2: 2

2.

"Mabel, what are you doing?"

Conrad's voice turned cold and hard in an instant.

He crossed the room in a few strides and caught Mabel around the waist, checking her over with the care he'd give something fragile and precious.

Years ago, when I was mocked and bullied, when they chased after me shouting "illegitimate daughter," he was the one who stepped in front of me and shielded me.

Exactly the same.

My fingers trembled beyond my control, and I heard myself defending, "It was her—"

"Enough. Don't say anything," Conrad cut in, his brow furrowed.

I bit down hard on the soft flesh inside my lip, and a sweet, metallic sting spread through my mouth at once.

He hadn't asked a single question, and he'd already found me guilty.

Mabel took the chance to shrink deeper into his arms, a flicker of triumph darting across her eyes.

But out loud she said, on purpose,

"All right, all right, it's nothing, why make such a fuss. My heels are just too high and I lost my balance, that's all."

Conrad's gaze swept over me, more displeased than before.

"If you've got a grievance, take it out on me. Mabel does everything with you in mind, and you still turn on her."

With me in mind.

Letting Mabel finalize my invitations.

Swapping out my gown and my venue for her.

Making me toast her in front of everyone.

In Conrad's eyes, all of it was done with me in mind.

I forced the surge of wetness back down behind my eyes.

Mabel noticed the flat wedding shoes scattered on the floor and frowned slightly.

She bent, picked one up between her fingers, contempt flashing in her eyes. "Why are they all flats? Not fit to be seen."

For once, Conrad offered a word for me. "Beulah has an old ankle injury. It can't take weight, so she can't wear heels."

Warmth flooded my chest.

Years ago, when he cut ties with his family and went out on his own to open a teahouse, I stood beside him and poured the tea to draw a crowd.

The long hours on my feet in heels triggered cauda equina syndrome, and I nearly lost the use of my legs.

Conrad had wept himself hoarse outside the operating room, and sworn he would never let me wear heels again as long as I lived.

A dull thud pulled me back.

Mabel tossed the shoe aside and brushed at nonexistent dust on her hands.

"Everyone here today is society and old money. They're all in heels. The bride in flats?"

I froze, and the familiar bone-deep phantom pain flared up my back.

Conrad's gaze settled heavily on me, without the slightest hesitation.

"She's right. This isn't really appropriate."

He looked at me. "Beulah, change into heels."

Of course.

He only listened to her.

My fingertips dug hard into the vanity, the bitterness climbing straight to my throat, my voice shaking. "Conrad, I can't stand in heels that long. Do you really want me to?"

My fresh manicure was nearly gouging through the vanity, the huge pressure making the back edges ache.

This was the last chance I was giving him.

A flicker of hesitation crossed Conrad's eyes.

Just then Mabel leaned close to my ear, the corner of her mouth curling, and taunted in a low voice, "Can't stand it? You and that dying mother of yours—she spent her whole life as somebody's mistress, and she won't even earn the right to die at her own husband's side—"

I was shaking all over and couldn't stop it.

Everything I'd held back for so long broke loose, and my hand flew up before I could control it.

But my fingers hadn't touched a hair of her before she flung herself backward, clapping a hand to her cheek and screaming.

"What are you putting on an act for! I didn't even touch you!"

My voice came out hoarse and rushed.

But when I looked up, I met Conrad's eyes, brimming with fury.

"Beulah! It seems I've indulged you far too much!"

He didn't believe Mabel was the type to be petty or jealous.

Right there in front of me, without a moment's hesitation, he called his assistant, his voice without a trace of warmth. "Mrs. Henson's medical bills are covered only through tomorrow. Without my order, not another cent is to be paid."

A roar went off in my head.

Enormous panic and despair crashed down all at once.

I stumbled over and gripped Conrad's wrist with everything I had, my body going so weak I nearly dropped to my knees. "Conrad! You can't do this! My mother is still in the ICU, she's not out of danger, she can't gamble on this!"

There was nothing left in Conrad's eyes now, not the smallest stir. "Behave. Get through today quietly. One day of obedience buys your mother one more day of medicine."

I stared blankly at this face, so familiar and so strange.

The last thread inside me snapped.

He had cut it himself.

Trailing behind Conrad, Mabel glanced back at me.

Her eyes were full of smug delight.

She hadn't had to lift a finger, and she'd won.

Twenty-one hours to go.

3: 3

3.

At the ceremony, hundreds of pairs of eyes clung to me, thick as a swarm.

The dull, swelling ache from the pinched nerve at my waist spread, crawling up my spine.

Scraps of whispering worked their way into my ears.

"Well, this is something. Who wears pink to their own wedding?"

"Even stranger, in a minute she has to serve tea to the ex-wife."

"What kind of custom is that? The ex is clearly making trouble for her."

I stood in the heels, fighting to keep my balance.

For a dazed moment I remembered the past.

Once, in a grand setting just like this, facing the gossip, Conrad had taught me to strike back.

I turned my head to the man beside me without thinking.

He lifted his wrist and checked his watch.

"Hurry up. Serve the tea, keep to the schedule. Don't waste time."

There, in the roar of my own wedding, my heart sank all the way into a pit of ice.

Holding the teacup, forcing down the churning pain, I walked to Mabel Simmons, my face gone numb.

"Miss Simmons, please have some tea."

The smile froze on her face, then curdled into displeasure. She drank it down, slow and unhurried.

From behind her she produced a cash gift envelope and pressed it into my hand with a false smile.

The guests crowding in to watch egged us on.

"Clever bride! Calling her Miss, not the ex-wife."

"But a gift from the ex-wife has got to be fat. Open it, let everyone soak up the luck!"

Their urging carried a spectator's mockery. I opened the envelope gently.

Inside, nothing.

The whole room went dead silent for a beat, then erupted.

"Empty? An empty envelope on a wedding day? That's about as unlucky as it gets. The ex really is vicious."

"Right, that's just spiteful."

The gossip all rushed toward Mabel.

She looked flustered, her eyes reddening fast.

Conrad's brow creased. He shot a glance at me and said it lightly.

"Mabel isn't that kind of person. The guests are all watching. Stop with the tantrums."

He thought I'd rigged it.

I twisted the corner of my mouth. Nothing but bitterness there.

Fine.

It was only a deal. His opinion didn't matter.

Once the ceremony was done, the debt Conrad had shown me and my mother would be paid in full.

Right on cue the emcee's voice rose, bright and loud. Time for the couple's shared ceremonial cup.

I drew a deep breath and lifted my hand to take the cup.

The next instant, Mabel's foot buckled under her and her body pitched, out of control, toward the attendant girl.

The two cups on the tray tipped over, the porcelain shattering.

The room broke into chaos at once.

Everyone was waiting for me to lose my composure, watching for the joke.

"Oh no! I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to."

Mabel covered her mouth, hurrying out her apology, the corners of her eyes tilted up in delight.

Again and again. It never ended.

I clenched my fists, the fury climbing all the way to my throat.

But before it could break loose, Conrad waved a hand, impatient.

"It spilled, forget it, we won't do the cup!"

"Go get yourself cleaned up. This has dragged on long enough."

He turned his head and swept a look my way, a warning underneath it.

"Give her any more grief and I'm done being nice."

I looked at the glass on the floor, something rising in my chest.

But a stabbing, bone-deep pain shot through my lower back like a needle,

and Conrad's words came back to me.

"Behave for one day, and I'll cover one more day of your mother's medical bills."

It yanked me back to reality in an instant.

I couldn't afford the gamble.

I bent down and gathered up the broken porcelain.

I set the shards into my own palm, and the moment they bit into the flesh, the pain burned from my hand all the way to my temple.

This much pain was nothing next to the injury in my back from being made to stand in heels.

I turned meekly and withdrew without a word.

Behind me came a man's voice, a little panicked, a little hesitant.

"Beulah..."

It was swallowed at once by the noise of the hall.

Eighteen hours left.

...

At daybreak, someone eased the door of the wedding suite open.

I looked toward the doorway without thinking.

Conrad stood there, his steps faltering. As if he meant to come in.

But someone called him away.

From the corridor came Mabel's soft, coaxing voice.

He turned and went that way.

Without hesitation.

I rolled over and stared at the ceiling.

I hadn't slept all night. There was a thin crack in the ceiling, running from the edge of the chandelier to the corner of the wall.

I spent the night counting how many bends there were in that crack.

Seventeen.

The sky went fully bright.

Four hours left.

Pat Lambert brought in breakfast, her face anxious, not daring to meet my eyes.

Unease welled up in me.

Just as I was about to ask, the phone on the nightstand rang out.

It was the hospital.

"Mr. Farley's secretary, Miss Simmons, never approved the funds. The treatment lapsed. Mrs. Henson passed this morning..."

4: 4

4.

The world went out with a bang.

Everything in front of me dropped to black, and the blood in my body froze all at once.

The phone slid from my palm and the screen splintered.

Whatever the caller said next, I didn't hear a word of it.

Pat startled and reached out to steady me.

I grabbed her arm, gripping so hard I snapped her manicure clean off.

My voice came out hoarse and cracked and shaking.

"Where the hell is Conrad?"

Pat was trembling all over. She shrank back and pointed, timidly, toward Mabel's room.

I let go of her.

I gathered every bit of strength I had and slammed my foot into the door.

It flew open.

A room full of tangled, intimate warmth crashed into my eyes, and the sight of it burned.

Mabel, in a silk slip, flinched at the crash and burrowed into Conrad's arms.

So this was where my husband had spent his wedding night. His ex-wife's bed.

Conrad went rigid, shoved Mabel off him, and scrambled up to reach for me.

"Beulah, let me explain. It's not what you think."

My lips were shaking. I jerked back from his hand and demanded, sharp:

"Cutting off my mother's medical payments. Was that your idea?"

His outstretched hand froze in the air. The panic drained from his eyes, and his face went hard.

"All you've got in your heart is money? Look at you, getting the hang of being Mrs. Farley. So very rational."

Beside him, Mabel sat up slowly, patting her forehead in mock dismay, her voice soft and sweet.

"Oh no! It's all my fault. I had too much to drink last night and forgot to renew the payments. I'll go take care of it right now. The very first thing Conrad trusted me with, and I dropped it."

For a heartbeat I was too stunned to move, then my eyes went bloodshot and my chest seized like I couldn't breathe.

He'd put my mother's life in Mabel's hands.

"You knew perfectly well she—"

Conrad cut me off, furious.

"So it was a day late. What you should be worrying about right now is your husband, is your marriage!"

A day late.

I watched his mouth open and close. The sound passed straight through my ears and left nothing behind.

"Pat! Take Mrs. Farley back to her room to rest. Let her think things over properly."

I turned and left.

On my own two feet.

I curled up in the corner of the wedding suite and cried until the tears poured out of me, until my whole body went weak and shaking and cramped.

I couldn't stay one more second. I had to get to the hospital and bring my mother home.

I would not leave her lying in that cold morgue.

One second before I left.

Conrad stood in the doorway, the venom gone from him.

"Beulah, Pat told me. You cried all morning. It was my fault. I drank too much last night. Nothing happened between Mabel and me. Don't read into it."

"I've pulled every trending topic. Those gossip accounts just make things up. I'm sorry you had to go through that."

His voice caught.

"What are you... packing up?"

My tears had long since dried. My eyes were red and stiff-rimmed, my voice low and hoarse, without a trace of anger left.

"Just some old things I'm throwing out."

"You're... not angry anymore?"

"Not angry anymore."

Conrad breathed out in relief.

He came over and put his arms around me gently, pressing a kiss to my forehead.

"That's more like it. I'll handle the rumors out there. You don't have to worry about any of it."

Something turned over in my stomach.

I lifted my hand and pushed him away, firmly.

"I've already signed the divorce papers. The ring goes back to its owner."

Conrad's back went rigid.

He looked down at the papers in my hand, anger climbing into his eyes.

"Beulah Henson, you're impossible! Go on reflecting, then!"

He snatched the papers, tore them to shreds, and stormed out, slamming the door.

The wall shook with it, and the wedding photo swayed, a crack splitting the glass in the frame.

Scraps of paper drifted down through the air. Nothing in me stirred.

I printed a second copy of the divorce agreement.

Holding the same pen we'd used to register our marriage, I signed my name, stroke by stroke, without hesitation.

The last stroke settled.

I slipped off the ring and set it with the pen on top of the agreement, arranging them neatly in the center of the vanity.

Time back to zero.

I turned and walked out the door of the Farley home.