Chương 5
Daniel took Anna’s phone from his pocket. He had forgotten to give it back.
He opened the messages and held the screen toward her.
Serena looked at them without surprise.
“You knew,” he said.
“I changed my mind.”
“Eight days ago you said it mattered to me.”
“It did.”
“What changed?”
“Everything.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
She turned toward the mirror.
In the reflection, she seemed to be standing beside another bride—one composed, one beginning to understand that composure was no longer enough.
“I heard the song at the rehearsal,” she said.
“Anna didn’t play it at the rehearsal.”
“She played part of it after everyone left.”
“For you?”
“For Claire. I was in the hallway.”
Daniel waited.
Serena touched one of her earrings. “You told Anna it was the closest thing we would have to your mother giving us her blessing.”
He remembered the conversation. Anna had been uncertain about playing. He had told her their mother would have loved it.
“I said it would feel like having Mom there.”
“Exactly.”
“That upset you?”
“I was standing outside the room in my wedding dress rehearsal while you and your sister talked about how a dead woman would be present at our wedding.”
“She was our mother.”
“And I was supposed to become your wife.”
“They weren’t competing roles.”
“They were in that room.”
Daniel stared at her.
Serena’s voice remained low, but the control inside it had begun to crack. “You don’t see it because your family has made grief into a membership requirement. Every holiday has a story about Elise. Every recipe has to be made her way. Every person I meet tells me what she would have thought of me. Your aunt once said I had her approval because I used the right kind of butter.”
“Aunt Louise says strange things about butter.”
“That’s funny to you.”
“No. It’s Aunt Louise.”
Serena looked away.
Daniel placed the phone on the makeup counter.
“You could have told me.”
“I tried.”
“When?”
“Every time I suggested changing something and you said Mom would have liked the other version.”
He opened his mouth.
She continued before he could answer. “The white roses. The church. The piano. The empty chair. Your mother’s veil displayed beside the guest book even though I’m wearing my own. The photo on the memorial table where she looks more joyful than I have felt in six months.”
“You agreed to all of that.”
“I wanted to be generous.”
“So you said yes until you hated us for believing you.”
Her eyes flashed. “I didn’t hate you.”
“You grabbed Anna.”
“I wanted the song to stop.”
“You could have closed the piano.”
“She ignored me.”
“So you decided her body was available.”
Serena recoiled.
“That is not what happened.”
“That is exactly what happened.”
“I took her wrist.”
“You pulled her off a bench.”
“She wouldn’t listen.”
Daniel stared at her long enough that she heard the sentence as he had heard it.
Serena sat at the dressing table. Her gown spread around the chair in pale folds. She placed both hands on her knees, as though afraid of what they might do if left free.
“I am not a violent person.”
“I didn’t call you one.”
“You’re looking at me like I am.”
“I’m looking at you like I don’t know you.”
The sentence landed without force. Serena’s face emptied.
Outside the suite, a housekeeping cart rolled over a threshold. Bottles clinked. Someone laughed at the far end of the hall, then hushed.
Serena looked toward the closed door.
“Do you know what happens if we cancel?”
“Yes.”
“No, you don’t. You will become the protective brother. Anna will become the fragile little sister. I will be the insane bride in the video. Nobody will ask what came before.”
“What came before doesn’t excuse it.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
“Then why are you still explaining?”
“Because explanation isn’t the same as excuse.”
Daniel moved to the window.
The city below looked unchanged from every suite in the hotel. Tiny cars. Rooftop vents. Windows reflecting a colorless sky.
Serena spoke behind him.
“My mother told me this morning that no one would remember the flowers.”
He turned.
“She meant it kindly,” Serena said. “She said people remember whether a bride looked happy. I realized I had spent a year creating a wedding where everyone would remember your mother. The song was going to be the emotional center. You would cry. Anna would cry. Your relatives would gather around her. And I would stand outside the door waiting to enter my own wedding after the most meaningful moment had already happened.”
Daniel rubbed his forehead.
“You could have walked into the room.”
“It was supposed to be your private family moment.”
“You were family.”
“I didn’t feel like it.”
He had no immediate answer.
Serena watched the silence and mistook it for an opening.
“I should not have touched her. I know that. But you also need to understand that Anna has been crossing boundaries for months.”
“What boundaries?”
“She changes plans after we make them. She adds your mother to everything. She calls you when she knows we’re together.”
“She calls me once a week.”
“Always on Sunday evening.”
“That’s when Mom used to call.”
“I know.”
The words were quiet.
Daniel looked at her more closely.
Serena’s resentment had never been invisible. He had simply translated it into stress, perfectionism, bridal nerves—terms that made it temporary and therefore required nothing from him.
“What happened last night?” he asked.
Serena’s fingers tightened around the satin over her knees.
“Anna gave me her speech.”
“And you told her to remove Mom.”
“I asked her to make it about us.”
“It was about us.”
“It said love means sitting beside grief.”
“That sounds like Anna.”
“It sounded like a warning.”
“Was it?”
May you like
“I don’t know. She smiles while she says things. Everyone thinks she’s sweet, so no one hears the judgment.”
Daniel almost laughed, but Serena was not joking.
