My Family Faked Mom's Death to Stop My Wedding—My Adopted Sister Had My Fiancé's Baby novel · Chapter 1 of 24
Chapter 1: The Fifth Wedding
Livia overhears that her mother's death is fake and her fiancé married her adopted sister, takes off the ring, cancels everything, and opens the coffin to find sandbags.
The fifth time my wedding was canceled, it was because my mother died.
A truck hit her car on the expressway three days before the ceremony.
Dad said the closed coffin was the funeral home's advice.
My eldest brother stood in the chapel doorway and wouldn't let me in to see her.
"She'd hate for you to remember her like that, Livia."
So I sat all night beside a lid I wasn't allowed to lift.
Our family had a rule, and Dad made it when I was nineteen.
Every parent and every biological child got one veto in a lifetime, and a veto froze any big family decision for a year.
Ethan and I had been engaged five years.
Dad used his veto the first year, because I was too young.
Mom used hers the second, because marriage was a vow before God.
My eldest brother used his the third year, and my other brother the fourth.
Claire, who we adopted at twelve, never had one and never asked for one.
This year nobody had a veto left, and then Mom died.
Dad said I couldn't marry in the shadow of her funeral.
Ethan held me and said, "Next year, Livia. December, like always."
Every time a date fell through, Ethan picked the new one himself.
It was always December, after my birthday.
He called it his lucky month.
At seven in the morning I went to find a glass of water.
The side door of the chapel office stood open one inch.
Dad's voice came through it.
"She cried for a few days every other time. She'll cry this time too."
"She hasn't slept," my brother Lorenzo said. "What if she gets sick?"
"We used up all four vetoes," my brother Rocco said. "Faking Mom's death was the only way left to buy a year."
I put my hand on the wall.
"Claire is out of the hospital Thursday," Rocco went on. "When she's strong, we bring Mom home."
"Keep it from Livia," Ethan said.
I knew his voice better than my own.
"She can't know Claire and I got married in Bermuda. She waited five years. One more won't hurt her."
Nobody in the room argued.
"I'll make it up to her," Ethan said. "Once Claire and the baby are settled, I'll be gentle with her."
"Claire's parents trusted us with her," Dad said, and his voice went soft. "Her father died saving my life. We owe that girl everything."
I stood there with my hand flat on the wall.
Rocco used to drive two hours back from the Island in the middle of the night when thunder scared her.
I had never once minded looking after her.
I had even told Ethan, the night he proposed, "She's my sister. We look after her."
Now my mother was alive in Bermuda, holding the baby my fiancé had with my sister.
I took the ring off my finger.
It left a pale line on my skin.
I put the ring in my coat pocket, and I walked back to the coffin.
Ethan found me there ten minutes later.
He laid his jacket over my shoulders and crouched in front of me.
"You haven't slept. Come on. Your mother would hate to see you like this."
He looked sincere enough that I almost laughed.
"I'm fine," I said.
"Just a little longer, Livia. I'll give you a better wedding next year."
I looked at him and said nothing.
My phone rang.
It was the wedding planner.
"Ms. Benedetti, Mr. Prescott says to keep the flowers and the cake and move them to Bermuda. Is that all right?"
She read me the address of an estate called Harbour Point.
Ethan and I had spent three months choosing the white roses for our aisle.
He had said he wanted me to walk toward him through flowers.
Now he planned to walk toward Claire through mine.
"Cancel the flowers," I said. "Cancel the cake. Cancel everything that can be canceled."
Ethan went still beside me.
"Livia?"
"It's work," I told him.
I walked out to the cloakroom and called the lawyer who had handled my grandmother's estate and my own affairs since I turned eighteen.
"Cancel the wedding," I said. "Draft the paper that takes Ethan off my accounts. Put Nonna's house on East 74th Street up for sale. Tell nobody in my family."
He hesitated. "And Mr. Prescott?"
"He doesn't get a vote."
The funeral Mass was at four.
At noon the whole family left for the lunch at the house, and I told them I wanted a minute alone with Mom.
When the chapel emptied I stood over the coffin.
The brass latches were cold.
I unlatched them and pushed the lid up.
Inside lay six canvas sandbags under a white satin lining.
A folded receipt was tucked in the corner.
It read: Casket, weighted, no remains.
At the bottom was a signature I had seen on birthday cards.
Lorenzo Benedetti.
I took a photo of the bags and one of the receipt.
Then I closed the lid and latched it.
I didn't want to tell them.
I wanted every one of them in the same room when I did.
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