Chapter 2 - THE BRIDAL ROOM
Emma read the message twice.
“Who sent that?”
Dante turned the phone slightly. “No name.”
A door slammed somewhere behind them. Emma flinched, and Dante moved between her and the sound. One of the cathedral staff appeared carrying a box of programs. He took one look at them and kept walking.
“We should call the police,” Emma said.
“We will.”
Dante spoke like a man making a promise, not issuing an order. He called his attorney, asked her to preserve the message, and requested that the cathedral hold its security footage. Then he handed Emma the phone so she could read the message again.
“She wasn’t supposed to get out,” Emma said. “What does that mean?”
“I don’t know.”
At least he was honest.
Father Daniel entered the hallway. His eyes went to Dante’s coat around Emma’s shoulders.
“Are you all right?” he asked her.
“No.” Emma swallowed. “Did anyone go into the bridal room while I was lining up?”
“The bridesmaids. Mrs. Whitmore, briefly. I can ask the staff.”
“Please do. And don’t let anyone clean it yet.”
The priest’s face tightened. “I’ll see to it.”
Emma’s phone rang. Nathan.
She declined the call.
It rang again.
“Answer it if you want,” Dante said. “You don’t owe him a conversation.”
She answered because she wanted to hear what Nathan would say when he thought no one else was listening.
“Emma.” His voice was gentle. “Come back inside. Mom has a shawl. We can still do this.”
“Did you know?”
“Know what?”
“That Veronica cut my dress.”
A pause.
“I saw the picture,” Emma said.
Nathan let out a breath. “She went too far.”
Emma gripped the phone. “You knew she was planning something?”
“She was supposed to embarrass you a little. Just enough to make you understand how serious today is.”
For a moment, Emma could hear only the air moving through the old building.
“Serious about what?”
“Emma, don’t make me say this over the phone.”
“Then I’ll come back in and you can say it in front of everyone.”
“No.” His voice turned sharp. “Stay where you are.”
Dante held out a hand for the phone. Emma shook her head.
“What were you trying to make me understand?” she asked.
Nathan spoke quickly. “My family has spent a year cleaning up the mess your father left. Mom wanted you to remember that before you started acting like you had choices.”
Emma went still.
Her father, a construction foreman, had died five years earlier. Nathan’s family had offered to help when a contractor claimed his company owed money. Emma had believed they were being kind.
“My father didn’t leave a mess,” she said.
“Then ask my mother why the documents you signed yesterday matter.”
The line went dead.
Emma looked at Dante. “What documents?”
“Did you sign anything yesterday?”
“Wedding paperwork. Nathan said the venue needed it. There were a lot of pages.”
Dante didn’t soften his expression. “Do you have a copy?”
“At my apartment.”
Her phone lit up with an email from an address she didn’t recognize.
The subject line said: YOUR FATHER DIDN’T DIE OWING THE WHITMORES ANYTHING.
May you like
Attached was a scanned page bearing Emma’s signature.
Across the top, in bold letters, were the words TRANSFER OF OWNERSHIP.
