Chapter 4 - The Bridal Suite
The door to the bridal holding room was ajar. Soft acoustic pop music played from a portable bluetooth speaker on the vanity table, blending with the sound of laughter and champagne glasses clinking together.
I pushed the door open without knocking.
Vanessa stood in front of the full-length mirror, her breathtaking lace-and-tulle gown sweeping across the hardwood floor. Chloe, her maid of honor, was adjusting the intricate veil pinned into her blonde hair, while two other bridesmaids sipped champagne from crystal flutes.
"Oh, thank goodness, Andrew!" Vanessa turned around with a radiant, rehearsed smile, her eyes sparkling with bridal anticipation. "You shouldn't be seeing me before the walk, you bad omen! Is everything—"
She stopped dead.
The smile froze on her face, melting away as she took in my posture. I wasn't smiling. I stood in the center of the doorway with my shoulders squared, my arms loose at my sides, my face carved from granite.
"Andrew?" Chloe asked nervously, lowering her champagne flute. "Is something wrong with the sound system?"
"Leave," I said.
My voice wasn't loud. It didn't boom. It was quiet, steady, and carried the absolute, unquestionable authority of a commanding officer giving a direct order to a subordinate on a live range.
"Excuse me?" Vanessa laughed, a nervous, high-pitched sound that lacked any real humor. "What do you mean, leave? The processional is starting in two minutes. The coordinator is looking for—"
"I said, leave," I repeated, my eyes locking onto Vanessa's with a cold intensity that made the bridesmaids drop their gaze instantly.
Without another word, Chloe and the two bridesmaids grabbed their purses, scurried past me without making eye contact, and pulled the heavy door shut behind them.
The click of the latch echoed loudly in the quiet room.
Vanessa stood alone by the mirror, her chest rising and falling rapidly under layers of expensive tulle and imported lace. She tried to paste the smile back on, crossing her arms defensively over her chest.
"What is the meaning of this little drama?" she asked, her voice sharpening with irritation. "We have guests waiting out there, Andrew. People are going to start asking questions. What could possibly be so important that you have to storm in here like a drill sergeant?"
I took two slow, measured steps into the room, closing the distance between us until I stood right under the warm glow of the Hollywood-style vanity lights.
"Where is Emily?" I asked.
Vanessa’s eyes flickered—just for a fraction of a second—down toward the floor before snapping back up to meet mine. A tiny, imperceptible twitch betrayed the corner of her mouth.
"Emily? What kind of question is that?" She let out an incredulous laugh, shaking her head. "She's down with the wedding party, getting ready to walk. You know how nervous she gets about her pacing. I told her to relax in the side parlor so she wouldn't wrinkle her dress."
"Is that right?" I asked softly.
"Yes, that's right," she snapped, her patience clearly wearing thin. "Now stop acting bizarre, fix your tie, and let's go get married. The photographer is charging us overtime."
I reached into my pocket, pulled out a small, sparkling silver hair clip, and laid it gently on the glass top of the vanity table right beside her crystal perfume bottle.
May you like
Vanessa stared at it. The color completely drained from her cheeks, leaving her face as white as her wedding gown.
"She was locked in the service laundry room at the end of the north corridor, Vanessa," I said, every word falling like a lead weight in the quiet room. "The door was deadbolted from the outside. She told me everything."
