Page 4 of Little Dark Deeds (Georgiana Germaine #12)

“W hat is it, darling ?” Giovanni asked.

I crossed one leg over the other, trying to avoid souring our wedding day by expressing my concerns. But he knew me too well, and he knew when something was off.

“Tiffany was supposed to be here to help me get ready for the wedding,” I said. “She never showed. After the ceremony ended, I looked through the crowd, and I didn’t see her. I don’t think she’s here.”

“Is it possible she missed her flight?”

“I think she would have texted me to let me know if something happened. I checked my phone before the reception. She hasn’t called or texted.”

“Why don’t you give her a call?”

“It’s our wedding reception. Everyone wants to talk to us, dance with us, celebrate the night. I don’t feel right about ducking out to track Tiffany down.”

“I’m not suggesting you track her down tonight. You said you had one more dress change before the DJ starts his set in half an hour’s time. Go, get changed, and give Tiffany a call.”

Wanting to remain present on my special day, I hadn’t carried my cell phone around with me. Today was about us and our guests, and in the spirit of savoring every moment, I’d left my phone behind in our room.

The urge to check in with Tiffany was too tempting, and I stood.

“I’ll just be a few minutes,” I said. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

“Take all the time you need. I’ll inform the DJ not to start without you.”

We kissed, and I smoothed down the front of my second dress of the evening, an ivory, one-shoulder crepe dress with a feathered cape sleeve.

A black, sequined floral pattern ran across the top and down one side, tapering off at the waist. The dress was just about knee length.

And where the fabric ended, two feet of fringe began, running all the way down to my three-inch, strappy heels that sparkled whenever they hit the light.

I grabbed my vintage pearl-beaded clutch off the chair, slipping the chain-link strap over my shoulder as I searched for the easiest way out of the reception tent.

No one was at the back of it, and I decided exiting that way was my best bet if I wanted to avoid any interactions.

I headed in that direction. It worked in my favor until I stepped outside and found Harvey on the phone, pacing back and forth, his expression one of distress.

We made eye contact, and his eyes widened as if he was surprised to see me.

He lifted a finger, indicating I should wait a moment, and then turned back to the call, saying, “I’m sorry, I need to go. I’ll let him know.”

He shoved his phone in his pocket and looked at me, saying nothing. There was no mistaking the emotion in his eyes—emotion I felt wasn’t associated with my wedding.

“Harvey, is everything all right?” I asked.

He cleared his throat once, then twice. “Of course, why wouldn’t it be?”

“I know that look. You’re worried about something, aren’t you? What’s happened?”

“I ... ahh, I was just thinking about how wonderful your ceremony was, and I got a little overwhelmed, that’s all.”

It wasn’t all, though.

He was keeping something from me, deflecting.

“I came outside to get a bit of air,” he added. “What about you?”

Whatever was troubling him, he didn’t want to discuss it. Not right then, at least. Maybe it was personal in nature. My instincts told me not to press the matter, but given we’d always been close, it was just what I wanted to do.

“I’m headed to my room,” I said. “I need to change before the dancing starts.”

“You have a third dress?”

“I sure do. I figure I’m never getting married again. May as well make the most of it.”

He shrugged. “Makes sense, I suppose.”

“I’ll auction off everything I’ve worn today and donate the proceeds to charity.”

Harvey walked toward me, embracing me in a hug. “I’m so proud of you, of everything you’ve done with your life ... of the woman you are today, and the woman you’ve always been.”

“And I’m grateful for you. I am that woman because of your guidance.”

He made a sweeping motion with his hand. “Oh, I don’t know about that. I was just trying to step into your father’s shoes. Big shoes to fill, to be sure. You run along and get changed now. I better get back in there before your mother comes looking for me.”

I nodded, knowing she’d materialize at any moment.

Harvey ducked back inside the tent, and I entered the house, which was teeming with staff hired to oversee the reception.

Food was coming in and going out, along with trays of champagne and dirty dishes being replaced with clean ones, as they prepared to transition from the reception dinner to the fun stuff—the dessert.

And by dessert, I mean charcuterie boards, and a wedding cake made of layers of stacked cheese wheels.

There’d be sweets for those who wanted a sugary treat, of course, but as for me and my house, we would eat cheese.

I left the buzz of the main hall, ascending a long flight of stairs before arriving in the biggest of the guest suites, which came complete with its own living room, two full bathrooms—one for each of us—and a bar area.

I kicked off my shoes, flexing my toes as I gave my feet a much-needed rest. Then I took great care in removing my dress, slipping it off and placing it back on the hanger inside the plastic bag it came in.

I hung it in the closet and reached for the bag containing my third and final dress of the night.

Unzipping it, I took a moment to admire the white, above-knee party gown.

Its flapper, fringe-sheathed design with tiny white beads and feather hemline had caught my eye months earlier when I saw it in a vintage clothing shop.

The moment I saw it, I knew it was the perfect dress to end a perfect night.

I laid the dress out on the bed and moved a hand to my hips, looking around.

“Now where did I set my phone down ...”

I found it on top of a pillow and reached for it.

There were several calls and even more texts, none of which were from Tiffany.

I scrolled through my contacts until I found her number.

The call went through, and the phone rang and rang.

I hung up and tried again. This time, it went straight to voicemail.

My first thought was to be snarky, to let her know how I felt about her being a no-show. But without knowing what had happened, that approach didn’t feel right. She wouldn’t stand me up. It wasn’t like her.

I settled on:

“Hey, Tiffany. I missed you today. We missed you. It was a perfect day. Well, perfect except for you not being here. I’m not sure why you didn’t show up or why you’re not here now, but all I care about is that I hear from you.

I’m not sure if you missed your flight or if something else came up, but I’m starting to get worried.

Call me, please, as soon as you get this message. I need to know you’re all right.”

I ended the call and walked to the bathroom, taking a few moments to touch up my makeup before pulling my wavy, plum-colored, shoulder-length locks back into a sleek bun at the nape of my neck.

As I slipped on my dress, my phone buzzed.

Hoping it was Tiffany, I raced across the room to answer it and was met with disappointment—a text from my mother.

Hurry back down, dear. The DJ says she won’t start playing her set until you arrive. Your guests are getting restless. Toodaloo!

I had no doubt our guests were fine. The booze had been flowing for over three hours now. They weren’t restless. They were soaking in the sauce, eager to get their dance on.

Slipping my shoes back on, I felt immediate pain, my feet begging to be free after all the hours I’d spent in heels. I debated my options and then slipped them back off, dangling them between a few fingers as I went barefoot, maybe even for the rest of the night.

Besides, this bride didn’t need to follow the rules.

Not when she was so dang good at breaking them.