Chapter 7: Three Hundred Guests

"I'll sign it on Saturday," I told him on the roof. "After."

That was eight days ago.

Now it was Saturday, two in the afternoon, and I was standing at the back of the Hartwell Chapel in a dress that cost more than my first car.

Three hundred people had turned in their pews to look at me.

The organ was playing.

Harvey stood at the altar in a black tuxedo with Rhys beside him, and he was not looking at the guests.

He was looking at me.

His face was pale and open and so full of feeling that something in my chest cracked.

I told myself it was the best acting I had ever seen.

Clarence had offered to walk me down the aisle.

I had said I would do it alone.

"Good," he had said in the vestibule, and winked. "Make it count."

In the front pew, on the bride's side, sat Daphne Wakefield in a sleeveless white dress that nobody in the room had missed.

Her phone was held up in her lap, its camera pointed at the aisle.

I walked.

The carpet was soft under my shoes, and the flowers smelled sweet and a little sick.

I passed my mother, who was crying.

I passed Maddie in the fourth pew, who had sent a text to my phone ten minutes ago that said, Car is at the side door. Engine on. Burn it down.

I passed Daphne, and I smiled at her.

She smiled back.

I walked up to the altar, and Harvey took my hand, and his was shaking.

"You look," he said, and stopped. "You look like everything."

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