Chapter 3

I pulled my arm free and looked at her calmly.

"It's only the rehearsal. It isn't even the real wedding. I'm leaving. You can find someone else to fill the spot."

Job's face darkened completely. He let go of my wrist, and for the first time impatience crept into his voice. "You want to call off the wedding over a few words? Both sets of parents, all the relatives on both sides, everyone's already invited. The hotel's booked, the wedding planner's paid in full, and now you're telling me it's off?"

He drew a deep breath and lowered his voice. "Stop making a scene. I'll apologize, okay? Come back to the rehearsal."

My fingers tightened in the fabric of the gown, nails biting into my palm.

"Job, what happened that rainy night, I only ever told you. I didn't even tell my parents. When you were drinking, when you told it to them like a story, did you ever once think of me?"

For a moment everything went quiet. The grin finally slipped off Joshua's face, and Diana looked away too.

Job's mouth opened, his voice going a little hoarse. "I... I'd had too much to drink, that's all. But I didn't go into detail, I just said you—"

"Enough."

I let go of the skirt, slid the engagement ring off my finger, and set it lightly on the pew by the church door.

"This wedding, whoever wants it can have it."

When I turned and walked out through the church doors, the sunlight outside was blinding.

Behind me I caught Joshua's lowered voice. "Job, she's just leaving like that? You're not going after her?"

Diana let out a scornful laugh. "Go after her for what? Let her cool off, she'll come back on her own tomorrow. After all these years, who'd want her besides you? Job, want to bet? She'll be texting you before dinner."

Job was silent for a few seconds, then his voice settled back into its usual ease. "Forget it, let her go. This time she needs to learn to swallow her pride."

The rehearsal music started up again, drifting faintly to my ears.

I went down the church steps, my heels striking the stone, once, then again, every step crushing a little more of these three years.

I flagged a cab at the curb and gave the driver my best friend's address.

My phone buzzed. A message from Job.

"Don't be difficult. I'll come pick you up tonight."

3

I'd just blocked him when the phone buzzed again.

Diana had sent a photo, her and Job standing side by side on the rehearsal platform, her face tipped up in a laugh, her hand resting on his tie.

The caption read: "Tried on the wedding dress for Celeste. So big on me, made my waist look even smaller. Job said it still looks better on me."

Then another message: "Oh, and Celeste, when Job was drinking with me last night, he said the first time you kissed him you shook all over, your teeth chattering like you were having a fit, he almost went soft from the fright, hahahaha. Don't blame me for having a loose mouth."

My stomach churned, and I buried my face in my knees.

Three years ago, on a rainy night, a few men had cornered me at the mouth of an alley.

The torn skirt, the snapped straps, the bruises choking my neck—it was Job who took off his coat and wrapped me in it, who lifted me up off the ground.

He said gently, "Don't be afraid. From now on I'll protect you."

That night I huddled in his arms, and when he kissed my forehead, I shook so hard I couldn't speak. He said it was okay, we'd take it slow.

So it turned out all those "it's okays" had become the bit he used to amuse Diana over drinks.

He said it himself, that I was like a broken rag doll, falling apart at a touch, no fun at all.

Right. No fun at all.