1. Bella #3
The hotel has multiple floors, multiple wings, countless rooms where Marcus could be hiding. I check the groom’s suite first - empty, though his tuxedo jacket is still draped over a chair, his phone charger still plugged into the wall. He’s been here. He’s gotten ready here. And then he’s left.
I check the lobby, the restaurant, the bar. Hotel staff give me strange looks as I rush past in my wedding gown, my veil trailing behind me like a ghost. I don’t care. I have to find him.
The parking garage. The thought strikes me suddenly. Marcus’s car will be in the parking garage. If I can find his car, I can find him.
I find the elevator that leads to the underground parking levels and descend into the concrete depths of the hotel. The garage is dimly lit, filled with rows of expensive cars belonging to wedding guests. My dress is getting dirty now, the hem picking up oil stains and dust, but I barely notice.
I know Marcus’s car - a sleek black Mercedes that he bought last year, his pride and joy. I walk up and down the rows, my heels echoing in the cavernous space, my breath coming in ragged gasps.
And then I see it.
The Mercedes is parked in a corner spot, away from the other cars. But it isn’t empty.
My feet carry me forward even as my mind screams at me to stop, to turn around, to not see what I’m about to see. But I can’t stop. I have to know.
Through the tinted windows, I can make out two figures in the back seat. Two people pressed close together, moving in a way that makes my stomach turn. I move closer, my hand reaching out to touch the cold metal of the car door.
The interior light is on - someone must have accidentally triggered it - and in its harsh glow, I can see everything with perfect, terrible clarity.
Marcus is in the back seat. His shirt is unbuttoned, his hair mussed, his hands tangled in long blonde hair that I recognize anywhere.
Victoria. My sister. My baby sister, who’s been a bridesmaid, who helped me pick out this dress, who promised to be there for me on the most important day of my life.
Now it makes sense to me. Everything makes sense. Public humiliation isn’t really Marcus’s thing, but my sister? It’s her specialty.
They’re kissing. More than kissing.
The twisted thought enters my mind then and I can’t stop it. This is exactly the type of sex I thought I would be having with him tonight, on our wedding night.
Victoria is straddling Marcus’s lap, her bridesmaid dress, the same bridesmaid dress she complained about for months, is hiked up around her thighs, and Marcus’s hands are on her waist, pulling her closer even though they can’t possibly get any closer, and they’re so absorbed in each other that they haven’t even noticed me standing there.
And the way they’re hooking up… it’s like they’ve done it a hundred times before.
Now suddenly all of the moments of the last few months that I thought were odd are hitting me differently. The way my sister and fiancé would never stand too close together, the way they would steal looks.
My hand hits the window before I realize I’m moving. The strike of my palm against the window is painful, but not enough to snap me out of the red I’m seeing. The sound is sharp and loud in the quiet garage, and both figures in the car jerk apart.
Marcus’s eyes meet mine through the glass.
Time slows.
For a moment, we just stare at each other. I wait for the horror to cross his face, for the guilt, for the apology. I wait for him to scramble out of the car and beg for forgiveness, to tell me this is a terrible mistake, that he doesn’t know what he’s thinking.
But Marcus just looks at me.
There’s nothing on his face. Nothing in his eyes.
The man I once knew is gone. His expression is blank, almost bored even. And then, slowly, deliberately, he reaches forward and starts the car.
“No,” I hear myself say, my voice breaking. It’s all I can say now. Over and over.
No. No to all of this.
“No, Marcus, wait-”
But he’s already shifting into reverse. Victoria has the grace to look ashamed at least, her face flushed and her eyes downcast, but Marcus just backs out of the parking spot as if I’m not even there.
I can’t even begin to think about my sister’s part in all of this.
I stumble backward as the Mercedes pulls away, my hand still outstretched toward the car. I wish I had put my fist through it.
I watch it drive up the ramp toward the exit, watch the taillights disappear around the corner, watch my fiancé and my sister leave me standing alone in a parking garage in my wedding dress. On my wedding day.
The silence that follows is absolute.
I stand there, swaying slightly on my feet, trying to process what I’ve just seen.
My mind feels fractured, unable to hold onto any single thought for more than a second.
Marcus and Victoria. In his car. On my wedding day.
While all those people wait upstairs for a ceremony that’s never going to happen.
My sister. My own sister. She did this to me, along with Marcus. Two of the most important people in my life, two of the closest people to me, betrayed me together.
The roar in my head intensifies to a deafening sound.
The betrayal is so complete, so total, that I can’t even begin to comprehend it. It’s too big, too overwhelming. My brain simply refuses to accept it.
I look down at myself - at the beautiful dress that’s now stained and torn, at the bouquet I’m somehow still clutching in my white-knuckled grip, at the engagement ring that sparkles on my finger in the harsh fluorescent light of the parking garage.
What a joke.
And then, finally, the tears come. My knees buckle and I start to fall, feeling like I’m endlessly falling.
They start as a trickle and quickly become a flood, great heaving sobs that shake my entire body. I sink to my knees on the oil-stained concrete, not caring about the dress anymore, not caring about anything except the pain that’s ripping through my chest like a physical wound.
My head spins dizzyingly.
I’ve been so happy. Just an hour ago, I was the happiest I’ve ever been in my life. I had been about to marry the man that I love, about to start the future we have been planning together. And now…
Now I’m all alone in a parking garage, crying so hard I can barely breathe, while somewhere above me, a crowd of people wait for an explanation I don’t have. And the man that I love drives away with someone else.
How long I kneel there, I don’t know. Time has lost all semblance of meaning. Eventually, I hear footsteps echoing through the garage, hear Sarah’s voice calling my name. But I can’t respond. I can’t do anything except cry as I sit in a heap in the middle of the parking garage.
Strong hands help me to my feet. Sarah and Amee, flanking me on either side, holding me up between them once more when my legs threaten to give out. They don’t ask questions. They don’t offer platitudes. They just hold me as I fall apart.
“We need to get you out of here,” Sarah says softly. “Let’s go back to the suite. We’ll figure out what to do.”
But I shake my head violently. I can’t go back upstairs. That’s the last place I want to go, the last place I could ever bear to see again.
Can’t face all those people, all that pity. Can’t stand in that beautiful ballroom that’s supposed to be the setting for the happiest day of my life.
“I need to leave,” I manage to choke out between sobs. “I need to get out of here. Please.”
My eyes cut between both of them pleadingly.
Sarah and Amee exchange a look over my head. Then Amee nods and pulls out her phone.
“I’ll call a car,” she says. “We’ll take you home.”
But home is the apartment I share with Marcus. The apartment where his things are mixed with mine, where we made love just last night, where we laughed about wedding day jitters and made promises about forever.
I can’t go there either. I can’t go anywhere.
“I’ll just…” I pull away from my friends, gathering my skirts in my hands. “I need to walk. I need to think. I just need…” I push them aside when they try to stop me and stand in my way, literally having to remove Sarah’s hands from me.
I don’t finish the sentence. I’ll just what? Pretend I didn’t get left at the altar? I just start walking toward the exit ramp, my heels clicking on the concrete, my veil dragging behind me like a tattered flag of surrender.
“Bella, wait!” Sarah calls after me. “You can’t just-”
But I’m already gone, climbing the ramp toward street level, toward the late afternoon sunlight that seems too bright, too cheerful for the devastation I’m feeling.
I emerge from the parking garage onto a busy city street.
People stare as I pass, and of course they do.
I’m a woman in a wedding dress, makeup streaked down my face, walking alone with no destination in mind.
Some look concerned. Others look amused.
Maybe they think I ran away from him. Maybe they think it’s a fashion statement.
Or a joke.
I ignore them all. It doesn’t really matter after all what anyone thinks at this point.
My heart feels shattered in my chest and it hurts. A numbness creeps into me as I wander and Marcus’s face when he ran away with my sister remains in my mind’s eye.
That blank, hard expression.
I just walk.
I walk past the Grandview Hotel, past the valet stand where Marcus’s Mercedes was probably parked earlier.
I walk past boutiques and restaurants, past couples holding hands and families laughing together.
I walk until my feet ache, until the sun begins to sink lower in the sky, until I’m far enough from the hotel that I can almost pretend the last few hours haven’t happened.
Almost.
My phone buzzes incessantly in my hand - calls from Sarah, from Amee, from my mother, from numbers I don’t recognize. I ignore them all.
What could they possibly want? What can I possibly say? How can I explain what happened when I don’t even understand it myself?
It’s not fair, I think to myself as I walk. He’s the one that did this but I’m the one that has to deal with the fallout and the embarrassment.