Page 33

Olivia

L ife rarely happens as we plan it. No matter how we try to define the boundaries of our relationships, our friendships, life has a way of blurring things. Lately, it’s hard to know where the lines were drawn in the first place.

“Wait,” I murmur, coming to a stop in front of the photographer.

It’s about 30 minutes until the ceremony starts. We just finished detail shots in the groom’s suite. Eleanor is getting the finishing touches done on her hair and makeup, and Richard is likely waiting to hand off the rings to the best man.

Only… we left the rings in the groom’s suite when we were getting photos.

“The rings. I’ll grab them if you want to go and shoot last minute photos in the bridal suite.”

“I’m on it,” Noah says, and I grin as he winks and struts back down the hall.

I’ve worked with Noah Lawrence before, and he’s always got a bit of a flair for the dramatic, but he’s one of the best wedding photographers in Westos. He’s done more pieces on Westlan social royalty than I can count, and he rarely shoots a wedding that doesn’t land the front cover of every lifestyle magazine.

I stroll to the groom’s suite, my planner still in-hand with a task-list a mile long. I’m nearing the end of it, but with the reception doors open to guests already, I need to be quick. They should be lining up now, and I pick up my pace until the groom’s suite is in view.

I knock twice before balancing my planner on my arm and stepping inside. What I don’t expect is to find Richard still inside, bent over the armoire at the wall. I freeze when I spy the white powder in front of him, the card scraping it into a neat line, before he snorts the drug. He groans, swiping his nose with his sleeve. He must see me because he turns, frozen in shock.

“Liv.”

“I- Um…” Words are caught in my throat, and he quickly clears his throat, standing and smearing any remaining evidence from the table. “Sorry. I knocked. Noah and I forgot the rings.”

His eyes dart toward the ring box on the armoire beside him, still beautifully wrapped in silk for the shot. “You weren’t supposed to see that,” he explains, and I nod, unsure of what to say. “Look, it’s just some pre-wedding nerves. That’s all. I don’t normally…” he rambles. “I would never do this just because.”

He’s lying. The look on his face screams the truth, but it would be inappropriate to call him on it.

The best I can muster is another nod. “I just need the rings.”

“Of course,” he swipes the box up, extending it toward me. “Please just don’t… tell Ella,” he says quietly, and when I take the box carefully and step back, I’m suddenly glad that Taylor’s behind me because Richard’s gaze shifts toward him. “You’re not a cop or anything, right?” he asks sheepishly, but the joke lands flat when Taylor remains quiet.

I explain, my chest tightening at the familiar look on his face. “It’s not my place to judge you. But if I were Ella, I would want to know. Please consider telling her.”

“Now??”

“I-“

The timer on my watch blares, signaling I’ve only got a few minutes before Richard needs to line up with the groomsmen.

“Eleanor will be coming down soon,” I say simply, and I make for the door before he can stop me again.

“You alright?” Taylor whispers. We share a look, and he must understand that I’m still in go-mode because he nods. I shove all my thoughts aside and continue toward the ceremony hall.

Everything that happens next is a daze.

The ceremony starts, violin floating through the space followed by soft piano chords. Eleanor’s silk train flares beautifully behind her as she walks down the aisle toward the altar.

Noah takes several shots, flashing photo after photo as Taylor and I linger at the back. The cathedral is draped in varying shades of lemon yellow and emerald green, the stained glass casting luminescent shades of blue and red across the wooden flooring. The sight is stunning, and even as the soft chords continue quietly through the ceremony, I admire from afar, trying not to let my mind wander to what I saw in the groom's suite.

I meant what I said. I’m in no place to judge him. But seeing it reminded me of my father. For some reason, I feel like a fool.

“Liv,” Taylor whispers, and when I turn to look at him, I gasp when I see the cathedral suddenly shrouded in smoke. Some of the guests are looking around now, and when I look for the source, I find smoke pouring in from the ceremony doors.

Fire.

My body responds before my mind does, and I leap into action. I find the closest fire alarm, pulling the lever and filling the cathedral with the sound of the alarms. I cover my ears and guests jump from their seats, and as I reach for the doors, Taylor drags me back.

“Don’t!”

The scalding hot handle has already marked my skin, and I hiss, squeezing my hand to my chest as pain explodes across my skin. Taylor seizes my hand, checking the damage as hundreds of guests come barreling toward us.

I desperately look around for any sort of escape. There’s an emergency exit behind the altar, and when I point it out, Taylor directs everyone back. “Proceed toward the exit by the altar!” he yells, and even though everyone is scrambling around, he still guides me out.

“Wait! My planner. I left it in the bridal suite!”

“Leave it. We need to get out of here.”

My first inclination is to ignore him. My contracts and my schedule are in there, but the thought dissipates as red flames start eating through the walls. Heat drowns out any other sound, and even as smoke clouds my vision, I can still see fire engulfing the door I’d just touched moments ago.

Everyone files out into the fresh air, smoke rushing out behind us, and through all of the chaos, I look for Eleanor and Richard. I see them standing in the grass to the side, surrounded by family and friends.

“What the hell happened?” I ask, but Taylor rushes me to a safe spot nearby. It’s only now that we can see the large pummel of black smoke funneling toward the sky.

Flames consume the roof now, the heat still strong enough that Taylor urges everyone further back into the parking lot.

I reach into my pocket for my phone, and when I find a piece of parchment folded up with it, I freeze.

It isn’t mine.

Taylor watches as I unfurl the paper, and when I read the words across it, dread is like ice in my veins:

Secrets burn.

Sirens blare in the distance, so far away that nothing feels quite real. We watch in horror as the stained glass windows shatter, flame eating away at every last plank of the cathedral.

And as I look between the flames and the note, I wonder if this isn’t all because of me.