I don’t look back as I walk into the bathroom connected to the suite and close the door. I sink to the floor and push my head down against my knees.

Minutes pass and I finally hear the bridal suite door open, then close.

I peek outside and Ryan is gone. It takes a solid twenty minutes until I’m together enough to get back to the reception.

When I walk inside the candlelit room, I attempt to detach. It’s a useful skill to have. I used to do it well. I’m walking aimlessly, not really sure where I’m going, when Maggie appears in front of me wearing a black tea-length cocktail dress.

“Sorry I’m late,” she says. “I was on the phone with Hannah. Turns out she’s not loving her new Connecticut life as much as I hoped. I didn’t miss dinner, did I?”

Maggie can barely finish her question before I lock her in a bone-crushing hug. The temptation to crumble to pieces is impossibly strong but I know I have to push it back. I step away and give a cautionary swipe under my eyes with the tips of my fingers.

“What’s wrong?” she asks nervously.

“It’s bad,” I answer, my voice shaking despite my best efforts, “but I can’t talk about it now. I need you to help me.”

“I will. It’s okay, I will.” Maggie is using her therapist voice, soothing and melodic even without instruments. “Do you want to sit down? Do you want a drink?”

I shake my head, not sure what I want or need when I twist around and see Ryan and Madison in a far-off corner, deep in conversation. She places a hand on his arm, because why wouldn’t she, as they continue to talk. I let out a small whimper and turn back around to Maggie.

“All right, it’s okay,” she says, rubbing my arms and looking over my shoulder. She scans the room until her eyes stop moving and fill with ice-cold fury. A few seconds later, they return to mine and immediately soften.

“I have an idea. How about we dance for a bit? I bet if we burn off some energy, we’ll both feel better.” She pulls me towards the dance floor, positioning us deep in the crowd where only other dancing couples are in our line of vision.

“What if dancing doesn’t work?” I ask her.

The band is playing at a near explosive level and Maggie swings my arms up and down, puppeteering me into moving to the beat.

“If this doesn’t work, then we murder Ryan in a kitchen stairwell and flee to Switzerland. Easy peasy.”

She says her solution with such a sweet air that I have to laugh.