Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
"Absolutely not," Ivy says.
She stands in my bedroom while I pull a black dress from the closet.
"I didn't ask."
"You are not walking into a room full of people who spent two weeks debating whether your husband enjoyed another woman's tongue."
"That is exactly why I am going."
"Why?"
"Because they think I am hiding."
"Let them."
"They think Caleb is attending alone because I am embarrassed."
"You are embarrassed."
"I am furious. There is a difference."
The welcome-home reception was intended for older relatives who could not attend the wedding and anyone who wanted another excuse to celebrate. Now it feels like a public hearing with an open bar.
I wear the black dress, red lipstick, and no wedding ring.
The Ashby Club sits above the river in a stone building filled with portraits of dead men. When Ivy and I enter, conversation stutters.
Marguerite hurries toward us. She looks at my bare hand but does not comment.
"I didn't know whether you would come."
"Neither did I."
"I meant what I wrote."
"This isn't the place."
"You're right."
She steps back without touching me. It is the first good decision she has made regarding my body since this began.
Caleb stands near the windows in a dark suit. The split in his lip has healed into a red line. He sees me, and every expression disappears from his face.
He does not approach.
People do that for him. They surround me with careful sympathy and greedy eyes. An uncle I have met once pats my shoulder. A woman from Caleb's office tells me marriage requires grace. Owen apologizes again. Two of the groomsmen avoid me entirely.
A woman I do not recognize asks whether I intend to keep the Ashby name.
"I have had it for twelve days," I say. "I haven't finished deciding whether I like the monogram."
She laughs until she realizes I am not joking.
Near the bar, I overhear two cousins discussing the exact length of the kiss. One says three seconds is nothing. The other demonstrates by counting aloud while staring into her husband's eyes.
By two, he looks uncomfortable.
By three, he looks away.
"Interesting," she says.
I like her immediately.
Caleb remains on the far side of the room. Every time someone tries to steer him toward me for a photograph, he refuses. When an elderly aunt insists married couples should not air disagreements publicly, he tells her I did not post the video.
"Jeremy made a mistake," she says.
"Jeremy made a plan," Caleb replies.
"And you made a mistake."
"Yes. That is why Dahlia decides what happens next."
He does not know I can hear him.
The distinction matters more than it should.
Then Jeremy walks in.
The room freezes.
Caleb crosses the floor before anyone speaks.
"Leave."
Jeremy smiles. "Your mother invited me."
Marguerite goes pale. "The invitation was sent before everything happened."
"This is still my family too," Jeremy says. "Unless Dahlia has forbidden that."
Caleb stops an arm's length away. "Do not say her name."
"Look at you. Trained already."
"If you make me remove you, I will."
Jeremy looks toward me. "Did he tell you Sable offered him a second chance?"
"Yes," I say. "I heard him refuse."
His smile falters.
Security escorts him out while guests pretend not to stare.
I find Caleb near the stage a few minutes later.
"Was that your plan?"
"No."
"Is there a plan?"
He glances at the microphone. "Yes."
"Caleb."
"You can leave."
"What are you going to do?"
"Put the shame where it belongs."
Before I can stop him, he steps onto the stage.
The room quiets.
"This reception was supposed to celebrate our marriage," he begins. "Instead, most of you came to see whether my wife would stand beside me after I humiliated her."
Uneasy movement ripples through the crowd.
Caleb turns on the screen behind him. The edited video begins. Romantic music fills the room while Sable straddles him.
I cannot breathe.
Ivy grabs my hand.
The footage stops the instant the blindfold comes off.
Caleb replaces it with the raw recording. This time everyone watches him recognize Sable, continue the kiss, and throw her away.
He freezes the image on his own face immediately after recognition.
"They lied to me about who was under the blindfold. Sable knew I thought she was Dahlia. Jeremy put his hands on my face and used my fiancée's name to get me into that chair. That part was done to me."
His finger moves to the frozen image.
"Then the blindfold came off. I saw Sable, and I kept kissing her. That part was mine."
No one moves.
"I can tell you I was drunk. I can tell you I was confused. I can tell you Jeremy used my fiancée's name to deceive me and that Sable knew I believed she was someone else. All of that is true. None of it changes what you just saw."
He looks directly at me.
"For those seconds, my ego mattered more to me than Dahlia did. I did not plan to cheat. I did not want Sable back. I still betrayed the woman waiting for me at home. Then I asked every man in that room to hide it and let Dahlia marry me without the truth."
Someone near the back begins to cry.
"If you called Dahlia dramatic, unforgiving, or cruel, you can shut up now.
You were not in that hotel room when she saw it.
You did not sit at our wedding knowing what she didn't. And if you told her she owes me another chance because I am sorry, I hope she hangs up on you faster than she hangs up on me. "
Marguerite lowers her head.
Caleb takes off his wedding ring.
My heart stops.
"Dahlia has asked for a divorce. I do not want one. I will fight for her every day she permits me to, but I will not fight her. She owes me nothing."
He puts the ring in his pocket.
"This reception is hers if she wants it. I am leaving. Do not applaud me for confessing after I was caught."
He walks off the stage.
Nobody applauds.
Caleb passes me without reaching for my hand.
I follow him through the ballroom, down the stairs, and into the night.
He is halfway across the parking lot when I stop.
My mouth opens around his name.
I do not call it.
Caleb reaches his car and braces both hands on the roof.
For a second, I think he knows I followed him. Then his shoulders shake.
He is crying where no one inside can see.
I take one step toward him.
Ivy catches up and stops beside me. "You can go to him."
"If I do, he will think I am coming back."
"Then tell him you aren't."
"I don't trust myself to stop at telling him."
Caleb wipes his face with both hands, gets into the car, and drives away.
Inside, the reception resumes without us. Someone turns on music. Glasses clink. People begin discussing Caleb's apology as though reviewing a performance.
I return to the ballroom long enough to take the microphone.
"This reception is over," I say.
Marguerite looks startled. "Dahlia, the dinner has already been paid for."
"Then package it for a shelter."
"People came a long way."
"They came to celebrate a marriage or watch one die. Neither is happening in this room tonight."
I walk out with Ivy.
This time, every person watches me leave by choice.