Chapter 7: The Clerk's Window

The Grand Plaza's owner called me back at noon on Sunday.

"The deposit is in your name, Ms. Ashworth," she said. "Mrs. Lowry has no standing. I told her so twice."

"Thank you."

"For what it's worth, my daughter watched the video of your wedding six times."

I hung up and found Vaughn watching me from the other side of the suite.

"Your assistant has the owner's number," I said.

"She does."

"Did you call the owner?"

"I told her you'd ring in your own time," he said. "I'd have rung her myself if you hadn't."

On Monday morning we stood in line at the county clerk's office with eleven other couples.

Nobody in that line looked at us at first.

Then a young woman in a lace top turned around, saw my face, and whispered to her fiancé.

By the second row all of them were looking.

"You're the one from the video," the lace-top woman said.

"I think so."

"Good for you," she said, and meant it.

Vaughn held a number slip in one hand and the folder of documents in the other.

"Eleven couples ahead of us," he read.

"You've never waited in a line in your life."

"I'm learning."

I saw Sylvia before she saw me.

She stood by the water fountain in a camel coat, holding a leather portfolio.

Next to her a thin man in a gray suit clutched a briefcase.

Her lawyer.

She crossed the corridor.

"Gillian. A word."

"You can have it here."

"In private."

"You've had three years of privacy with me, Sylvia. You can say it in the hallway."

Keep reading free with an account. Start He Left Our Wedding for a Sprained Ankle, So I Married My Ex-Boss from Chapter 1, then sign up free to read the rest of this chapter.