“Good. I don’t want anything going wrong today.”
I stumbled backward before either of them could see me.
My heart was pounding so hard that I could hear it.
Three months earlier, I’d stood at Adrian’s funeral believing I’d never hear his voice again.
Now he was alive.
His mother knew.
And they had both let me mourn him.
I turned and ran.
I barely made it to the restroom before the tears came.
I locked myself inside and cried until I could barely breathe.
My phone started ringing. It was my assistant.
“Meredith? The coordinator’s looking for you. They’re about to start.”
I looked at myself in the mirror.
My eyes were swollen.
My mascara was ruined.
“Meredith? Are you okay?”
“No.”
“Do you want me to take over?”
I thought about Adrian.
Alive. Smiling.
Getting ready for a wedding while I’d spent three months grieving him.
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
I wiped my face and picked up my florist badge.
And suddenly, I knew exactly what I was going to do next — and how I was going to make Adrian regret what he’d done to me.
I stood in front of the mirror for another few seconds.
My hands were still shaking.
Part of me wanted to leave.
Another part wanted to find Adrian and demand an explanation.
But somehow, neither option felt remotely possible anymore.
He had watched me bury him.
His mother had held my hand while I cried.
Someone had arranged a funeral.
Someone had put a coffin in the ground.
People had brought food to my apartment and sat beside me while I stared at walls.
Adrian had let all of that happen.
Now he was 20 minutes away from marrying someone else.
I washed the mascara from under my eyes and walked out of the restroom.
My assistant, Kendra, found me near the service hallway.
She frowned when she saw my face.
“What happened?”
“I need you to do something for me.”
“Anything.”
“Stay with the flowers. Don’t let anyone move the arrangements.”
She studied me.
