Chapter 5 - The Great Escape and the Police Lights
"Stop him!" someone shouted from the back of the crowd.
The spell was broken. The ballroom erupted into chaos. Several of the groomsmen—men who had slapped Evan on the back and drank his whiskey just an hour ago—sprang into action, lunging forward to block the exits. But Evan was already sprinting down the wide central aisle, shoving past tables, sending crystal flutes and floral arrangements crashing to the floor in a chaotic wake of destruction.
"Let me through! Get your hands off me!" Evan snarled, shoving my cousin Mark hard against the wall before bolting through the double glass doors that led out to the hotel’s valet parking area.
"Let him run," Marcus Vance said smoothly, not even bothering to chase him. He lowered his phone, ending the call, and tucked it back into his breast pocket with infuriating calm. "The local precinct and the state troopers have had the perimeter blocked off since six o'clock this evening. He’s walking right into a federal trap."
Sure enough, moments after Evan disappeared through the glass doors, the sharp, wailing shriek of multiple police sirens shattered the night air outside. Flashing red and blue lights painted the ballroom walls in frantic, strobing strokes, casting long, dramatic shadows across the terrified faces of the two hundred guests.
Inside the room, pandemonium reigned. Aunt Clara was fanning herself with a cocktail napkin while whispering furiously to anyone who would listen. My mother had collapsed back into her chair, weeping softly into her hands while my uncle comforted her.
And Peter? Peter was currently trying to crawl backward toward the kitchen service doors like a whipped dog trying to escape a burning barn.
"Don't let my brother move," I said into the microphone, my voice cutting through the rising tide of gossip and panic.
Marcus nodded. Two burly security guards, hired for the reception, casually stepped over and blocked the service exit, placing heavy hands on Peter’s shoulders. Peter slumped against the wall, burying his face in his hands, completely broken.
I lowered the microphone, the metallic hum dying away, and walked slowly down the steps of the stage. My heavy tulle skirt dragged across the floor, catching pieces of broken glass and spilled champagne, but I didn't care. The immaculate, fairytale wedding I had spent eight months planning was a complete, smoking ruin.
And yet, as I walked toward the front of the room, I felt lighter than I had in years. The suffocating weight on my chest had vanished entirely.
Sophie was still standing near the edge of the dance floor, her little flower crown dangling from her fingers. When she saw me walking toward her, she dropped the crown, ran over as fast as her one remaining shoe would allow, and threw her arms around my waist, burying her face safely in my skirt once more.
I knelt down, scooped her up into my arms, and pressed my face into her soft curls, breathing in the scent of baby shampoo and innocence.
"You did it, baby," I whispered against her ear, tears finally spilling over my lashes and tracking warm paths through my bridal makeup. "You saved us."
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"Are we still going to the big house?" she asked softly, looking up at me with big, trusting eyes.
I smiled, kissing her forehead. "No, sweet girl. We’re going home. Just you and me."
