Chapter 7 - Stripping Off the Armor
By midnight, the hotel ballroom was entirely deserted. The caterers had packed away the uneaten roasted duck, the tiered wedding cake sat half-melted in the corner, and the glittering crystal chandeliers had been dimmed to a cold, sterile hum.
My mother had gone home with an aunt, too shaken and humiliated to face me directly, though she had tearfully begged for my forgiveness over the phone before leaving. Peter was currently sitting in the back of a police cruiser, being transported downtown to the county detention center.
And Evan? Evan was locked behind bars, facing a federal indictment that would dismantle his entire empire of lies brick by brick.
I stood in the center of the bridal suite upstairs—a luxurious, oversized room featuring a king-sized bed draped in white satin, champagne buckets on ice, and a panoramic view of the glittering city skyline. It was supposed to be our honeymoon suite.
Instead, it was a tomb of shattered illusions.
I walked over to the full-length vanity mirror surrounded by glowing Hollywood bulbs. I looked at myself: the woman in the five-thousand-dollar French lace wedding gown, her hair half-undone, her mascara streaked down her cheeks.
I reached behind my back and began to fumble with the tiny satin-covered buttons that ran down the spine of the dress. There were dozens of them, tightly sewn, resisting my tired fingers.
"Do you need help with that, Mommy?"
I looked down. Sophie was standing in the doorway of the suite’s adjoining bedroom, rubbing her sleepy eyes, still wearing her white flower-girl dress with the missing shoe.
"Oh, sweetie," I said softly, walking over and kneeling down in front of her. "I thought you were asleep."
"I heard you moving around," she mumbled, leaning her head against my shoulder. "Are we still at the hotel?"
"No, baby. We’re getting ready to go home. Our real home."
Sophie’s eyes lit up. "Can I sleep in my own bed with my teddy bear?"
"Every single night," I promised, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.
"Can you take that heavy dress off now?" she asked, tugging on the stiff tulle. "It looks uncomfortable."
"More than you know, baby. More than you know."
With Sophie’s small, helpful hands tugging gently at the fabric, and my own fingers finally working the stubborn zipper down, I peeled off the heavy white lace gown. I let it drop to the floor in a crumpled, lifeless heap of silk and tulle right there in the center of the honeymoon suite. I didn't care about the stains. I didn't care about the dry-cleaning bill.
May you like
I stepped out of the white satin heels, kicked them across the room into a corner, and put on my comfortable cotton cardigan and sneakers that I had left in my overnight bag.
For the first time in eight months, I felt completely naked—and completely free.
