Chapter 19
CHAPTER NINETEEN
When I wake, the nausea is gone. I’m still tired, but that’s been constant lately. It takes a few minutes of lying awake, staring at the ceiling, for the night’s events to come back to me in vivid color.
The box.
Simon.
Vic and Preston.
It’s only then I remember I never actually got the radio from the guest house. And, of course, there’s very little chance I’ll be able to sneak away today. As much as is possible, I try to put it out of my head.
I sit up, stretching until it hurts, and look over for Simon. He’s gone. I check the time on the alarm clock.
It’s after ten.
I slept in.
Damn it, I majorly slept in.
I reach for my phone.
My hand drops in midair.
No.
I blink, searching the nightstand. The bed. I flop over, throwing back the covers, the pillows. I search the floor, rush into the bathroom. Check beside the toilet. The shower.
Nothing.
It’s nowhere.
Did I…leave it somewhere last night? Did I drop it running through the woods? But no, I didn’t have my phone with me, did I? I left it in the room before the rehearsal dinner because my dress didn’t have pockets.
I run a hand along my face, squeezing my eyes shut. I try to think. To remember. It was here. I’m nearly positive it was here when I went to bed last night.
Alone, I check everything again, replaying my steps. I search every corner of the room.
But my phone is just…gone.
I sink to the floor, staring around. I inhale deeply, then blow out a gentle breath. Panicking is not an option right now. There is a wedding happening in just a few hours.
Maybe Simon took my phone so I could sleep in, so it wouldn’t disturb me.
Yes, that’s it.
I’ll just go downstairs, check in with him, and get to the bottom of this.
Except…the house is full of people, so going downstairs in my current state is not an option.
My body trembles with fear and adrenaline, which are starting to feel as normal as oxygen and blood at this point, as I hurry into the bathroom and brush my hair and teeth.
I dress in nice clothes and slip on my wedding rings.
I swipe deodorant under my arms and spritz Rachelle’s perfume on my wrists and neck.
I’m living a nightmare, but at least I’m presentable.
Then, finally, I can go.
Downstairs, the house swarms with people—overnight guests already here and new arrivals. It’s possibly more than should be allowed in even a house as grand as Morning House.
I search for my husband in the crowd, breathing out a sigh of relief when I spot him near the door. Simon and his brothers take on the duty of welcoming everyone, offering them refreshments, and showing them the path that leads down to the ceremony site near the pond.
I hurry over, smiling at the few guests who greet me by name—trying to remember who they are, where I know them from.
“Morning, beautiful. You slept in.” Simon pulls me aside while shaking the hand of an elderly gentleman passing by.
My hands rest on his chest, and I force my breathing slower, my words to be steady. “Did you take my phone?”
He’s still not looking at me, his focus entirely on the guests.
He flicks a quick, distracted glance my way.
“Your—your phone?” He nods at a woman wearing an oversized hat.
“Hey, Eleanor, looking beautiful as ever. I think Mom’s in the kitchen if you want to pop in there. She’ll be glad to see you.”
“Oh, thank you, honey. I need to use the little girls’ room first.” She winks. “Freshen my face.”
“Oh, you don’t want to mess with perfection.”
The woman giggles. Blushes.
I can’t bring myself to let go of Simon’s shirt. When she walks away, I try again. “Simon. Simon. My phone is missing. Have you seen it? Did I forget to plug it in last night?”
“Your phone?” He takes hold of my hands gently, lowering them. “I haven’t seen your phone.” He waves at someone over my shoulder, distracted, and calls out, “Hey. Duncan, hey, he left his jacket on the back of the golf cart.”
My hands are shaking again. I’m losing it. I squeeze one hand in my other, closing my fist until I can focus on something as real as pain. Tears burn my eyes. This can’t be happening.
Simon takes hold of my arms. “Sorry, honey. What were you saying? Your phone’s missing?”
“I…” Try as I might, no words will come out.
Finally, he sees my panic. His focus zeros in on me, and he lowers his voice, leading me toward the end of the porch. “Did you check all over? It’s in the room somewhere.”
“I looked.” It’s all I can manage.
He digs in the pocket of his suit jacket. “Here. Use my phone to call it. It probably fell in the crack between the bed and the nightstand or something.”
I take the phone from his outstretched palm. “Thank you. I’ll be right back.” With that, I move through the crowded house back up the stairs and into our bedroom. Inside, I tap my name from his call log and wait.
“Hey, it’s Astrid. Sorry I missed your call?—”
I end the call, defeated. It’s off. Or dead. Probably dead. On the floor, I check for the phone again, feeling down along the wall at the head of the bed, underneath the mattress, and along the nightstand. I check the pillowcase. The bathroom.
Everywhere. Again.
It’s not here.
Moving slower than before, I head back downstairs and return Simon’s phone to him. He looks at me like he forgot he’d given it to me. “Didn’t find it?”
“It’s turned off, I guess, but thanks for trying.”
He pockets the phone, twisting his lips in thought. “Okay, well, when did you have it last?”
“Last night, I?—”
“Simon, did you see which way Jett went? Your mom’s wanting pictures.”
His eyes lift, searching for the voice, then fall back to me. “Do you need me to come help you look?”
“I’m telling you, it’s not up there. I didn’t take it with me last night and?—”
“Is that Simon Morning, all grown up? I see someone finally convinced you to start shaving that godawful beard of yours.” Another voice calls to him, drawing his attention. It’s one I recognize, another aunt or cousin somewhere down the line, but I can’t focus to place it.
“Look, honey,” Simon says, his hands on my arms again. “I promise I’ll help you look the first chance I get. It’s somewhere. Let’s just get through this morning, through today, and we’ll find it. Okay?” He searches my eyes, pleading.
I nod, because what else can I do, and blink back tears. He squeezes my arm, presses a kiss to my cheek, and then he’s off.
I breathe through my nose, the world too loud, too bright. Everything feels so heavy and overwhelming right now. My hair feels dirty. Did I wash it last night?
Did I remember to brush my teeth this morning?
Suddenly, all I want to do is bolt.
I move through the house quickly, eyes locked straight ahead. I don’t talk to anyone, and no one talks to me. I stay in our bedroom for most of the morning, looking for my phone again and again in between putting soft waves in my hair with delicate care and promising myself I’ll get through this.
I have to.
If not for me, for Simon. Simon, who needs me at my best.
Half an hour before the ceremony is set to begin, there’s a quiet knock on my door.
I take a long, slow breath. Straighten my shoulders. Put on a smile. “Come in.”
When Vic pokes her head inside the room, everything in me freezes. It throws me right back to last night, the simple sight of her.
She knows.
They know.
They know that I know.
“Hey. You about ready? Marlie wants all of us down in the dressing room.”
“Oh.” I stand, dusting my hands over the sage-green bridesmaid dress Marlie custom ordered to fit us all perfectly. She nailed it, too. When I tried it on earlier this week, I’d never felt more beautiful.
Now, I’m just numb.
We make our way down to the basement.
“Looking lovely, ladies,” an older woman says as we pass her in the hall. Others mill around, checking their social media and sipping from wineglasses. One man makes a quiet phone call, another exits one of the restrooms. A woman reapplies her lipstick in the hall mirror.
I breathe. It’s all I can do and all that is required of me at this exact moment.
One foot in front of the other.
Breathe.
The more I do it, the easier it gets, and by the time we reach the basement, I’m starting to believe I can actually pull this off. Marlie is what matters. I need to focus on Marlie.
Thankfully, the internal turmoil suffocating me leaves no room for noticing awkwardness with Vic, and if she feels any, she doesn’t seem to read into it.
When we reach the basement, Marlie is sitting at a dressing table while Rachelle stands behind her, combing her fingers through her short, tousled hair.
Marlie’s glowing beneath the pixie cut that might fit her delicate features more than any style she’s ever worn.
Then again, maybe it’s just this moment. This day.
Everything else fades away, and all I can feel is happiness for my sister-in-law. Pure, radiant joy.
The phone can be replaced. This day cannot.
Her dress is something out of a fairy tale, something designed just for her by a friend of the Mornings who owns a boutique in New York City. She meets our eyes in the mirror before standing and gesturing for us to sit down next to Polly, already waiting on the sofa.
Marlie’s breathtaking, moving with ease through the room as if she’s floating. As we ease down gently in our dresses, Rachelle passes around champagne glasses, glowing almost as much as her daughter.
She squeezes onto the sofa between Vic and me, then pats my thigh, tossing a quick, distracted smile my way before turning her attention back to the bride.
“Well, I promise I’m not going to get too sappy,” Marlie says, though she’s clearly already holding back tears.
“But I just wanted to say thank you to all of you. For being my bridesmaids, but also my friends. My sisters. Growing up with three brothers, all I ever wanted was a sister, and I’m so, so incredibly lucky to have you three in my life. ”
My stomach sinks, eyes shifting to Polly. I really, really don’t want to think about this. I want to think about anything else. Everything else.
Still…
If the affair is revealed, which sister will we lose?
“I’ve dreamed about today all my life. You guys’ve seen the pictures. Mom bought me literal wedding dresses, altered to fit me, all so I could play pretend when I was, what? Four? Five?”
Rachelle hums in agreement. “And six, and seven.”
Marlie smiles at her. “My point is, I’ve been dreaming of this day for a long time, and I couldn’t imagine it any better. When everything fell apart with the original plan and the lighthouse”—she kisses her fingertips and taps them toward the sky, mourning the loss—“I never really worried?—”
Rachelle snorts, and Marlie quickly adds, “Much. Because I knew you guys would come through for me. I know cleaning and decorating for my wedding was never anything you expected to do, but it means everything to me. And to Warren. We can’t thank you enough—I can’t thank you enough—for making this day everything I’ve dreamed of.
And now, I guess all that’s left to say is… let’s go do this thing!”
She raises her glass, and the room lifts with soft laughter. We all mimic her, taking sips of our own drinks. I tip it back without allowing the champagne past my lips. We cheer and dab our eyes dry and clap and dance, taking turns hugging her before there’s a knock on the door.
The room goes still. We turn just as Pierce opens the door cautiously. His eyes find the bride in a millisecond, tears welling at the sight of his little girl in a wedding dress. He draws in his lips, turning his head slightly away, though his gaze doesn't leave her.
“Are you sure about this?” he teases. “It’s not too late to run for the back door.”
And with that, the wedding begins.
The ceremony is stunning. The weather is perfect.
The chiffon curtains and wisteria gently blow in the breeze at all the right moments.
It’s magical—there’s no other word for it.
And, of course, there’s not a dry eye in the figurative house.
Simon watches me from his seat in the audience, and whenever our gazes meet, there’s as much warmth there as on our own wedding day.
My worries are all but forgotten.
This is what matters. Family. Love.
When the happy couple shares their first wedded kiss, the air erupts with cheers and applause, and so much love.
Later, we make our way down to the reception in the guest house. Those of us who can walk, do so, and the Morning men drive anyone who can’t down in the golf carts. The one I left in the woods was apparently returned this morning, though no one has said a word about it.
I won’t worry about it.
Our work decorating the guest house laid a perfect foundation, but with the dining tables and candles, plus an added dance floor, it’s almost unrecognizable. As I wait for Simon, I make my rounds through the house, smiling at guests like a host.
Like one of the Mornings.
I’m really, really trying.
I stop in the kitchen when something catches my eye, and I cock my head to the side. There’s a small shelf on the wall across from the sink where Simon and I had left two family photos up—one of the entire family last Christmas and one of the siblings as young kids.
Just like Rachelle said we could.
Only now…both have been turned over, face down.
Is she mad? Did we choose the wrong pictures to leave up?
My heart picks up speed.
I move forward, lifting one of the photos, then the other. I smooth my finger across the matching wooden frames.
There’s a tic in my mind. Something not quite right, straining to fit into a space that shouldn’t exist. I look closer at the Christmas photo.
What the…
My finger smooths over the pinhole at the top of the frame, closer to a fleck of dust than anything, but it doesn’t move. Late-night true crime shows flash through my head.
No.
No.
No.
Stop it.
Stop looking for danger where there is none.
I blink and turn away, moving away and down the hall.
One hand cups my stomach, willing myself not to be sick again.
I can’t. I would ruin this dress. This night.
Still, my mind rushes to piece together what I just saw. What I just realized I saw.
Because, try as I might to convince myself otherwise, I know what that was. And I know why they were turned over.
Not by Rachelle. Preston and Vic must’ve turned them over last night so they wouldn’t be caught on camera.
Camera.
Fuck. There are hidden cameras in this house.
Which means at least one of them knows there’s a camera in those frames. And probably more hidden around the house.
At least one of them knows they’ve been watching me. But why?