My veil was vintage with silky blue details around the delicate edging. It had belonged to my mother. Wearing it today was my best friend, Cheryl’s, idea. It was my something old and blue. But now, as I was on my way to church, alone in the back of a chauffeur-driven limousine, the gauzy fabric was a web over my face.
It reminded me all over again that my parents weren’t around to witness my marriage to Steven. I’d come to terms with their accident, it had happened many years ago, and Aunt Mary would be waiting for me on the front pew, all soft smiles, gentle hugs, and reassuring words the way she always was.
I took a deep breath and stared out of the window at the English hedgerow rushing past. It glowed green, the leaves glossy and heavy with sparkling raindrops. Wasn’t it supposed to be good luck if it rained on your wedding day? I couldn’t remember. But I was lucky to have found Steven. He was a good man, solid, and he owned a to-die-for London penthouse, a fancy sports car, and was riding a stratospheric career. Our relationship had been a whirlwind, an obsessive need that quickly turned to planning a secretive, lowish-key wedding.
“Five-minute warning,” the driver said, glancing at me in the rearview mirror from under his peaked black cap.
I cleared my throat. “Thanks.”
“And it’s Chapel Inn you want me to drop your suitcase at, right?”
“Yes, that would be great, thank you.” Steven and I were heading straight from the wedding reception to an isolated boutique hotel and then catching an early flight to the Maldives. I had everything carefully packed for the next two weeks of sunshine and sand.
Oh, the thought of sunning myself was blissful—clear waters, blue skies, delicious fresh food, and sweet cocktails. I could hardly wait and I would forget about taking any promo pictures. I wouldn’t, not even once. That was a promise to myself, if not to my agent, Trevor McWilliams.
The car meandered through the small sleepy village of Eccelstone, past stone cottages the color of gingerbread, a red telephone box that had been turned into a village book swap and a thatched-roof pub called The White Stag.
When the tall Gothic church steeple came into view, my stomach did a flip. Within the ancient building fifty guests were waiting. Mainly Steven’s family as I was pretty lean on relatives, but a bunch of both of our friends had padded out the numbers.
I was also pleased to see there were no additional photographers. Unwanted snappers. I’d planned carefully and hoped for privacy. Paparazzi would not be a good addition to the day. They weren’t a good addition to any day as far as I was concerned.
When the car pulled up, the tires splashing in a puddle, I strained my neck searching for Cheryl. She was my one and only bridesmaid. She’d wanted to ride with me, but I’d needed to be alone for this bit. I’d wanted to feel my mother’s and father’s spirits at my side, allow them to come through if they could.
I couldn’t see Cheryl. She was no doubt sheltering from the rain.
“I’ll get the umbrella,” the driver said. “You wait there a moment, Miss Pippa, and we’ll get you to the church entrance dry as a bone.”
“Okay, thank you.” I plucked my phone from the small white purse I’d tucked it into. I’d have to let Cheryl know I’d arrived. The organist could start the wedding march very soon.
A message flashed up from an unknown number. It was nestled amongst several others; well-wishes, and a reminder about tomorrow’s early flight from Heathrow.
The driver stepped out, leaving the windscreen wipers on—swish, swish, swish—and slammed the door.
A strange sense of being cocooned came over me. The daylight sneaking into the car was tinged with the gray of the gravestones and the fat-bellied clouds pressing down.
I opened the anonymous message. No doubt it was spam.
You ought to know, Pippa.
“You ought to know, Pippa?” I muttered and scrolled to the first of three images attached.
My heart stuttered, my mouth dried, and a strange sense of surrealness made my head float as though it were no longer attached to my body. “What the hell?”
My hand shook as I studied the first image.
It was taken on a bright sunny day and showed two people in a passionate embrace beside a stonewalled building.
It couldn’t be. No! A ball of nausea tightened my guts.
I recognized the woman’s pretty yellow dress covered in white daisies, and her hair, long and dark, the white Vera Wang stiletto hooked around a pair of shapely denim-clad male legs.
The embrace was fervent, his head ducked to kiss her neck and her face lifted to the sky in apparent ecstasy.
Cheryl.
And her dress was new, very new. As were the fancy shoes; we’d been together when she’d bought them.
I swiped to the next image, the rest of the world fading away as the bottom of mine dropped out.
His chiseled profile was clear as he clasped her right breast and stared into her eyes. An angular jawline I knew only too well, a pale-blond flick of hair I’d run my fingers through so many times, and a look of desire I’d also witnessed.
Steven.
With a gasp, I brought my fingers to my mouth.
My best friend and fiancé were having a secret affair, and…and these photographs were recent. Very recent, in fact, they were—I peered closer—they were embracing up against the very wall I could see from where I sat in the limo—Eccelstone church wall. This must have been taken yesterday, the evening before, when we were all at the church for the rehearsal. Yes, Cheryl had worn that very dress.
I swallowed the vile taste that had flooded my mouth. Betrayal and shock combined with fury. After the rehearsal, I’d lingered inside the church to talk to first the florist and then the choirmaster. And while I’d been doing that…they had been…they…fuck…of all the sneaky bastardy asshole things to do.
“Miss Pippa,” the driver said, holding open the door and the shelter of an umbrella. “Are you ready?”
“Er…one moment.” I scrolled to the last photograph. It was even worse than the others. Cheryl had grabbed Steven’s ass and was dragging him close; the kiss was obviously ravenous. They were practically eating each other, high on forbidden lust and knowing they were pressed for time. Had the thrill of getting caught spurred them on? Made them even giddier with want?
“I…I’m not…” I rubbed my temple and screwed up my eyes, tight. “I’m not sure if…”
“Miss Pippa, let’s get you in there and out of this weather. Everyone is waiting for you, you are the bride after all.”
“I can’t…I…” What couldn’t I do?
It was obvious. I was staring at the biggest red flag ever waved. Hell, it could be seen from bloody space.
I couldn’t marry Steven, that’s what I couldn’t do. I couldn’t hitch myself to a guy who clearly didn’t love me enough to forsake all others. Jeez, I hadn’t even thought he and Cheryl got on that well.
Obviously they did. Very well.
“I just need a moment.” I frowned up at the driver. “Please.”
He squashed his mouth into a straight line, nodded, and then set his attention ahead. He kept the door open, the sound of the rain hitting the tarmac a constant sharp clatter. I really was only getting a moment from him.
My instinct was to call Cheryl, the way I always did when something happened. She was my best friend, that’s what best friends were for. They got the spade and helped you dig a body-sized hole, no questions asked.
Although apparently she wasn’t my best friend. Not if she could snog the face off my groom only hours before I married him.
Oh my God, were they shagging, too? Of course they were. Those embraces told me they were familiar with each other’s bodies, intimate, in tune. Yes, they’d definitely screamed each other’s names while in the throes of ecstasy.
I stared at the church and spotted the vicar lurking in the vestibule, his dark robes just visible and his small round glasses glinting.
What the hell was I going to do?
I had no idea.
But I did know what I wasn’t going to do, and that was hitch my wagon to a rat.
“Shut the door,” I snapped.
“I beg your pardon?” The driver turned to me with wide eyes.
“Shut the door, I’m not going in.”
“Miss, nerves, cold feet, they are quite common, and really I think—”
“I don’t have nerves, and my feet are quite warm, thank you. I have just decided not to marry a cheating bastard, that’s all.”
His mouth fell open in a circle, and his eyes widened further.
“Information I’ve just become privy to.” I held up my phone. “So if you could get me the hell out of here, I’d be very grateful.”
“I…er…are you sure? This is most—”
“I’ve never been surer of anything in my life.” A steely grip of determination came over me. I would not be treated this way. Lied to, cheated on, deceived, people acting like I didn’t have a brain in my head. For me, that was the worst thing of all, being treated like I wasn’t intelligent. Nothing more than a pretty face, blonde hair, and perfect measurements.
But in truth, maybe I wasn’t that clever. I’d had no idea what had been going on right under my nose or who had sent the photographs.
“Let’s go, please…” I gestured forward. “I have to get out of Eccelstone now.”
He appeared to snap out of his shock. “Of course, Miss Pippa. Right away.”
The door slammed shut, and he quickly returned to the driver’s seat. As the engine restarted, I spotted the vicar peering out, his long beak-like nose wrinkled.
I closed my eyes and clutched my bouquet. I didn’t want to see anyone, not the vicar, not Steven or Cheryl or…
“Where do you want to go?” the driver asked.
“Please let me think for a moment. I…I wasn’t exactly planning on this.”
“Of course not.” His voice was tight, as though he was anxious for me. “But they will be wondering where you are.”
We slipped past the church and, unable to resist, I turned to look out of the water-splashed back window.
In the vestibule stood Cheryl, next to the vicar; her pretty lilac dress skimmed the floor, and her matching flowers were held low as she gaped at the departing limo.
I turned away. She was a traitor and a liar, definitely not the person I’d thought these last three years we’d known each other. And if I never spoke to her again, or saw her again, it would be too soon.
“Shall I drop you at Chapel Inn?” the driver asked. “With your bags.”
“No, no, he’ll find me there.”
“Who will?”
“Him! Steven, the groom.”
“Perhaps you should speak to him.”
“Not a chance,” I snapped, then, “sorry, I don’t mean to be rude, I just…can you take me to Heathrow?” Perhaps I could speak to the airline, switch my Maldives flight and go somewhere else, far away, and sort my head out.
“Heathrow? Miss, that’s two hours away in this traffic, and I have another pickup at three.”
“Just get me as close as possible, then I’ll get a cab or a bus or something.”
“Are you sure? I mean, this is all quite untoward with all the money that’s been spent, and the guests—”
“I paid for half of everything, so it’s half mine to waste, and Steven, well, he will just have to suck it up as penance for bad behavior. So please, as close to Heathrow in the time I’ve paid you for would be great.”
“I can do that.” He gripped the steering wheel and tightened his jaw. “No problem.”
I looked down at the lilies and ivy in my bouquet. Someone had said lilies were for funerals and not weddings, and I’d ignored them. They were my favorite, so that’s what I was having. Perhaps I’d brought this bad luck on myself with death flowers.
With a fit of anger, I threw the flowers across the seat. A few stamen snapped, and several tendrils of ivy flew off. Of course I hadn’t brought bad luck on myself. I’d been a devoted girlfriend, a busy bride-to-be, working hard as I got everything organized and made sure Steven was happy.
But clearly he wasn’t. So I’d messed up somewhere.
“I did not mess up,” I muttered and opened my phone again. I tapped a message in reply to the photographs.
Who sent these?
A message pinged back.
You don’t know me, but I’ve also been cheated on. Being the last to know sucks, but I thought it best for you to find out before there was a ring on your finger.
I frowned. It was obviously someone who’d been at the rehearsal, but didn’t I know everyone there? There had been a Women’s Institute meeting going on at the same time, in the back room, so maybe it was just a busybody who had seen Steven and Cheryl? But then how did she have my number?
Quickly, I typed again.
Please, tell me who you are. And when did you take these photographs?
I sent the message.
Nothing pinged back.
With a sigh, I fired off a message to my Aunt Mary. She would be frantic sitting in the pews and she didn’t deserve that. She’d always been so good to me. A surrogate mother since I was seventeen.
I’m sorry. I can’t marry him. He’s a cheat and a liar and I’ve just found out.
A message came straight through. Pippa! Where are you?
I’m driving away from church. I’m okay, but I won’t be walking down the aisle. Please tell everyone I am sorry. Except for Steven. Tell him I know what’s he been doing with Cheryl and I’m sorry I ever thought he was the one.
A few moments later, Aunt Mary replied.
I am shocked but in full agreement, you can’t marry a cheat. I will let everyone know and tell S what I think of him. C too, come to that. Let me know where you are and I will come to you. I love you. Be strong.
I closed my eyes and sighed, almost feeling her love wrap around me. At least I had one person in my corner.
A message pinged from Trevor, my agent. He was no doubt dressed in his finest Gucci pinstripe suit decorated with a flamboyant exotic-flower buttonhole.
Sweet pea. Where are you? What is happening? The church is awash with gossip and rumors. It is crazy in here!
My eyes stung and then filled. Tears welled and overspilled, streaming down my cheeks. I dashed at them and tried to reply. But my vision was blurred and my nose also dripping.
Three more messages came through. Rapid succession. Then three more. Another five. My phone was alive. Frustrated, I hit silence and slipped it away. I couldn’t deal with other people right now. Heck, I could barely deal with myself. Rational thought was hard, so was breathing come to think of it.
I suppose rain on your wedding day, as the saying goes, really was bad luck. And me, I’d got it in bucketfuls.
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