Chapter 10 - The Groom Says No
Brielle did not scream.
That would have been easier.
Instead, her voice went quiet.
“Owen, open the gate.”
“No.”
“You’re upset.”
“Yes.”
“We’ll talk at home.”
“I’m not coming home tonight.”
Her face emptied.
Then she looked at me.
“This is what you wanted.”
I almost answered, but Owen did first.
“Stop doing that.”
“Doing what?”
“Making everything Delaney’s fault.”
Brielle’s eyes flashed.
“You were fine until you came here.”
“I was fine because I didn’t know the truth.”
She began crying again.
This time there was real fear in it.
“I can fix this.”
“How?”
“I’ll call the hotel.”
“You cancelled it.”
“I’ll get another ballroom.”
“In two days?”
“We have money.”
“No, Brielle. We have debt.”
She stared at him.
I stepped away from the camera. This was no longer mine to watch.
But Brielle dragged me back into it.
“She poisoned you against me!”
Owen looked through the camera toward her.
“Did she make you send an email from her account?”
“No.”
“Did she make you forge the authorization?”
Brielle said nothing.
“Did she make you tell my parents the venue was free?”
Silence.
“Did she make you cancel the hotel?”
Brielle’s shoulders dropped.
“No.”
There it was.
The first clean answer.
Owen walked away from the camera.
Brielle stayed outside another ten minutes, alternating between tears, anger, and promises. Security stood nearby without touching her.
Finally she got into her car and left.
I thought that was the crisis.
I was wrong.
At 8:15 that night, the event planner called.
“Delaney, I need to warn you.”
“What now?”
“Brielle just sent a mass message to vendors saying the property dispute is resolved and setup should proceed as scheduled.”
I closed my eyes.
“She’s lying.”
“I know.”
“Did everyone get our legal notice?”
“Yes, but some subcontractors may only have instructions through the primary vendors.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning people may still show up.”
They did.
Thursday morning, they came in waves.
Florists. Rentals. Audio technicians. Catering crews. A luxury restroom trailer. A man carrying six ice sculptures of swans.
By seven-thirty, the road outside my property looked like a convention.
Then guests started arriving.
Not vendors.
Guests.
A woman in a blue dress stepped out of a rideshare with a wrapped gift in her hands and asked me where to check in.
I looked past her.
Another car was pulling up.
Then another.
May you like
Brielle had moved the ceremony time from four in the afternoon to ten in the morning without telling Owen.
And she had sent everyone a message saying the bride was ready.
