Part 13
Celeste stood near the glass doors, looking out at the vines. Her gown reflected faintly in the darkening windows. The wedding lights blinked behind her like distant stars.
For a long time, neither of them spoke.
Then Celeste said, “When did you last see Nora?”
“Seven years ago.”
“And you never saw her again?”
“No.”
“You never searched for her?”
“I looked at first.”
“How?”
“I called. I emailed. I went to Boston once.”
“And?”
“She had moved.”
Celeste turned from the window.
“That was enough?”
Mason looked down at Wren.
“No.”
“Why did you stop?”
He thought of the real answer.
Because he had been ashamed.
Because Nora had left after he told her he could not be responsible for another person’s life.
Because each unanswered call made him feel more certain that she did not want to hear from him.
Because eventually, moving forward became easier than going back.
“I stopped because I thought I was respecting her choice,” he said.
Celeste watched him.
“And now?”
“Now I think I used that as an excuse.”
She nodded slowly.
The words did not repair anything. But he could tell she believed he meant them.
Celeste walked toward the sofa and sat in the armchair across from him.
“You know what I’m afraid of?” she asked.
Mason looked at her.
“That she did tell you. And you forgot because it was inconvenient.”
He felt the sentence land.
“I don’t think she did.”
“You don’t know.”
“No.”
Celeste folded her hands in her lap.
“I am not trying to punish you.”
“I know.”
“I’m trying to understand whether the man I was about to marry is someone who could lose a child for seven years because he didn’t answer a phone.”
Mason looked at Wren.
The girl’s eyelashes rested against her cheeks. Her hair had loosened from its ceremony curls. She looked younger asleep, younger than seven, younger than the fear she had carried into the villa.
“I don’t know,” he said.
Celeste’s eyes filled.
“That is the only honest thing you’ve said all night.”
He nodded.
The glass doors rattled softly in the evening wind.
From outside, they could hear the muted sound of guests leaving the dining hall in small groups. Mrs. Vann had asked them to remain, but people had obligations, flights, children at home, and the discomfort of being held inside someone else’s family disaster.
The wedding would become a story by morning.
A child at the ceremony.
A former lover.
A hidden letter.
A bride in ivory walking away from the arch.
Mason could already imagine the headlines if anyone outside the estate learned the details. He had spent years navigating public attention because of the family business. He knew how quickly a person’s worst day became content for strangers.
But the thought felt distant now.
Wren breathed against his chest.
Celeste watched him.
“I don’t want her to become a secret,” she said.
“She won’t.”
“Then we need to be careful about who hears what.”
“I know.”
“And you need to find Nora.”
“Yes.”
“Not tomorrow.”
“No.”
He looked at the sleeping child.
“What if she’s in danger?”
Celeste’s face tightened.
“Then someone brought Wren here because they wanted you to act.”
“Or because they wanted to ruin us.”
Celeste looked at her wedding gown.
“Those may not be different things.”
The truth of it settled between them.
Wren stirred.
Her hand reached toward the backpack beside Mason.
He lifted it gently and placed it near her fingers.
She woke slowly.
“Mommy?” she whispered.
Mason’s chest tightened.
“No. It’s me.”
The girl blinked.
Then looked around the room.
“Where are we?”
“A sitting room.”
“Is the lady gone?”
“I don’t know.”
Wren sat up slightly.
Celeste leaned forward.
“Do you remember anything else about her?”
The child rubbed her eyes.
“She smelled like flowers.”
“What kind?”
“Like the ones outside.”
Celeste looked toward the courtyard.
“Rosewater,” she said quietly. “A lot of people wear it.”
“Did she have a voice like someone you know?” Mason asked.
Wren frowned.
“She sounded like Mommy when Mommy was trying not to cry.”
Mason and Celeste exchanged a look.
“That could mean anything,” Celeste said.
“Yes.”
Wren reached into the backpack and pulled out the plastic horse.
“She gave me this.”
Mason looked at it.
The horse was tiny, white, and worn at the edges. A blue ribbon had been tied around its neck.
“Did you have it before today?” he asked.
The girl shook her head.
“She said it was for being brave.”
Celeste took a closer look without touching it.
“There’s something under the ribbon.”
Mason carefully untied the blue strip.
A small brass key was tied beneath it.
Wren gasped.
“That’s not mine.”
Celeste held out her hand.
May you like
Mason placed the key in her palm.
It was old, not a modern estate keycard. Its head was stamped with an R inside a small circle.
