The final lingering note of the string quartet died away.
*Crash.*
A champagne flute shattered against the marble floor. Shards of crystal sprayed across the white runner, stopping inches from my sneakers.
I flinched.
John stood over the broken glass, his chest heaving.
"John, please," I begged, taking a step toward the altar. "Let me explain."
Before I could reach him, a familiar figure stepped out from the cluster of bridesmaids.
Eira.
Relief washed through my panicked chest. My best friend. My maid of honor. She wore the pale pink gown we had picked out together.
I reached my hand out to her. "Eira, tell them. Tell John about the stylist—"
Eira didn't look at me. She walked right past my outstretched hand and stopped beside John. She placed a gentle, manicured hand on his tuxedo sleeve.
"John, try to calm down," Eira murmured. Her voice carried perfectly through the silent cathedral. "Please forgive her."
I froze. "Forgive me?"
Eira turned her pitying gaze toward me. "We both know how you are, Elowen. You’ve always been so... careless."
"What are you talking about?" I demanded.
"I told you to take this seriously," Eira said, shaking her head. She looked back at John. "I’m so sorry, John. You know her lazy streak. She probably slept in and panicked. She never handles responsibility well."
My jaw unhinged. A short, sharp laugh punched its way out of my throat. It was the only reaction my brain could muster.
"Lazy?" I echoed. "Eira, I was trapped in my room!"
John’s lip curled. He shoved Eira’s hand off his arm, though his glare remained pinned on me.
"Even your best friend knows you're lying," John spat.
"She wasn't even at the hotel this morning!" I shouted.
"Because I was here, making sure everything was perfect for you," Eira countered smoothly. "Someone had to."
John took a step down the altar stairs. The sheer contempt in his eyes made my blood run cold.
"You couldn't even put on a decent outfit," John said. "You dragged my name through the mud in front of the entire city."
"I was sabotaged!"
"By who? Ghosts?" John mocked. "You cut up your own dress because you realized you don't belong here. You wanted an out."
"I wanted to marry you!" I yelled.
The crowd murmured in a low, vicious buzz.
Eira sighed, a delicate, tragic sound. She signaled a passing waiter and plucked a fresh glass of champagne from his silver tray. She offered it to John.
"Here," Eira said softly. "Drink this. Don't let her ruin your day completely."
John took the stem of the glass.
"She didn't mean to humiliate you on purpose," Eira continued, her tone heavy with fake sympathy. "She just doesn't understand the pressure of your world. She's just a regular girl who got in over her head."
Fire roared in my ears. "Shut up, Eira! Why are you doing this?"
"I'm trying to help you, Elowen," she said.
"You're lying to him!" I stepped closer to John. "Look at me. Look in my eyes. Have I ever lied to you in five years?"
John stared at me. His knuckles turned white around the champagne glass.
"You're right," John said softly.
Hope flared in my chest. "Thank you."
"You never lied," he continued, his voice dropping to a lethal whisper. "You just hid who you really are. A pathetic, attention-seeking child."
He raised his arm.
A sudden chill shocked my scalp.
The pale golden liquid splashed directly into my face. It ran down my forehead, stinging my eyes, and soaked into the collar of my faded gray sweater.
I gasped, sputtering as the alcohol burned my nose.
"John!" I choked out.
He tossed the empty crystal glass onto the floor. It didn't break this time. It just rolled away, clinking against the marble.
"Get out of my sight," John ordered.
I wiped the stinging liquid from my eyes, stumbling backward. My wet sneakers found a slick patch of spilled champagne.
My feet flew out from under me.
I hit the floor hard. Pain shot up my tailbone and radiated through my spine.
Laughter erupted from the pews.
"Look at her," someone sneered.
"Trash always reveals itself," another voice whispered.
I sat on the cold stone, shivering. The sweet, sticky smell of alcohol clung to my skin and clothes.
I blinked through the stinging in my eyes and looked at the faces staring down at me.
Arthur Crawford sneered. Victoria smirked, still holding the plastic bag with my shears. Eira stood next to John, looking like the perfect, concerned friend.
Then, I looked past them. I scanned the front rows on the left side of the aisle. The bride's side.
Row one. Empty.
Row two. Empty.
Row three. A few distant cousins I barely knew, whispering behind their programs.
My stomach plummeted.
Where was my mother?
Where was my younger brother, Leo?
I scrambled to my knees, gripping the edge of a mahogany pew to pull myself up.
"Where is my family?" I asked. My voice cracked.
John didn't answer. He turned his back to me.
"John! Where are they?" I screamed. "They were supposed to be in the VIP cars with you!"
"They never showed up," Arthur Crawford answered from the side. The older man adjusted his silver tie. "Like daughter, like family. Completely unreliable."
"No," I shook my head frantically. "My mother wouldn't miss this. Leo wouldn't miss this. Something is wrong."
I grabbed John’s tuxedo jacket, yanking him back around to face me.
"Call Marcus!" I demanded. "Find out where the cars went!"
John slapped my hand away. The force of his strike sent a sharp sting across my knuckles.
"Don't touch me," he snarled.
"My dress was destroyed!" I shrieked, the raw sound tearing my throat. "My room was broken into! My family is missing! Someone is doing this to me!"
"Enough!" John roared. His voice shook the stained-glass windows.
The entire cathedral fell dead silent again.
"I am done listening to your excuses," John said. His eyes were flat, dead, devoid of the man I had loved. "The wedding is off."
He looked at the security guards rushing down the aisle.
"Throw her out," John commanded.
Two massive guards grabbed my arms, hauling me off my feet.
"No! Let me go!" I thrashed against their grip.
They dragged me backward down the long white runner. My sneakers squeaked against the marble.
"John, please!" I screamed over my shoulder.
He didn't look back. He offered his arm to Eira, and she took it with a triumphant smile.
The heavy oak doors loomed behind me. The guards shoved me through them, out into the blinding flashes of the paparazzi.
I stumbled down the stone steps, shielding my face.
Then, my phone vibrated in my pocket.
I pulled it out with trembling, champagne-sticky fingers.
An unknown number. A text message.
I opened it.
It was a photo of my mother and Leo, tied to chairs in a dark, concrete room.
Below the image was a single line of text.
*Run, Elowen.*
