His Mother Ruined Our Marriage (Her Marriage in Crisis #93)

1. Kiara

— ? —

Kiara

The silk weighs nothing against my skin, but I feel every thread.

Nadia circles me with pins between her teeth, her fingers quick on the tulle. The bridal suite smells of gardenias and hairspray. My reflection watches me from three angles in the standing mirrors. I’m wearing ivory silk with a cathedral train, and I don’t recognize myself.

“Stop moving, or I’ll pin your ear to your head,” Nadia says around the pins.

“I can’t help it.” My hand wants to drift to my stomach, but I stop it. Not yet. I’ve kept this secret for six weeks, and I’ll keep it until the vows are spoken. “I’m about to marry the one person who ever made sense to me.”

“You’ve said that a hundred times since I started your veil.”

“Because it’s true every time.”

“Save the poetry for your vows.” She pulls the last pin free and steps back. “There. Done. Stop fidgeting.”

I touch our mother’s earrings. Small pearls, yellowed at the edges, the posts slightly bent from decades of wear. She died when I was nineteen, and Nadia was sixteen. These earrings are my only piece of her.

“She’d have liked him,” Nadia says.

“You think so?”

“She’d have made him prove himself for a full year before she admitted it. But yes.” Nadia adjusts a single curl at my temple. “She’d have seen how he looks at you.”

“How does he look at me?”

“Stop fishing for compliments. You know exactly how he looks at you.” She frowns. “Why do you keep touching your stomach?”

I freeze. “I’m not touching my stomach.”

“You keep almost touching it.” Her eyes narrow. “Kiara.”

“We should head down. The processional is starting soon.”

“Kiara Reyes.”

“I’ll tell you later. I promise. After the ceremony.”

She holds my gaze for a long moment, then lets it go. She knows when I’ll bend and when I won’t.

We leave the bridal suite. The hallway stretches long, and my heels sink into thick carpet. Somewhere below, a string quartet plays. Guests are seated. The minister is waiting.

Jensen is waiting.

I met him at a gallery opening fourteen months ago. He was frowning at a painting, and I stopped beside him and said, “You look personally offended by it.”

He turned to me. Gray eyes, sharp jaw, hair pushed back from his forehead. “I’ve been standing here too long. I feel nothing.”

“Maybe you aren’t supposed to feel what the artist felt. Maybe you’re supposed to feel what you feel.”

“And what if I feel annoyed?”

“Then you feel annoyed. Congratulations. You’ve interacted with art.”

He laughed. A real laugh. And that was the beginning.

Nadia and I reach the anteroom where the bridal party gathers. The bridesmaids are already lined up. But their faces are wrong. Tight mouths. Averted eyes.

“What?” I say.

No one answers.

“What’s happening?”

The wedding coordinator appears at my elbow. “There’s a small delay. Nothing to worry about.”

“What kind of delay?”

“The groomsmen are locating Mr. Cole.”

“Locating him?”

“He stepped out. I’m sure he’ll return.”

“Stepped out where?”

“Miss Reyes, if you could wait in the bridal suite...”

But I’m already moving. Down the corridor, through a service door, into the wing where the groom’s party was supposed to be getting ready. The room is empty. Champagne glasses half full, abandoned. Jackets draped over chairs. No Jensen. No groomsmen.

His best man, Carter, comes through the far door. His face is pale.

“Where is he?” I ask.

“Kiara. We’re looking.”

“Where is he?”

“His car is gone. We think he left.”

“That isn’t possible.”

“We’re calling him. He isn’t answering.”

Nadia is behind me. I feel her hand close on my arm.

“Get his mother,” I say.

Vivienne Cole arrives in a sweep of pale blue silk.

Her smile has never reached her eyes. She opposed this wedding from the first announcement.

She wanted Jensen to marry Lauren Hayes, whose family owns commercial property across three states.

She told me once, at a dinner party, that I had a charming ambition and that it was sweet that Jensen found me refreshing.

Now she stands in the doorway, and her face holds nothing at all.

“Where is your son?” I ask.

“I’m sure I don’t know.”

“He isn’t here. His car is gone.”

“Yes. I noticed.”

“You’re his mother. Where would he go?”

“Perhaps he had second thoughts.” She examines her nails. “Men do. Especially men who are marrying beneath their station.”

Nadia steps forward. “Watch your mouth.”

“Or what? You’ll hit me? How fitting.”

“Tell us where Jensen went.”

Vivienne’s smile finally reaches. “I believe I know. Come with me. Not you.” She points at Nadia. “Just the bride.”

I shouldn’t follow her. But my feet move anyway because Jensen is missing, and Vivienne has answers I don’t have.

She leads me to a small study off the main hall. Closes the door. Locks it.

“Sit down,” she says.

“I’ll stand.”

“Suit yourself.” She pulls her phone from her clutch. Taps the screen. Holds it out to me. “These were taken recently. I had someone follow him.”

The photos load. Jensen in a restaurant. Jensen reaching across a table. Jensen’s hand on another woman’s hand. Lauren Hayes. Dark hair, red lips, a smile I recognize from society pages. Jensen leaning close. Jensen’s mouth near her ear.

“He went back to Lauren,” Vivienne says. “They’ve been seeing each other for weeks. He was going to break it off with you after the honeymoon. A quiet annulment, a settlement. But it seems his conscience got the better of him. He couldn’t go through with the ceremony.”

“This isn’t real.”

“The photos are quite real.”

“Jensen wouldn’t do this.”

“Jensen did do this.” She steps closer. Her perfume is heavy.

“You have no name. No family worth mentioning. No blood worth marrying into. He was slumming, and now he’s done.

It was a phase. A rebellion against me. A way to feel like a man instead of an heir.

” Her voice drops. “He never loved you, Kiara. You were a novelty. A distraction. And now you’re an embarrassment he’s chosen to walk away from. ”

My hands shake. I press them flat against my thighs.

“Cry if you must,” Vivienne says. “But do it quietly. There are guests out there, and they’ll all know soon enough. Try to retain a little dignity.”

The door bursts open. Nadia shoulders through, past the lock Vivienne engaged. She takes one look at my face and crosses the room.

“Get away from her.”

“I was just leaving.” Vivienne straightens her sleeve. “The wedding is canceled. I’ll make an announcement. I suggest you take her out through the service entrance. Less humiliating.”

She leaves.

I can’t move. The photos are burned into my vision. Jensen and Lauren. His hand on hers.

“Kiara.” Nadia grips my shoulders. “Kiara, look at me. Tell me what she said.”

“He went back to Lauren.”

“What?”

“She had photos. He’s been seeing her. He left.” My voice breaks. “He left me.”

“Oh God.” Nadia pulls me close. “Oh God, Kiara.”

I pull back. My hand finds my stomach, and I don’t stop it. “I’m pregnant.”

Her face cycles through shock, fury, grief. “That’s why you kept touching your stomach.”

“I was going to tell him after the ceremony. I was going to surprise him.”

“We need to leave. Right now.”

She half-carries me down a service corridor, through a kitchen where caterers stop and stare, and out a back door. Her car is parked in a staff lot. She bundles me into the passenger seat. The engine starts.

“Tell me what you need,” Nadia says.

“He’ll never know.”

“Kiara, you’re in shock. You don’t have to decide anything yet.”

“I’ve decided.” I feel it settle into my bones. “He left me at the altar. He went back to Lauren. He didn’t even dare to tell me himself.”

“Maybe there’s an explanation...”

“His mother showed me proof. Photos, Nadia. His hand on hers.”

“His mother hates you. She has always hated you.”

“That doesn’t make her a liar.”

Nadia is quiet for a long moment. Her hands grip the steering wheel.

“What do you want to do?” she finally asks.

“I want to disappear. I want to raise this baby without him. I want to never see Jensen Cole again.”

“That’s a big decision.”

“It’s the only decision.” I turn to face her. “Promise me. Promise me you’ll never tell him. Promise me you’ll never reach out to him or his family or anyone connected to him.”

“Kiara...”

“Promise me.”

She looks at me. Her eyes are wet.

“I promise,” she says.

I turn back to the window. I watch the venue shrink in the side mirror. The garden full of white chairs. The guests who will hear at any moment that there will be no wedding.

He’ll never know this child exists.

I say it to myself until it becomes a vow.