Chapter 8 · He Takes the Bullet

I don't go to the wedding.

I stand in the empty bridal suite, white dress half-zipped, staring at the photo in my hand. My mother. Archer. Three weeks before the car crash.

Claire's not here. The makeup artist left ten minutes ago. Outside, I can hear the string quartet starting up, guests filing into their seats. Someone knocks—probably the coordinator, asking if I'm ready.

I'm not ready.

I pull off the veil. Grab my phone and the photo. My hands are shaking but I don't care. I need answers and I need them now.

The restaurant in the photo has a name visible on the matchbook by my mother's hand. Le Diamant. I know the place. Archer's supposed to be across town at the venue, waiting at the altar like a good little groom.

But my mother knew him. Before the bankruptcy. Before everything fell apart.

I take the service exit. No one stops me. My dress trails behind me on the concrete steps and I don't bother lifting it. I just walk.

Le Diamant is twenty minutes away. I take a cab.