he can track down whoever it is. If it’s someone trying to hurt the Mornings, maybe he can catch them. Stop them.
Maybe I can protect them—prove I belong once and for all.
Prove I’m one of them.
If I’m smart, if I have a plan, I can make it happen.
I won’t ruin the wedding or disrupt anything. I swear this part especially to myself as I move down off the porch, holding the hem of my dress so it doesn’t drag the ground as I rush toward the golf cart parked next to the side of the house.
On the way to the guest house, I consider turning back a thousand times.
I spend the whole drive having an imaginary fight with Simon about why this is important and preparing an excuse in case I get caught—I wanted to make sure we unplugged the string lights after the tableware was set up.
I was worried it might start a fire. Were the lights incandescent?
You know that’s why they switched Christmas lights to LED, right?
Imagine if Marlie’s reception venue burned down the night before the wedding. They should all be thanking me, really.
And more than that, this is about me protecting the family. If we can catch the person, we can end this. Maybe we can prevent it from happening in the future.
I’m doing this for them.
As I reach the clearing, my heart stalls when I realize the house is still lit from the inside, though not from the string lights.
Someone just left them on.
Breathe.
I’m on the porch when I hear the first sound. A crash, like something falling to the floor. I shove my back against the side of the house, the rough siding scratching my skin.
Oh—
I wince.
And I probably just ruined my dress. Perfect. An image flashes in my mind—the back of my powder-blue dress outlined with dirt and dust. How will I ever explain that?
Just as quickly, a new thought forms. My first concern wasn’t about the cost to replace it. My chest puffs with a hint of pride.
Then—laughter.
It rips me from my own thoughts.
Familiar laughter.
I hold my breath, reality shifting. Cautiously, I lean toward the window.
The world turns on its side, and though I don’t move, I feel myself sliding. Everything is wrong. Everything is upside down. I cling to my old reality with bleeding fingers and torn nails.
But everything is gone.
Ruined.
Shattered.
I should look away sooner than I do, but I can’t.
I can’t do anything as Preston peels the last piece of clothing from a body that is not his wife’s.
As he presses hurried kisses to her exposed, flushed skin.
As he lifts her to the counter, positions himself between her legs.
As she turns her head just slightly, I can see her face and finally confirm my worst fears.
Not only is the woman my brother-in-law is kissing not his wife, it’s his brother’s. Vic.
No.