Chapter 19: Bree

Wynne's POV

The church in Charlottesville was full of white roses and half-empty pews.

News of the gala had gone through the county in a day, and most of the bride's side had found other plans.

Lorne and I sat in the last row, on the aisle, with the detective in the pew behind us.

He wore his dress blues and held no cane.

His hand lay on the wood between us, and mine lay an inch from it.

Neither of us closed the inch.

At the front, Bree's fiancé stood at the altar with his jaw tight and his eyes on the floor.

He had decided to go through with it, his mother had told the whole row, because he did not believe a word of what the papers said about Bree.

The organ started.

Joanne came down the aisle on the arm of an usher, in a navy dress without her pearls.

She looked ten years older than she had at the gala.

She did not look at me.

Then the doors opened again, and Bree came in alone.

She wore a high-necked silk gown and a veil, and she walked as if the floor were tilting.

Her eyes were glassy and too bright.

She smelled of champagne from where I sat.

"She's been drinking since breakfast," I whispered.

"Of course she has," Lorne said, very low.

Bree reached the third pew, and her eyes crossed the church and found us.

She stopped.

"What is he doing here?" she said.

Her voice carried to the roof.

"Honey, keep walking," Joanne hissed.

"That's him. That's the man. Why is he here?"

The priest cleared his throat and gestured her on.

Keep reading free with an account. Start I Wouldn't Take Their Daughter's DUI, So I Healed the Man She Crippled from Chapter 1, then sign up free to read the rest of this chapter.