Chapter 1 - The Perfect Sunday Morning
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The Sunday morning sun spilled through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the Manhattan hotel suite, painting everything in shades of pale gold. I sat at the vanity, barely touching the lukewarm espresso resting beside my makeup brushes.
My best friend, Laura, stepped behind me, her fingers carefully adjusting a loose dark curl near my cathedral-length veil.
"Stop biting your lip, Vic," Laura whispered, smiling through the mirror. "You look like a Victorian painting. Ryan is going to lose his mind the second those double doors open."
"I just have this strange feeling," I admitted, staring at my reflection. "Like I forgot something crucial."
"You didn't forget anything," Laura reassured me, giving my shoulders a gentle squeeze. "The flowers are set. The limousine is downstairs. The yellow cabs are moving down Midtown without a hitch."
My mother walked into the room, smoothing down her navy lace dress, checking her watch for the third time in ten minutes.
"Traffic near Fifth Avenue is completely unpredictable on Sundays," my mother warned, her voice filled with her usual nervous energy. "Your father is already downstairs pacing. Danielle is running late, of course, but what else is new?"
Danielle. My younger sister. She had been late to my dress fitting, late to the rehearsal dinner, and absent for half the wedding prep. But I had forgiven her every time. She was my little sister, and making space for her quirks was second nature.
By eleven o'clock, I was standing inside the historic stone sanctuary of St. Thomas Church. The air smelled of fresh white roses, beeswax candles, and soft lavender. Almost two hundred guests filled the carved wooden pews—family, colleagues, and friends who had traveled from New York, Connecticut, New Jersey, and beyond.
The soft organ music echoed off the vaulted ceilings. My heart beat steady and fast.
Ryan was supposed to be waiting at the front, flanked by his groomsmen, wearing the custom midnight-blue tuxedo we had picked out together three months ago.
Instead, before my father could take my arm, the heavy oak doors at the back of the church creaked open.
"I need everyone to hear this right now!" a sharp, ringing voice called out.
May you like
The organist stopped mid-note. The sudden silence in the church was deafening.
I turned around slowly, my train catching on the stone floor, and forgot how to breathe.
