30. Sawyer
Sawyer
The tent is in the same spot it was for Owen’s funeral. I don’t know why, but that detail fucks me up the most. Not their names in calligraphy on the welcome sign. Not the string quartet filling the air with sweet sounding notes. Not the guests chitchatting, holding champagne flutes.
The fucking tent with its white peak raising toward the blue sky, sitting on the same stretch of Aldrich lawn where I watched a bunch of strangers eat hors d’oeuvres a few months ago after burying one of the most important people in my life.
The same tent where Knox claimed me in front of his family, the town, even his own fiancée.
“You okay?” Gia asks, next to me. She’s scanning the property like she’s casing the place.
I guess she is…in a way. I gave her a description of Richard and Moretti and told her to let me know if she sees them. They can’t know I’m here.
“Fantastic,” I lie, looping my arm through hers. Thank God she’s here with me, I’m grateful for the anchor. I may be used to holding my head high in these circles, but it’s never easy on a normal day, let alone what I’m about to go through.
We start toward the chairs and I try to keep my eyes forward. The less I take in, the less I’ll replay later. Of course, my efforts fail the second I see the gorgeous arch covered in greenery and pastel roses.
Someone in a suit hands us a program and Gia pulls him to the side. “Hey, I’m the substitute officiant, first guy got food poisoning. Any idea where I should be?”
The guy starts chatting with her, leaving me alone, staring at the program.
Knox and Ella are written in script with the date and artistic flourishes surrounding the lettering.
Blood rushes to my ears, and I crumple it up, shoving it in my purse. I try to ground myself, glancing around at things I can see.
Men in expensive suits, women in colored chiffon. Servers wearing black and white. Florals and greenery. A water feature somewhere off to the side.
There’s less people than I expected, though. Owen’s services had a bigger turnout. I guess that’s to be expected since he was so adored.
I spot Richard up front, shaking hands with a man who looks to be about eighty. He’s smiling like everything is right in the world. Like he’s getting exactly what he wanted. Too bad I can’t storm over to him right now and wipe that smile off his face.
Knowing it’s coming soon enough helps to ease the aching pit in my gut.
I move so a couple chatting blocks me from view.
Gia reappears a second later, holding her phone. “I’ve got to head out and get ready to do my thing.”
I nod, but wish I could attach myself to her leg like a toddler. Imagining that scene brings a small smile to my lips. “Remember to double-check everything. And give him a hug from me.”
“Of course.” She squeezes my arm before peeling off toward the smaller tent behind us, where a woman with a clipboard is waving her over.
I blow out all the air in my lungs and take a deep breath of fresh air. Or mostly fresh—there’s a lingering cloud of expensive perfume permeating the space. Then I find an empty seat in the back, far away from Richard.
I don’t recognize anyone else taking their seats. No Hailey or her husband. No Aldrich aunts and uncles and cousins. If I had to guess, there’s mostly business associates and Ashford elite here. They should enjoy the performance.
That’s when I spot Vince Moretti turning around to look at something behind him. He’s in the front row, surrounded by men who are larger than him and the woman I saw at the engagement that night—maybe Ella’s mother?
My spine goes rigid as his gaze seems to pass over me. I look down quickly, hoping he doesn’t see me. It might complicate things, and that’s the last thing we need in this tightly choreographed plan.
I’m still examining my shoes when a hand closes around my elbow. I look up into Victoria’s wide eyes.
“Walk with me. Powder room emergency.”
The tent is almost full, it has to be getting close to starting. But Victoria’s already dragging me up, leading me outside, around the side of the house, past caterers and guests until the music is barely audible.
She doesn’t stop until we’re behind a hedge that’s tall enough to swallow us both.
“I don’t have long,” she says, pulling an envelope out from her clutch.
“Victoria, what—”
“Take it.” She presses it into my hands before I can finish. “Before I change my mind.”
I look down at it, then back up at her. “What is this?”
“Open it later, when you’re alone.”
“But what is it?” I try again.
She brings a shaky hand to her temple, rubbing circles. “I overheard Richard and Knox that day. I—” She hesitates, voice wavering. “He gave me access to these a while ago.”
My mind whirls. Which day is she talking about? There’s been so many she could be referring to. And what does she have access to?
“He killed him. Richard. He killed my Owen.” Her eyes shine with tears that don’t fall. “And now he’s ruining Knox’s life. Forcing him to marry someone he doesn’t love.”
She takes my hand, and looks into my eyes. “Bury him, Sawyer. I can’t do it, but you can.”
I open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. The words are stuck behind a clog of emotion. Then she drops my hand, smoothes her dress into place, and heads back to the tent where she’ll sit in the front row and watch her only son speak vows that are nothing but lies.
I stand there behind the hedge a second longer than I should, envelope shaking in my hands. The music gets louder, swelling into the first notes of the processional.
Victoria’s already out of sight when I tear the envelope open and gasp at what I find inside.
Bank statements. A stack of them folded in thirds. There’s no time to read them now, but I skim the heading and find that same bank name that was on the check Richard gave me. A. M. Holdings.
Victoria doesn’t know how much she just helped our case. Or maybe she does and that was her plan all along.
I smile despite what I’m about to witness. Richard Aldrich is so fucking done.
I tuck the envelope in my bag, hands still trembling, and I slip through the gap in the hedge just as the coordinator starts waving stragglers toward their seats.
My spot’s still there at the back and I drop into it seconds before the quartet shifts into the bridal chorus.
It’s slow and melodic, one of those songs that makes an entire room hold their breath.
Everyone stands. I do too, but my knees threaten to buckle.
Gia comes first—up the aisle in her modest navy dress, folder tucked under her arm.
She takes her place at the altar with a composure I still can’t quite believe she’s capable of faking.
I watch her settle into position and think, not for the first time, that she should’ve gone into acting instead of paralegal work.
I face the entrance, waiting to see him. Needing that small moment of connection.
Then he’s there, looking so handsome, but also so unlike himself.
His black suit fits him like a glove, his overgrown hair’s styled yet messy.
He’s shaved the days worth of growth he’s had recently.
It’s his stance that tells the truth. His hands tightened into fists at his sides, his jaw set.
He looks like he’s bracing himself for impact, the same way I’ve seen before in hospital hallways, courtrooms, his father’s office.
His eyes find mine before he’s finished turning to face the aisle. It’s quick, just a second, but long enough to knock the air clean out of my lungs.
It’s stupid, how much that one look affects me.
I know what’s coming. I helped plan this.
And still, some idiot part of me—the same part that wished he would notice me when I was a teenager, that watched him be with other girls for years, that witnessed him propose to someone else—that insecure part of my brain screams at me.
He’s leaving you. He’s marrying someone else. He doesn’t love you.
I try to shove it away as the music shifts, but it lingers, settling in my chest and squeezing.
Knox makes his way up the aisle, looking straight ahead, and a few moments later, Ella’s at the edge of the tent, holding her father’s arm.
She’s bridal magazine beautiful—hair pulled back in a sleek updo, skin dewy.
Her dress is white silk, and she’s dripping in diamonds.
Everything about her is radiant, until I notice the smile that’s more like a grimace and the stiffness in her gait.
Still, that feeling in my chest intensifies, tightening until I have to grip the chair in front of me to stay upright.
They’re at the altar now, and Gia opens her folder, speaking words that I can’t fully process. My eyes are on Knox’s profile as he nods, as he repeats things in a monotone voice. I dig my fingers into my thigh and remind myself to breathe.
“Do you take this woman,” Gia says, her eyes flicking to me, “to be your lawfully wedded wife?”
“I do,” Knox says.
Ella says her half back, voice never wavering.
“By the power vested in me by the state of New York,” Gia says, with a small twitch at the corner of her mouth, “I now pronounce you husband and wife.”
The applause starts, but it’s polite and contained. No one in this tent actually gives a shit about the happy couple.
Knox kisses her. A peck on the lips, nothing more, but still it feels like a punch to the ribs.
Stop being stupid.
It’s like my body doesn’t know the difference between real and rehearsed. It just knows what it’s looking at, no matter what I tell myself.
I force myself to look away. Focus on something else.
My eyes find Richard on his feet next to Victoria, clapping, a satisfied smile on his face. I remember why we’re doing this, and my pulse settles slightly.
Knox and Ella turn to face the guests, looking like the perfect newlyweds. I swear his eyes find mine all the way back here, silently repeating the words we’ve spoken the past few days.
Almost there. Just hold on.
I stand with everyone else, clap with hands that feel like phantom limbs, and watch the two of them walk back up the aisle as husband and wife, into a marriage that isn’t real, toward an ending none of these guests know is coming.
Please let this work.
Because if it doesn’t, I have no idea what any of us do next.