Time crawled at a pace that allowed Rachael to watch the whole wreck in slow motion.
There was Bonnie, lily-like in her gown of antique silk and lace, her hair swept up with diamond-studded clips, the veil flowing behind her like captive mist, her smile the dazzling unmuddied happiness of a woman truly in love.
Flanking her, Yvette was chic in a tailored pale gray silk skirt suit accented with her huge pearls and a cameo brooch. Marguerite was a perfect foil in a pistachio embroidered gown. The two bridesmaids wore baby-pink chiffon.
Evonne mounted the stairs. Rachael knew she had only a few seconds to act. The smoking room was all the way across the salon behind her, but she might be able to make it. She retreated and, in her haste, hit a side table and stumbled.
Before she could right herself, someone steadied her shoulder. “Hey.”
“Oh, God.”
She spun, straight into Matthew. His arms folded around her, and before she could stop him, he kissed her. Evidently, he had no idea what was going on. Had no idea that Bonnie hadn’t already left for the church.
Rachael struggled, which seemed to confuse him. He pulled back, stroking her face and asking her what was wrong.
Rachael was only frantic to be free, his touch burning her like acid. He wasn’t the man she’d fallen deep in teenage love with, or whom she’d wanted to run away with last night. He was someone else entirely. All the changes—the haircut, the suit, the serious expression—she saw them now as his real face, a morphing of the Matthew she’d loved.
“What’s gotten into you?” he said, a playful smile still on his lips.
Finally, he glanced past her. Rachael didn’t need to turn to know that Bonnie had appeared and was staring straight at them. That she, and the others in the bridal party, and Evonne too, must be trying to make sense of why the groom wasn’t at the church, but rather standing in the hotel foyer kissing another woman.
No one said anything.
Finally, Rachael turned around. The antique hall clock ticked through five painful seconds.
She saw the individual lights come on in Bonnie’s mind as she took in Rachael and Matthew standing together.
Rachael was stripped raw by that look. Her lips still burned from the kiss he’d given her, a kiss of unparalleled destruction, and the only one she hadn’t wanted. She pressed her fingers to her forehead. “Oh, God.” Her head swam. Maybe she’d faint.
The silence was torture.
“Bonnie,” Matthew croaked. “I—”
“You’re already married,” Rachael rushed out, her voice low, before Matthew could say any more. Maybe if she spoke quickly and got out of here, she could somehow still claim her innocence.
“What?” Matthew said.
Rachael’s voice steadied. She wouldn’t have this chance again. “You’re already married. You have to be, for French law. Aren’t you?”
Matthew’s gaze flickered toward Bonnie. “Well, technically . . .”
Rachael closed her eyes. For a fraction of a second, she hoped she could open them and find this wasn’t happening.
She had done the same thing when her mother died. Then, the world had been all hospital white: white walls, white ceiling, white curtains. Now, it was rich with color—royal burgundy, blue, and gold. And yet the experience was the same: the dreadful knowledge that something had happened that could never be reversed. She knew she wouldn’t walk away from this the same person. The damage she had done was irreparable.
When she opened her eyes, she dared to look at Bonnie. She had the urge to sink to her knees, to beg for forgiveness.
Instead, she then saw Antonio, standing at the banister, his camera loose in his hand. A moment passed between them and Rachael heard the doors of possibility slamming closed in her mind.
The atmosphere was so pressurized, the only thing Rachael could think to do was leave. So, without another glance at Matthew, she made for the front door. Bernie and Beverley were still waiting there, eyes agog at the unfolding drama. Hot shame burned tears into Rachael’s eyes. She made only a few steps before Bonnie’s voice came down the stairs like a dart.
“Don’t you go anywhere.”
Rachael froze and slowly turned back.
Her elegant pink wisteria bouquet in one hand, Bonnie swished down the stairs to face Matthew. “In there,” she said, pointing to the office behind the front desk. Her voice could have cut glass.
Before the door closed, Rachael caught sight of them in profile: Bonnie in her spectacular gown; Matthew wearing a pair of jeans, a polo shirt, and a defiant expression. They looked like a matador and a bull facing off across a ring, the audience waiting to see what would happen.
Yvette slowly crab-stepped down the stairs in her long skirt, steadying herself between the banister and Antonio’s arm. Her lips were thin and bloodless. She didn’t look at Rachael once, as if she didn’t exist. Marguerite wore an expression of disgust. The bridesmaids whispered to each other behind their hands.
The office door opened and the desk clerk appeared. “Miss West? Your car is here.”
Rachael moved silently down the hall to the front entrance. She didn’t look back as the dark car pulled to the curb, as Bernie and Beverley climbed in first. She would accept whatever fate was now hers.