Chapter 20
CHAPTER TWENTY
I don’t realize my hands are shaking until I almost spill non-alcoholic champagne on the bodice of my dress. I laugh it off—probably too loudly—when Rachelle notices. She makes a quick move my way, heels clicking on the floor.
She eyes me, brushing her dark hair off one shoulder. “Everything okay?”
“Of course,” I vow, rage simmering in my gut. “It’s beautiful. Everything’s beautiful.”
At least, on the surface it is.
The reception hall echoes with laughter and love. The candles and string lights are meant to make it feel warm and romantic. Soft. And to everyone else, it probably does, but the glow hits my eyes like a spotlight—sharp and exposing instead of soft.
I’ve found three other cameras hidden throughout the guest house. One tucked under the mantel. One in the framework of the front door. One in the bedroom where I found the radio.
I’m sure there are more. Probably enough to see every corner of this house, but I’m having to be cautious in my search. Inconspicuous.
Maybe they’ve always been here. Maybe for security reasons, they’re needed. That’s what I keep telling myself, looping it like a prayer until I’m dizzy.
But even as I say it, I know I don’t believe it. I can’t.
Someone has been watching me.
I press my glass to my lips, letting the cold sting of the bubbles steady me. Across the room, Simon is talking to Marlie and Warren, his face animated and relaxed. He looks happier than feels possible.
I try to match him, to mirror his carefree smile, his pink cheeks. Any good sister-in-law would do that. Any good sister-in-law could pull it together and get through the day.
But my skin is too hot. The dress that fit perfectly this morning now feels too tight. Stiff. If anyone notices my discomfort, they don’t say anything.
Maybe I’m being dramatic. I don’t know if they’re cameras for sure. I can’t possibly know that.
The Mornings buzz with a post-wedding radiance, all gathered together. Even Rachelle, whom I hadn’t noticed left my side. Monty, Jett, and Ruby spin in circles, holding hands, much to the delight of the adults.
It’s a beautiful picture of a beautiful family.
Other children join in, a dozen or so—children from other families. The adults huddle in closer, cheering. It’s a magical, blended portrait. Rachelle’s heart is on full display here—her work within adoption circles, her many friends who’ve taken foster children in.
There are families who came together through so much hardship.
And here I am, alone despite my most desperate efforts to fit in.
Some part of me wishes I’d never found that radio, that I’d let it go. That we’d never crossed the path of the shed. So many choices led me here, and prying any further will only lead to ruin.
I swallow as the truth hits me. The reality that I will never really belong here. How could I?
I slip away during a round of toasts, weaving down the hallway through guests until I reach the closet Polly mentioned. I’m acting on instinct, I guess. Or wanton disregard for my well-being. Self-sabotage, perhaps.
Maybe I never believed I deserved a single good thing in my life, and Simon makes me question all of that. From the moment he showed up in my life and pursued me, he’s made me question everything I used to believe about myself. Made me want to believe I deserve everything he gives me.
There’s fear, too. That I’ll lose this. Him. Them. That they actually were watching me all along. That they know everything I’ve done. Tried to do. It’s the kind of fear that wraps around your spine, until your body is a sheet of ice.
I don’t even know why I need to see the radio. What does it matter anymore? If Lia actually needs help, I’m not the person who can save her. I’m just not.
The hall is momentarily empty. I check over my shoulder just once before opening the door, gazing into the darkness.
I sweep my hand across the shelves filled with hand towels and toiletries I organized earlier in the week. Bar and liquid soaps, trial bottles of makeup removers and perfumes, toilet paper, wash cloths, disposable facial towels.
Nothing else.
It’s not here.
I look again, shoving things this way and that in case it might be hiding.
It’s not here.
I close my eyes and shut the door, resting my back against the wall.
Polly lied.
Of course. They’re never going to let me get my hands on the radio again.
But why? Why would she send me down here in the first place? Maybe… Maybe she wanted me to uncover Preston’s affair. Maybe she wanted me to be the one to break the news.
A burst of laughter explodes from the living room, and I jerk away, brushing invisible webs of terror from my skin. This time, I actually do manage to splash a bit of my drink down the front of my dress.
I paste on my smile again as I reenter the reception hall, but as the night goes on, people blur and smear at the edges of my vision. Voices hurt my ears. Music grates. Every movement feels like a choreographed dance, and I’m the only one who didn’t learn the steps.
I make it through the cake cutting. The bouquet toss. The slow, swaying first dance. Then Warren’s dance with his mother. Marlie’s dance with Pierce, tears pouring down both their cheeks. Everyone glows with love and copious amounts of champagne.
I just want to scream.
At some point, the kids are taken back to the main house to go to bed, and the music gets faster, louder. The lights dim.
The room gets hotter, so hot I can’t catch my breath. The drunk guests swarm together in a too-tight clump near the center of the room. It’s not really dancing anymore, just moving, swaying, jumping. Bodies touching at every point as if they can’t get close enough.
I spot Rachelle sitting with Pierce and Polly at a table, watching, bemused. Somewhere in the crowd, I see Simon’s head.
He spots me, almost as if he could feel my gaze. All at once, he rushes toward me, parting the crowd. He grabs hold of my arm, moving me forward. I’m too weak to fight as he leads me through the crowd, dizzy. Sick. I don’t feel as if I still reside within my own skin.
Simon doesn’t seem to notice.
“You remember Kate Sams,” he shouts, lips low next to my ear, pointing at an older woman dancing next to Marlie. “One of Mom’s friends from her ladies’ luncheon.”
Kate waves at me. Her lips contort into a strange smile, drunk and lazy.
He parades me through the crowd, introducing me to various guests, some of whom I’ve met before and others I’m unfamiliar with. They all wrap me in hugs, some planting sloppy kisses on my cheeks. An older man kisses just next to my lips. Too close. His mouth reeks of bourbon.
“Oh, and there’s Aunt Allison.” Simon points to another woman as the current song fades away. He’s still yelling when the room falls silent, and doesn’t seem to notice. “Mom’s sister. You remember Astrid, my wife?”
She beams at us. “Oh, Astrid. I saw you earlier, but you were talking. So good to see you, darling. Have you lost weight?” Allison wraps her arms around us both, pulling us into a deep embrace. The scent of champagne, sweat, and vanilla perfume claws at my nostrils, my throat.
Aunt Allison.
I can’t speak. I can’t breathe. I’m going to be sick. I’m going to be sick. I’m going to be sick.
Oh god. Oh god. Oh god.
I’m going to be sick on Aunt Allison.
I pull back too sharply, but she doesn’t react as the next song begins to play, drowning the room in a heavy bass beat. Someone shouts a happy, drawn-out, “Heeeeeyyyy,” and soon everyone has joined in, hands thrown in the air.
I move away from the crowd and across the room in a hurry, losing Simon in the mix.
I inhale deeply, slowly, the room spinning as I plead with myself not to throw up.
Alone, I press my back and shoulders to the wall, my fingers to the glass of a window behind me.
I just need to feel real. Grounded. I need to anchor myself in this moment, or I’m afraid I’m going to fly away.
I blink.
I breathe.
I survive.
Somehow, I’m still upright when the party ends.
It’s late—probably later than any of them realize—when the lights finally come back on. The band calls it a night, packing up their instruments in a too-quiet hush that follows their last note. The remaining guests trade tired goodbyes, drifting toward the door as if waking from a long dream.
My nerves are frayed and humming like live wires. Simon loops an arm around me from behind, his eyes bloodshot, face red, and skin damp with sweat. He kisses my cheek loudly. “You wanna take a walk? Fresh air?”
Fresh air sounds like the only thing that might help me right now.
We head outside, disappearing down the path hand in hand as the voices fade in the distance behind us.
As we near the main house, I can hear the steady hum of engines as people find their vehicles and leave.
Marlie and Warren will be off to their honeymoon soon, but they’re still lingering behind, saying their goodbyes and gathering gifts.
My heart slows, but only barely.
Simon keeps his arm around me, rubbing light circles on my shoulder with his thumb. “You okay?”
“I’m fine,” I lie. I’ve lied more this week than I have in years.
We turn down the path we took before. It’s the path I need to take, though I hadn’t realized I’d made that decision until this moment.
Eventually, the silhouette of the old shed comes into view.
My stomach tightens.
The box.
The memory hits like a fist. “I need to stop at the shed.”
Simon blinks lazily. “The shed? Right now?”
“Yeah.” I don’t explain. Can’t. My voice would crack, and then he’d see everything. He’d realize how scared I am. How furious I am. How close I am to all of this falling apart.
“Okay,” he says, following my lead, though his confusion is obvious. He squeezes my shoulder as we approach the leaning shed, almost as if he’s steadying me.
Or steadying himself.
The Master Lock hangs in place, and my heart sinks. My throat goes dry.
Simon looks over, then up. “What are you looking for, exactly?”
I move around to the window, hesitating only once before I lift my arm. I scrub the glass with the inner part of my forearm, green moss and dust smearing across my skin. It takes several swipes to make a dent, all with Simon watching me strangely, swaying in place just a tad.
When there’s finally a small patch of semi-clear glass, I lean forward, pressing my face against it. It’s late and dark, but the moonlight gives us enough light for me to see inside.
My gaze falls to the corner where I saw the box last night.
But—
Wait—
It’s…gone.
Not moved, though I check, scanning the rest of the shed slowly. Everywhere I can see.
Gone.
I stagger back, scraping my leg against a stick. I barely even register it. “It was right here.”
Simon frowns. He takes a step toward me. A branch cracks underfoot. “What was?”
“The box. The one I told you about last night. With my name on it.” I don’t look at him. I can’t bear to see the same confusion etched into his features that’s present in his voice. My heartbeat roars like a lion now, drowning out reason.
“Honey…” He moves toward me, his voice gentle. “You’ve barely slept this week. This wedding was…a lot. You’re tired.”
I press my lips together, ignoring his implication. He thinks I imagined this, just like the voice on the radio and my missing things. If I told him about the cameras, he’d say I imagined those too.
I am on my own here, on an island all alone.
A chill crawls up my spine. He touches my arm, and I can’t stop the flinch. His hand pauses, then falls away.
“Let’s get you to bed, okay?” he says. “You’ll feel better in the morning.”
But sleep won’t fix this. It can’t. I stroke my stomach, my chin trembling.
The walk back to the house is made on shaky legs, my arms wrapped tightly around myself.
We cut across the driveway where the honeymoon car is waiting, draped in ribbons and decorated with the traditional “Just Married” in looping cursive chalked on the back windshield.
To my surprise, Marlie and Warren are already standing near the idling car. Marlie pulls open the driver’s side door, holding the train of her dress in her hands.
When she spots me, something sharp flashes across her delicate features. She turns back to hug Rachelle, then Pierce, then makes her way down the line of Mornings, kissing them each on the cheek.
Simon and I join the waiting line, and when it’s my turn, I wrap my arms around Marlie. I’m in a trance—not really here. Barely aware of anything happening around me. Simon shakes Warren’s hand, then hugs him too. “You guys be careful, okay?”
“They’ll have a beautiful time. Santorini is absolutely lovely this time of year,” Rachelle says, moving toward the front of the car with Pierce at her side. The rest of the family falls in line, but Marlie catches my wrist before I can follow.
She pulls me into another hug. Didn’t I already hug her? Maybe I imagined that too. Her grip is tight, like she’s afraid to let go. In my ear, she whispers, “You okay?”
“Totally.” The lie claws its way out of my mouth without any effort on my part. It doesn’t even sound like my voice.
She squeezes me again. “You’ll take care of yourself, right?”
That seems to snap me back to reality, if only for the moment. “Of course.” I pull back. “And congratulations. It was a perfect wedding.”
She stares at me strangely. I don’t think she’s even listening. Her throat bobs. “Listen…if you’re looking for something…” She lowers her voice further, even though everyone is lost in their own conversations, not listening. “Check the back bedroom on the first floor.”
“The back bedroom?” My voice shakes. I didn’t even know there was another bedroom on the first floor.
She nods quickly. “Past Mom and Dad’s. You’ll see it.”
Before I can ask why or what she knows, she touches her lips to my cheek, soft but trembling.
Am I imagining that?
“Be careful, okay?” she whispers, then pulls away before I can respond. She returns to the car, slips into the driver’s seat, and shuts the door with finality. The vehicle rolls back enough to turn around, then forward, carrying them down the driveway and to their new life.
I remember that feeling so well—believing the world was at our fingertips. That we were starting a brand-new life together, new versions of ourselves firmly in place.
I stand completely frozen, the night pressing in around me. From the porch, Simon calls my name. I hadn’t realized everyone had descended on the house in a group. He waves me forward. “What are you doing?” he teases gently. “Come on.”
I don’t answer. Don’t move.
Because I don’t know who’s lying, who’s trying to help me, or who might just be watching me. I don’t know anything.
And I’m starting to think that’s by design.