Chapter 7
The wedding was canceled before midnight.
I walked downstairs myself.
Still in the bridal gown.
No veil.
No ring.
Two hundred eyes turned toward me.
I did not explain Preston’s mother.
That was not entertainment.
I did not explain the club.
That belonged to Evelyn’s story, not gossip.
I said only:
“The wedding will not proceed.”
Silence.
“Guests will be escorted home. Staff will be paid in full. No one is to approach Preston or Warren Hale tonight.”
That last sentence mattered.
My men were angry.
Some loved me.
Some loved spectacle.
I wanted neither converted into violence.
One capo asked:
“Boss, is there a problem?”
“Yes.”
He waited.
I smiled faintly.
“I’ve handled it.”
That ended the room.
Upstairs, Preston found me thirty minutes later.
Without his father.
First time that night.
“Were you ever going to marry me?”
I stared.
“Until you raised the club.”
He flinched.
“You think I would’ve hit you?”
“You swung.”
“I knew you’d move.”
I almost laughed.
There are lies people tell others.
Then there are lies designed mainly for the speaker.
“You locked the door.”
Silence.
“You cornered me.”
Silence.
“You raised a weapon your mother feared.”
His face changed.
Then:
“I was angry.”
“Yes.”
“Because you humiliated me in front of the planners.”
We had argued earlier about seating.
That was all.
He wanted two Hale men at the central table.
I refused because seats were already assigned.
That minor disagreement followed us upstairs.
And in less than ten minutes he had reenacted his father’s marriage.
I looked at him.
“That is what frightens you most, isn’t it?”
“What?”
“Not losing me.”
He went still.
“Being contradicted by me.”
No answer.
There it was.
May you like
Love might have been real.
Equality had not been.
