Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
Christine
I move through the reception floor, my heels stamping against the polished surface, my presence weaving through staff and guests without interruption.
I give a slight nod to redirect a server before he makes a wrong turn. I make a quick adjustment to a centerpiece and bring it back into symmetry. I throw a glance at the lighting rig and confirm the transition cues are exactly where they should be.
Seamless.
My dress moves with me, peach silk designed by Aisha to follow my shape without clinging, the fabric catching light at every step like it was made for this exact room.
A shift in the music pulls my attention toward the far end of the room where the Aurelia Strings Ensemble is.
I make my way toward them, slipping past guests without breaking stride, catching the attention of the lead violinist with a small lift of my hand.
He leans in just enough.
“The couple is ready,” I tell him quietly. “We transition in thirty seconds.”
He nods once.
I step back, watching as they begin to shift, the current melody softening, blending into something slower, something anticipatory. The kind of sound that tells the room something is about to happen without announcing it.
Perfect.
Across the room, I catch sight of Aisha standing near one of the dessert tables, Blue tucked against her side, both of them deep in a quiet, serious discussion over what looks like an unnecessary number of options.
Aisha is in a fitted peach jumpsuit, the fabric hugging her waist before falling straight down her legs, simple but striking.
Her brown curls are pulled up into a high, messy puff, soft strands escaping around her face.
Gold hoops catch the light when she tilts her head, her skin glowing in that easy way she never notices.
Blue, on the other hand, looks like a tiny celebration.
Her dress, also made by Aisha, is layered in soft peach tulle, puffed just enough to make her look like she might float if she spins too fast. Small gold flowers are stitched along the bodice, catching the light every time she moves.
Her hair is styled into two neat puffs this time, each tied with tiny gold bands that match her little shoes.
She’s holding a mini cupcake. Studying it suspiciously.
I almost laugh.
Aisha glances up, catching me watching them. She lifts a brow slightly, like she’s asking if everything is okay.
I nod once.
Everything is, for now.
She smiles, turning back to Blue, helping her pick something else, something she’ll actually eat this time.
I turn back to the room.
The music shifts, and guests begin to notice.
Heads turn subtly, conversations lowering just enough.
The entrance is seconds away.
And I’m exactly where I need to be.
Moving. Watching. Adjusting.
I haven’t seen Robert since that day in his office. There's been no reminder of something I’ve already decided to keep buried.
And I’m grateful for it.
I'm hoping it stays that way for the rest of the night.
When the couple finishes their first dance, the room resolves into that soft, indulgent rhythm weddings always lean into once the formalities loosen their grip.
Laughter comes easier and glasses stay full longer. The music slips into something warmer, something that invites movement without demanding it.
I let the moment pass through me.
I drift toward one of the quieter ends of the reception, closer to the wall where the light dips slightly lower, where conversations don’t carry as loudly and people don’t linger unless they mean to.
A server passes and I take a glass without thinking too much about it, the stem cool against my fingers as I bring it to my lips, letting the first sip of champagne sparkle on my tongue longer than necessary.
I need a second. Just enough to breathe.
And I do, inhaling and exhaling deeply.
I don’t hear him approach but I feel him.
“Still hiding in corners?” Daniel’s voice slides in behind me, amused, like we’re sharing something we shouldn’t be.
I don’t turn immediately.
I take another sip first, then I lower the glass and face him.
Up close, he looks… curated. A little too curated.
His suit is a deep ivory, tailored to his frame, the kind of choice meant to stand out without looking like it’s trying. Gold accents thread subtly through the lapel. His shirt is crisp, open just enough at the collar.
But it doesn't suit him.
There’s something loose in the way he carries it, something careless underneath the polish that no tailoring can fix.
His eyes drag over me again.
“You clean up well,” he adds, like I should take it as something worth holding onto.
“I’m working,” I reply, my tone flat, giving him nothing to lean into. “It's a wedding. Your wedding.”
His mouth curves.
“Yeah,” he nods, stepping closer, invading my space. “And you've done well. I mean, you always liked being in charge. Telling people where to stand, what to do…”
His gaze dips to my cleavage, then comes back up.
“…how to behave.”
I don’t react outwardly but my fingers press harder around the glass from irritation working its way up my throat.
“Daniel,” I start, slicing through whatever direction he thinks this is going. “Don’t.”
He chuckles.
“You’re still like this,” he muses, like he finds it entertaining. “All high and mighty.” He scoffs. “But didn’t he fuck you that night in the hotel without force?”
His words hit like something rotten thrown into clean air.
My stomach flips, disgust rising so fast it almost chokes me. I’ve always known what Daniel is capable of being careless, selfish, and cruel when it suits him.
I just didn’t think he’d sink this low.
For a second, I can’t even respond.
Because the memory he drags into the open isn’t simple. It isn’t something I can twist into something easy or dismiss without lying to myself.
After everything in Las Vegas, I found my way back home. And Daniel didn’t let it end there. He kept showing up. Uninvited. Unwanted.
He showed up at my door. At places I thought were safe. Pushing, talking, spinning stories that never sat right no matter how much he tried to sell them.
It got bad enough that Aisha and I left. We moved to a new apartment. Then we traveled for a few months to India, far enough to breathe, far enough to think, far enough to separate what happened from what he kept trying to turn it into.
And through all of it, he kept repeating the same lie that Robert forced it. That there was a gun and he didn’t have a choice.
But I remember too clearly that Robert never forced his way. That night was a lot of things, overwhelming, consuming, confusing in ways I didn’t know how to process then.
But it wasn’t that.
And Daniel knew that.
“You’re a pig.” My fingers curl at my side as I look at him properly now, really look, and whatever was left of him in my mind drops.
Completely.
“You never had a problem fucking in the swine.” He shrugs.
My eyes shift past him for a second to Celine.
She’s across the room, surrounded, glowing in a way that feels almost unreal under the lighting I designed to make her look exactly like that.
Her dress is soft gold, fitted through the bodice before cascading into layers of sheer fabric that move like air every time she turns.
Her blonde hair falls in smooth waves down her back, one side tucked just enough to reveal the delicate line of her neck, her earrings stealing the light with every small movement.
She looks… Happy. Or at least trying to be.
There’s a brightness to her smile, but it flickers at the edges when she’s not being watched.
And for a moment, I feel something close to pity. Because she doesn’t see this version of him. Or maybe she does and she’s choosing not to.
“She looks beautiful,” I scoff, my gaze still on her.
Daniel follows my line of sight, his expression shifting slightly before settling back into something dismissive.
“Yeah,” he exhales. “She does what she needs to.”
I bring my attention back to him slowly.
“You should go stand beside your wife,” I tell him, no softness left in my tone now. “Instead of standing here trying to… whatever this is.”
He smirks.
“Relax,” he murmurs, leaning in just enough to make it intentional. “I’m just catching up.”
“We’re not catching up.”
He studies me for a second, like he’s deciding how far he wants to push.
Then walks off.
Idiot.
But the night moves from there, slipping into that blurred space where boundaries liquefy for everyone except me.
I’m standing with Celine now.
She’s mid-conversation, her hand lightly resting against my arm as she thanks me for how everything turned out.
“You’ve outdone yourself.” Her voice is warm, a little breathless, still riding the high of being watched, admired, and celebrated. Her eyes sweep the room like she’s still taking it all in. “It feels like… more than what I imagined.”
“That’s the goal,” I smile, already scanning past her, still working even when I’m standing still.
“Christine.” The sound of Daniel's voice drops.
I turn.
He's drunk, it's obvious. Alcohol lingers on him without disguise, loosening everything that should be held together. His movements are less detailed, his smile wider, a little too easy, his eyes dragging slower when they land on me.
“Dance with me,” he declares, like some orator. “You’ve been running this whole night, you deserve one.”
Celine laughs softly beside me, nudging him lightly.
“That’s actually sweet,” she agrees, unaware, her gaze flicking between us with something close to approval. “Go. You should.”
I hesitate, not just because he's a jerk. But because this is still my event. And this is still her night.
But anything to make the bride happy.
“Just one.” I nod.
His hand finds mine too quickly and I don’t like the way it grips.
We move to the floor.
The music is slower now, softer, wrapping around the room instead of filling it. His hand slides to my waist, pulling me closer than necessary, his grip not tight enough to call out, but not light enough to ignore either.
I keep the distance where I can.
He closes it where he wants.