Chapter 4

On the third day after my sister came home, she brought her husband over for dinner.

She said it was to see me, and to check whether the wedding still needed any help.

She looped her arm through mine, her voice warm and close.

"Lois is getting married next week. I missed your engagement, so I have to be your maid of honor at the wedding."

I lowered my eyes.

"Don't you feel any regret?"

She paused, then patted the back of my hand with a smile.

"What are you talking about? Mom and Dad are gone, so putting you into Jerome's hands myself, as your older sister, matters more than anything."

I let out a small sound of agreement and said nothing more.

She turned to glance toward the kitchen.

"Is Jerome cooking? I'll go help."

Jerome had actually had a board meeting today.

He was the kind of man who put work above his own life.

Hundreds of people across the group were waiting on his decisions.

But this morning I'd heard him call his assistant and have the vice president chair it in his place.

For the chance to cook my sister a meal with his own hands, I supposed.

The dishes came to the table, a whole spread of seafood.

My sister looked it over and smiled.

"All this?"

Jerome's voice was flat.

"Lois said you always miss these when you're abroad. You're rarely home. Eat plenty."

I sat there quietly.

I had never said that.

I didn't even really know what my sister liked to eat.

But Jerome remembered.

He knew her tastes down to the last detail.

Like a series of silent slaps.

Her husband noticed nothing, peeling shrimp for her with a smile.

Jerome glanced over, looked away quickly, and set a piece of fish in my bowl.

"Have this. Fewer bones."

I didn't pick up my chopsticks.

At that meal, everyone but her husband was eating with something hidden on their mind.

In the afternoon, my sister suggested going with me to the bridal shop for the final fitting.

Jerome drove us over.

I stood in front of the mirror and put the gown on.

I had designed it myself.

Daisies were embroidered across the whole hem.

Three months earlier, when I was drawing the design, I'd shown the draft to Jerome.

He bent over it for a long time and said, "It's lovely."

That night I leaned on his shoulder and said,

"I'm going to be your most beautiful bride. When we're old, let's go settle in Norway together."

He smiled, stroked my hair, and said, "Okay."

That "okay" was gentle and calm.

Exactly the same as the one ten years ago, when he agreed to be with me.

Only now do I understand what it meant.

Not love.

He just couldn't bring himself to refuse.

In the mirror, the white gown made my face look very pale.

I lost my parents at eight.

At twenty-two, I lost my sister and the man I loved.

Maybe I was simply never meant to keep anyone.

The attendant asked carefully,

"Miss Henson, would you like to try the veil?"

I shook my head and took the gown off.

"No need. It's all fine."

When I came out of the fitting room, I saw my sister and Jerome standing at the shop door.

Two meters apart.

Like two people who didn't know each other.

Neither one looking at the other.

But somehow that only made it stranger.

The last night before the wedding, by custom the couple couldn't see each other.

Jerome dropped me at the hotel door.

Before he left he squeezed my palm and gave a faint smile.

"I'll come for you tomorrow."

He paused.

"You're going to be the most beautiful bride."

I nodded, my face blank.

He hugged me for a moment, then turned and got in the car.

I stood at the hotel door.

Only when the car was completely out of sight did I turn and go back to my room.

I opened the suitcase.

There was no getting-ready robe or makeup bag for the morning inside.

Just the down jackets and documents I'd been quietly slipping in over the past two days.

At two in the morning I carried the case downstairs and took a cab to the airport.

Before boarding, I opened my phone and went into the group chat of three, me, Jerome, and my sister.

I sent one photo.

It was that studio.

The walls full of sketch portraits.

No words with it.

Then I turned the phone off.

Boarded.

Twelve hours later, the plane landed.

Morning in Norway, the light a grayish blue.

I turned my phone on.

Messages poured in like a flood.

Sixty-seven missed calls.