The noise hit her like a physical blow.
"Celeste! Celeste! over here!"
"Is the wedding off?"
"Who is that man?"
"Is that... is that Basile Delgado?"
The murmur turned into a roar as the crowd recognized him.
Basile didn't flinch.
He moved his hand from her fingers to the small of her back.
His hand was large, covering her spine, pushing her forward.
It was a claim.
They walked up the stone steps of the church.
The heavy oak doors burst open.
Elmore Franco stormed out.
His face was a mask of purple rage.
He looked deranged.
"You ungrateful little bitch!" he screamed.
He didn't care about the cameras.
He didn't care about the guests peering out from the vestibule.
He charged at Celeste.
He raised his hand, his heavy gold signet ring glinting in the sun.
Celeste stood her ground.
She didn't cower.
She stared at him, daring him to do it.
The hand came down.
But it never connected.
Basile caught Elmore's wrist in mid-air.
The sound of flesh hitting flesh was loud.
Basile didn't just stop the blow.
He twisted.
Elmore yelped, his knees buckling.
Basile forced the older man down, bending his arm back at an unnatural angle.
"Careful, Elmore," Basile said.
His voice wasn't loud, but it cut through the shouting of the paparazzi.
"Bones become brittle at your age."
Elmore gasped, his face draining of color.
"Let go of me!" he sputtered. "This is a family matter!"
Basile shoved him back.
Elmore stumbled, nearly falling down the stairs.
Ophelia rushed out, grabbing Elmore's arm to steady him.
She looked at Basile with pure venom.
"How dare you," she hissed. "Get security!"
"I am the security," Basile said.
He straightened his cuffs.
He looked at the reporters, who were frantically snapping photos of Elmore's humiliation.
Then he looked at Ophelia.
"And you," he said, pointing a finger at her. "Fix your lipstick. It's smudged."
Ophelia's hand flew to her mouth instinctively.
Basile turned to Celeste.
"Ready?"
Celeste looked at her father, who was cradling his wrist and glaring at her with hatred.
For the first time in her life, she didn't feel small in front of him.
She felt tall.
"Ready," she said.
Basile took her arm again.
They walked through the church doors.
The transition was jarring.
From the chaotic noise of the street to the hushed, organ-filled silence of the sanctuary.
Hundreds of heads turned.
The pews were filled with New York's elite.
They gasped.
Bryce was standing at the altar.
He looked perfect.
Perfect hair. Perfect tuxedo. Perfect smile that faltered as soon as he saw Basile.
Celeste felt a wave of nausea.
She had loved him.
In her past life, she had adored him.
Now, looking at him, she saw only a parasite in a bow tie.
Basile leaned down to her ear.
"Showtime, Mrs. Delgado," he whispered.
