And sometimes, when she thought I wasn’t looking, she’d lean over to whisper something to Julian, and his expression would darken just slightly before smoothing back into a smile.
«What does she keep telling you?» I asked him once after a particularly tense meeting with the florist.
«Nothing important,» he said. «She’s just stressed about her own life. Don’t let it bother you.»
But it did bother me. It burrowed under my skin like a splinter I couldn’t quite reach. Three months before the wedding, I found out I was pregnant.
I took the test in the bathroom of the office, my hands shaking so badly I could barely hold the stick steady. Two pink lines. Unmistakable.
I was carrying Julian’s child. The timing was terrible. We’d agreed to wait until after the wedding, until we’d been married for at least a year.
But here it was, happening anyway. Life refusing to follow our carefully laid plans. I decided to tell him that night over dinner.
I’d picked out a little onesie that said «Worth the Weight» and wrapped it in tissue paper. I was nervous but excited. This was our future growing inside me.
This was proof that something good could come from all the pain. I arrived at his apartment early, using the key he’d given me. The lights were off, but I heard voices coming from the bedroom.
Julian’s voice and another. Female. My heart stopped.
For one terrible moment, I thought… But then I recognized the second voice. Veronica.
I crept closer, not meaning to eavesdrop but unable to help myself. The bedroom door was cracked open. Through the gap, I could see them sitting on the edge of the bed, their backs to me.
«You have to tell her before the wedding,» Veronica was saying. «It’s not fair to let her walk into this blind.»
«I can’t,» Julian said. His voice was thick with something. Guilt? Fear? «If she finds out, she’ll leave.»
«Then maybe she should leave. This is a disaster waiting to happen, and you know it.»
«I love her.»
«Do you? Or do you love the idea of her? The sweet, broken little orphan who worships the ground you walk on.»
Veronica’s voice was acid. «But I’ve done the research, Julian. Her financial history is a mess.»
«She’s got credit card debt, student loans, a bankruptcy from when she was 22.»
«That’s not who she is now.»
«Isn’t it? Wake up. She’s using you. She saw dollar signs and a way out of her pathetic little life, and she latched on. Just like…»
«Don’t.» Julian’s voice cracked like a whip. «Don’t compare her to Mom.»
A long silence. Then Veronica’s voice, softer now, more dangerous. «I’m just trying to protect you.»
«You know what happened to Dad after Mom died? How that woman swooped in, played the grieving widow, and walked away with half his fortune. I won’t let the same thing happen to you.»
My hand was pressed against my mouth, holding back a sound that was half gasp, half sob. Credit card debt. Bankruptcy. I’d had financial troubles in my early twenties, yes.
Everyone did. But I’d worked my way out of them, slowly, painfully. And I’d never, ever seen Julian as a meal ticket.
Had I? The doubt crept in like poison gas. Had some unconscious part of me been drawn to his stability, his wealth, his ability to provide the security my life had always lacked?
I loved him. I loved him for who he was, not what he had. But standing there in the darkness, listening to them dissect my character, my motives, my worth, I felt something crack inside me.
Something I didn’t even know was fragile until it broke. I backed away silently. I left the apartment.
The onesie stayed in my purse, unwrapped, the secret of our child unspoken. I didn’t tell him what I’d overheard. I told myself I was being paranoid, that I’d misunderstood.
But the words echoed in my head for weeks. «She’s using you.» «Pathetic little life.» «Just like Mom.»
The wedding preparations accelerated into a frenzied blur. My morning sickness was getting worse, but I hid it. I smiled through the final fittings, the rehearsal dinner, the endless stream of relatives arriving from out of town.
Julian seemed distracted. He worked late more often. He took phone calls in other rooms.
Sometimes I caught him staring at me with an expression I couldn’t read, like he was trying to solve a puzzle he didn’t understand.
«Are you happy?» I asked him one night, a week before the wedding. We were in bed, the lights off, the city glowing through the windows.
He turned to face me, his features obscured by shadow. «What kind of question is that?»
«An honest one. Are you happy? About us. About getting married.»
He was quiet for a long time. Too long.
«I love you,» he finally said, which wasn’t the same as «yes.»
I wanted to push, to demand real answers. But I was afraid of what I might hear. So I let it go, swallowing the question down with all the other unspoken things between us.
Veronica threw me a bridal shower that felt more like an interrogation than a celebration. His aunts and cousins asked pointed questions about my family, my background, my career plans.
Someone mentioned that I’d be signing a prenuptial agreement, hadn’t I? When I said we hadn’t discussed one, the room went silent.
Veronica smiled. «Oh, how modern of you both.» But her eyes said something else entirely.
That night, I asked Julian about the prenup. «Veronica mentioned it,» I said carefully. «Should we? I mean, do you want me to sign one?»
He looked uncomfortable. «My lawyer mentioned it, but I told him no. I don’t want to start our marriage assuming it’ll fail.»
«But if it would make you feel more secure…»
«I said no.» His voice was sharp. Then, softer, «I trust you.»
But did he? Really? The doubt was a living thing now, coiled in my stomach alongside our growing child.
The morning of the wedding was chaos wrapped in silk and lace. My bridesmaids fluttered around me like anxious birds while a team of stylists worked on my hair and makeup. The dress, an ivory silk gown with a long train and delicate beading, hung on the back of the door like a ghost.
I’d woken up nauseous, which was becoming routine. But today, it was worse. I barely made it to the bathroom before throwing up what little breakfast I’d managed to eat.
«Nerves,» one of the bridesmaids said sympathetically.
Not nerves. Our baby, making its presence known.
I still hadn’t told Julian. I kept meaning to, but the moment never felt right. And now it was our wedding day, and I’d have to wait until tonight, until we were alone in the honeymoon suite, until everything was official and binding.
The ceremony was scheduled for three in the afternoon in the gardens of Julian’s family estate. A sprawling property with manicured lawns, ancient oak trees, and a view of the river that looked like something from a painting.
Two hundred guests. An eight-piece orchestra. Flowers that had been flown in from Ecuador. It was everything I’d dreamed of and nothing I’d wanted.
Veronica came to my dressing room an hour before the ceremony. She was already in her maid of honor dress, a deep burgundy that made her skin look porcelain.
«You look beautiful,» she said, but the compliment felt hollow.
«Thank you.»
She moved closer, studying my reflection in the mirror. «Can I tell you something? Sister to sister.»
My stomach clenched. «Of course.»
«Julian’s been through a lot. Our mother’s death nearly destroyed our father. He became paranoid, convinced that every woman who showed interest in him just wanted his money.»
«It poisoned him. Made him suspicious and cruel.» She paused, her eyes meeting mine in the glass.
«Julian’s terrified of becoming like him. Of being used.»
«I’m not using him,» I said quietly.
«I know that. You know that. But Julian…» She sighed. «Just be patient with him. And understand that I’m only trying to protect my brother.»
«That’s what family does.» She squeezed my shoulder and left, leaving behind the faint scent of her perfume.
Something expensive and cold, like winter roses. The music swelled. The doors opened.
And I walked down the aisle on the arm of my uncle, my mother’s brother, the only family I had left. Julian stood at the altar in a black tuxedo, looking like every dream I’d ever had.
The late afternoon sun caught in his hair, turning it bronze. His eyes locked on mine as I approached, and for a moment, just a moment, everything else fell away. This was real.
This was happening. We were going to be married. The ceremony was traditional.
The officiant spoke about love and commitment and partnership. We exchanged vows—the standard ones, not personal ones, because Julian had said he wasn’t comfortable with public speaking.
We exchanged rings. He lifted my veil.
«I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.»
He kissed me, and the guests applauded, and I tasted salt. I didn’t know if it was from his tears or mine.
We walked back down the aisle together, hand in hand, as the orchestra played and rose petals drifted through the air like snow. People were smiling. Cameras flashed.
Everything was perfect. And then we moved to the garden reception. Cocktail hour.
The golden light of late afternoon, painting everything in amber. Waiters circulating with champagne and hors d’oeuvres. Guests clustering in small groups, laughing, drinking, celebrating.
Julian and I stood near the fountain, accepting congratulations. My feet hurt in the heels, but I smiled through it. His hand was on the small of my back, warm and possessive.
«Excuse me for a moment,» he said, kissing my temple. «I need to speak with my father.»
He stepped away. I was immediately surrounded by a group of his business associates, asking me about the honeymoon, about where we’d live, about my plans for work after the wedding.
I answered automatically, my responses smooth and practiced. But I was watching Julian out of the corner of my eye.
He was standing near the edge of the garden, talking with his father. And then Veronica appeared. She touched Julian’s elbow, drawing him aside.
They moved away from the crowd, toward a cluster of rose bushes. I couldn’t hear what she was saying, but I could see her lips moving rapidly. She pulled something from her purse.
A piece of paper, folded. She handed it to Julian. He opened it.
He read it. And I watched his face change. It was like watching ice form over water.
Everything in him went cold and hard. His jaw clenched. His hands, those hands that had touched me so gently just hours before, crumpled the paper into a tight ball.
He looked up. His eyes found mine across the garden. And there was nothing in them I recognized.
He started walking toward me. The crowd parted instinctively. Something in his expression made people step back.
My heart was pounding. I didn’t know what was happening, but I knew it was bad. I could feel it in my bones, in the way the air pressure seemed to drop like a storm rolling in.
«Julian?» My voice came out smaller than I intended.
He stopped in front of me. Close enough that I could smell the champagne on his breath, see the muscle jumping in his jaw.
«Is it true?» His voice was low, dangerous.
«Is what true? I don’t…»
And then his hand moved. Fast, brutal. The crack of his palm against my cheek echoed across the garden like a gunshot.
Pain exploded through my face. I stumbled sideways, nearly losing my balance. My veil slipped.
My vision blurred with tears that were part pain, part shock. The entire reception went silent. I touched my burning cheek, tasted blood.
I looked up at him, my husband of less than an hour, and saw a stranger staring back at me.
«How could you?» His voice broke. «How could you do this to me?»
I didn’t know what he was talking about. My mind was spinning, trying to process what had just happened. He’d hit me.
In front of everyone. On our wedding day. Veronica stood behind him, her hand over her mouth, her eyes wide.
But there was something else in her expression. Something that looked almost like satisfaction. The guests were frozen.
Two hundred people suspended in shock. And then I understood. Whatever was on that paper, whatever Veronica had told him, it was a lie.
It had to be. She’d been waiting for this moment, orchestrating it, setting me up from the very beginning. The rage that swept through me was cleaner than anything I’d ever felt.
It burned away the pain, the confusion, the hurt. It left only clarity. I straightened, lifted my chin, and looked my husband dead in the eyes.
«Ask me what you think I did,» I said. My voice was steady as stone. «Say it out loud.»
«In front of everyone. Whatever you’re accusing me of, say it.»
Julian’s face twisted. «You know what you did.»
«Say it.»
«The money. The offshore accounts. You’ve been stealing from my company for the past year.»
His voice rose, raw with betrayal. «Veronica showed me the evidence. Bank statements, wire transfers, all traced back to you.»
«You’ve embezzled nearly half a million dollars.»
The accusation hung in the air like poison gas. Half a million dollars. Embezzlement. Offshore accounts.
I almost laughed. It was so absurd, so obviously fabricated, that for a moment I couldn’t comprehend how anyone would believe it.
«Show me,» I said.
«What?»
«Show me this evidence. Let everyone see it.»
Julian hesitated. He looked at Veronica, who quickly stepped forward.
«I don’t think this is the place,» she started.
«Show me.» I held out my hand.
Julian pulled the crumpled paper from his pocket and smoothed it out. It was a printout of bank statements, account numbers, and transaction records.
My name was highlighted in yellow. Hundreds of transfers, each for several thousand dollars, all funneling into an account in the Cayman Islands. I studied it carefully.
