40. Henry
The cheers from our guests surround us as Monica and I stand together, my hand over hers on the knife. The moment feels surreal—this beautiful woman beside me is now my wife. For real. No pretending, no facades, just us and our truth.
"Ready, Mrs. Blackwood?" I whisper against her ear, enjoying how she shivers at the sound of her new name.
"Always, Mr. Blackwood." Her smile could light up the entire reception hall.
We press the knife through the five-tier masterpiece, white fondant giving way to reveal layers of red velvet—Monica's favorite. The crowd erupts in applause as we feed each other the first bite, and I resist the urge to smash it in her face. I'm too fucking happy to risk her wrath today.
Monica's eyes scan the crowd as she chews, her brow furrowing slightly. "Henry, have you seen Celia and Aston? I thought they'd be front and center for this."
I glance around the room, spotting my mother chatting with Leo, Olivia laughing with some of Monica's culinary school friends, but no sign of Celia and Aston. Weird. They were supposed to be here an hour ago.
"They're probably stuck in traffic," I say, squeezing her hand. "You know how the city gets on Saturday afternoons. Construction on every other block."
Monica nods, but I can tell she's disappointed. Celia's been her rock through everything—especially during those final confrontations with Benjamin. And Aston's become like a brother to me since we announced our real engagement.
"Don't worry about it," I add, brushing a crumb from the corner of her mouth. "They'll be here. No way they'd miss this."
"You're right." She leans into me, the soft curves of her body fitting perfectly against mine. "I just want everyone we love to be part of today."
I press my lips to her temple. "They are. Even if they're running late."
I can't take my eyes off Monica as we move through the reception, greeting guests and accepting congratulations. Her smile lights up the entire room, and the way she looks at me—like I'm the only person who matters—makes my chest tighten with emotion.
"You're staring again," she teases, squeezing my hand.
"Can you blame me? Look at you." I pull her closer, breathing in her scent. "Mrs. Blackwood."
She laughs against my chest. "I'm still getting used to that."
We're interrupted by my mother, who swoops in to hug Monica for what must be the twentieth time today. "My beautiful daughter! The ceremony was perfect. Absolute perfection."
While they chat, I scan the room, still wondering about Celia and Aston. That's when I notice Leo across the reception hall, his phone pressed to his ear. His expression shifts from relaxed to concerned in seconds. Something's off.
I watch as he quickly ends the call and makes a beeline for Olivia, who's laughing with a group of guests. He whispers something in her ear, his hand on her lower back, and immediately her smile disappears. They exchange a few words before he guides her away from the crowd, heading toward the exit.
What the fuck? This isn't like them at all.
"Henry?" Monica's voice pulls me back. "Everything okay?"
I consider mentioning Leo and Olivia's strange departure but decide against it. Whatever's happening, I don't want it casting a shadow over our perfect day.
"Everything's perfect," I say, taking her hand. "Let's go say hello to your old culinary school professor. He's been trying to get your attention for the last ten minutes."
As we walk across the reception hall, I can't help glancing back at the door where Leo and Olivia disappeared. Something's wrong, but right now, my priority is making sure Monica enjoys every moment of our wedding day. Whatever's happening can wait.
I keep my arm wrapped around Monica's waist as we work the room, accepting congratulations and well-wishes from our guests. Despite the nagging concern about Leo and Olivia's abrupt departure, I focus on my wife—my actual wife—and how radiant she looks in her flowing white gown.
"You're doing that thing again," Monica whispers, leaning into me.
"What thing?"
"That overprotective hovering." She smiles up at me. "I'm not going anywhere, Henry."
I press my lips to her forehead. "Can't help it. Still can't believe you're actually mine."
The band transitions to a slower number, and I'm about to lead Monica to the dance floor when I spot Leo pushing through the crowd toward us. His face is ashen, his usual confident stride replaced by something urgent and stiff.
"Shit," I mutter under my breath.
Monica follows my gaze. "What's wrong?"
Before I can answer, Leo reaches us. "Henry, Monica—I need to speak with you both. Now." His voice is tight, controlled, but I detect the strain beneath it.
I guide Monica away from the nearest cluster of guests, finding a quiet corner near the bar. "What's going on? Where's Olivia?"
"She's making calls." Leo runs a hand through his hair, something I've never seen him do. "Look, there's no easy way to say this. Aston and Celia were in an accident on their way here."
Monica's hand tightens around mine. "What? Are they okay?"
Leo's jaw clenches. "Their car went off the road on the highway. From what we know, it flipped and—" He pauses, swallowing hard. "There was a fire. The car was engulfed by the time first responders arrived."
"Jesus Christ," I breathe out, my stomach dropping. "But they got them out, right?"
The silence that follows is deafening.
"Leo?" Monica's voice breaks. "They got them out?"
"We don't know yet. Olivia's on the phone with the hospital now." Leo's eyes are red-rimmed. "I didn't want to tell you, not today of all days, but?—"
"No, you did the right thing," I cut in, pulling Monica closer as I feel her start to tremble against me. Her body feels small and fragile against mine, and a fierce protectiveness surges through me. "Which hospital?"
"Mount Sinai."
Monica looks up at me, her eyes filled with tears, her beautiful face twisted with worry. "Henry, we need to go. Now."
I nod, my mind racing through logistics. Our wedding reception, the guests, the scheduled events—none of that shit matters now. Friends come first. Always. "We'll take my car. Leo, can you?—"
"I'll handle everything here," he says, already understanding, a grim determination in his expression. "Go. I'll make sure everyone knows there's been a family emergency."
As we rush toward the exit, Monica's hand clutched tightly in mine, I can feel her pulse racing as fast as mine. The only thought pounding through my head is whether our friends are dead or alive. The possibility that we might be too late makes my stomach turn to ice. I've never driven to Mount Sinai, but I'm about to break every goddamn speed limit getting there.