His jaw tightened.
“What do you want to do?”
I looked at the white roses being arranged outside, at the chairs where our families would soon sit, at the aisle where I had imagined walking toward him.
“I want to get married.”
He looked surprised.
“I also want the truth to come out. But I’m not going to turn our wedding into a courtroom.”
“Then we won’t.”
He took my hands.
“We’ll get married because we love each other. Whatever happens with Vanessa, we’ll deal with it together.”
I rested my forehead against his.
For a moment, the room was quiet.
Then my phone buzzed.
A message had arrived from an unknown number.
It contained a single photograph.
The image showed my original wedding gown hanging in the Lakeview Hotel wardrobe, exactly where I had left it before moving to the second suite.
A red stain spread across the front of the fabric.
