By the time I make my grand entrance, the party is in full swing, just like my grandmother intended. It’s a real princess moment as I walk down the steps and smile for everyone. An official event photographer snaps photos of me from the bottom of the stairs, and I make sure to smile and appear as happy as a real bride-to-be.

My grandmother waits for me as I descend, and I’m grateful to have her at my side as she parades me through the party, ensuring I greet everyone, from current acquaintances to people I haven’t seen in years. The crowd skews slightly older, which doesn’t surprise me. This party is as much for her as it is for me.

I’ve lost count of how many people I’ve shaken hands with, smiled at, pretended for when there’s a sudden commotion in the front foyer.

Jacobs appears in the tall arched opening of the living room holding a piece of stationery.

There’s no need for him to collect everybody’s attention. The gasps coming from the entryway have done his job for him.

Still, he clears his throat and offers me a kind smile before reading aloud.

“Your soon-to-be father-in-law is heartbroken that he couldn’t make it for tonight’s celebration, but he wanted to send his well wishes to the happy couple and formally welcome Elaine into the Mercier family.”

At this, he steps back to allow a perfectly synchronized line of men dressed in black suits to waltz into the living room carrying artfully arranged bouquets of flowers. Their arms are each bent at precisely the same angle. Their steps are perfectly timed. Each one carries a bouquet filled with different flowers: garden roses, peonies, orchids, proteas, ranunculus, lilies, tulips, gardenias, hydrangeas…

A laugh of delight bubbles out of me at the over-the-top display, and I hold my hand up to my lips, trying to contain another, as the men walk over and set the flowers onto a table, one after another, arranging them in a way that, once complete, shocks the room by forming two intertwined Es.

The crowd oohs and ahhs, and even I’m touched by the thoughtfulness.

It almost relieves the suffering I’ve been enduring, waiting for Emmett to arrive.

It’s all anyone wants to ask me about. At first, they comment on my dress and hair and makeup, telling me what a beautiful bride I’m going to be, but the conversation inevitably devolves into inquiries about Emmett.

“And where is your fiancé tonight?”

“Did Emmett mention he was going to be late?”

“He can’t keep us here waiting all night.”

I can only evade their questions for so long before it becomes clear something is amiss. One Mercier absence is easy to write off, but two?

If it weren’t for Emmett’s brother, there would be no Merciers present at all.

I was shocked to see Alexander arrive earlier. Beyond a smile and a nod from across the room, we haven’t talked. He’s lingered with a group from St. John’s—Emmett’s friends—and I’ve carefully avoided them all evening. Even with Collette in their midst, it feels like going over to join them would be akin to entering the lion’s den. Surely, Alexander of all people knows the truth of what’s going on.