Page 101 of The Bridesmaid

Part of me wants to slap him because what does he know? My whole entire life is one big string of sponsorship deals. Marriage doesn’t change that.

‘My dad is here,’ I add, trying to think, despite a sudden prickling sensation in my brain. ‘Hair and make-up. All the important people.’

‘All theimportantpeople? Hair and make-up? Dri, can you hear yourself?’ For the first time in our relationship, Mark actually sounds angry. ‘Since we started planning this whole wedding, it’s like you’ve become a different person,’ he says, shaking his head. ‘I put it down to stress but …’

I grab his hands. ‘That’s what it is. Stress. I just need to feel safe. And I will. After we’re married.’

He sighs, and looks deep into my eyes, in that searching way he has.

‘If it’s so important to you, then yes,’ he says, ‘we’ll set everything up for pictures. Just get some sleep.’

It takes every ounce of self-control not to sigh with relief. This is going to work. I will be married and this will work.

Mark’s eyes slide to the door, and I wonder if he’s thinking about Ophelia. An uneasy feeling swirls in my body. I dismiss it.

I am safe. I am happy. I am loved.

Chapter Eighty-two

HOLLY

I blink to consciousness on the cold floor of the panic room.

‘Holly? Holly?’ It’s Fitzwilliam’s voice. ‘Are you awake?’

‘Am I awake?’ I mumble, putting out a hand fuzzily in the semi-gloom, and finding stone floor. ‘I think so.’ I look up into Fitzwilliam’s pale blue eyes. They look a lot less haughty than I remember.

Fitzwilliam breathes out hard. ‘Thank God,’ he says. ‘I thought … Never mind. Let’s get you up.’

I sit with effort, then squeeze my eyes tight shut.

‘OK. Wow,’ I say. ‘That hurts.’

‘You fell down the steps,’ he explains. ‘Knocked you out cold.’ He hesitates. ‘We’re trapped here, Holly. Someone shut us in. I’ve been pounding the door for hours.’

‘Forhours?’ I touch my head tentatively. ‘How long was I out?’

‘I can’t say for sure but … I’d guess it must be morning by now.’

I turn my head to look up toward the dark steps out.

‘Adrianna’s wedding day,’ I say thoughtfully. ‘Someone pushed me down the stairs,’ I add.

Fitzwilliam nods. ‘I figured. Do you know who?’

I shake my head. Wince. The full extent of our situation is beginning to weigh heavily on me.

‘The portrait door has resealed,’ says Fitzwilliam. ‘We’re trapped down here.’

‘No one knows where we are,’ I say.

I get to my feet, with Fitzwilliam’s help, and take a moment to absorb where I am.

‘Wow.’ I pause to rub my eyes. ‘This is real, right?’

‘It’s real.’

I take it in. ‘Jesus.’