Chapter 4 - THE MASK COMES OFF
I didn't knock.
I slammed my boot against the heavy mahogany door of the bridal suite. The lock shattered, and the door swung open, crashing hard against the interior drywall.
Inside, Vanessa stood before a full-length mirror, adjusting the silk veil of a five-thousand-dollar custom gown. Her two bridesmaids—her college friends from Boston—shrieked, stepping backward into the corner of the room.
Vanessa turned around, her eyes widening in anger before quickly shifting into a practiced, elegant pout.
“Andrew!” she gasped, placing a manicured hand over her pearl necklace. “What on earth are you doing? It is bad luck to see the bride before I walk down the aisle! And you just broke the lodge’s door!”
I walked into the room, closing the distance between us until I was standing two feet away from her. The scent of her expensive floral perfume—the one she had been wearing for two years—suddenly made me want to vomit.
“Where did you put Emily ten minutes ago, Vanessa?” I asked. My voice wasn't raised. It was low, quiet, and completely devoid of human warmth.
The color flickered out of Vanessa’s cheeks for a fraction of a second, but she caught herself instantly. She let out a soft, melodious laugh, turning back toward the mirror to smooth her lace sleeve.
“What are you talking about, darling? Emily was sitting with your sister. She probably got distracted by the catering table.”
“Don't lie to me,” I said.
The two bridesmaids backed further into the shadows, sensing the dangerous shift in the room's oxygen.
“Andrew, you're being ridiculous—”
“I found her behind the locked door of the service utility room,” I said, stepping directly into her space, forcing her to look into my eyes. “She was sitting between a washing machine and a wall, holding her overturned basket, afraid to make a sound because you told her she was a reminder of a dead woman.”
The mask didn't slip immediately. Vanessa was a master of self-preservation. She drew herself up to her full height, her blue eyes flashing with sharp, icy indignation.
“Oh, so we’re believing the dramatics of a spoiled nine-year-old over your future wife now?” Vanessa sneered, dropping the sweet, soft-spoken voice she had used around me for twenty-four months. “I gave that girl every chance, Andrew! I tried to be nice to her! But today is my day! My parents paid sixty thousand dollars for this venue! I didn't want a sullen, grieving child dragging down the energy of my walk down the aisle!”
There it was.
May you like
The truth, unvarnished, ugly, and raw.
“She’s not a reminder of a dead woman,” I whispered, staring at the stranger wearing my ring. “She is my daughter. And you just showed me exactly who you are.”
