Chapter 3
When the wedding processional started again, not one guest sat down.
Phones remained raised. After four strained measures, the first violinist stopped and looked at me.
Eleanor still held the microphone. “Keep playing.”
No one did.
I walked down the aisle toward the arch. The pearls knocked together in my pocket, and Julian’s cuff link pressed into my palm.
When he saw me coming, some of the tension left his shoulders. He assumed I would clean up his mess.
He held out his hand. “Let’s finish the ceremony. I’ll explain afterward.”
“The livestream stays on,” I said, stopping beyond his reach. “You’re leaving Whitford Estate. Now.”
His hand stalled in the air.
“This is our wedding,” he said under his breath. “You can’t throw three hundred people out over one clip taken out of context.”
“The guests can stay. You can’t.”
“Those guests came for an Ashford wedding,” Julian said. “What happens next is not yours to decide.”
“This is Whitford Estate.” I kept my voice low. “Your family may have invited half the room, but you don’t control what happens on my property.”
I placed the cuff link with his initials in his palm. “I found it in the side hall.”
His fingers closed around it at once. He didn’t ask where the other one was or whether I believed the video. The speed of his reaction answered for him.
Eleanor stepped down from the platform and handed the microphone to a staff member.
Her voice stayed controlled, the same one she used with directors and reporters.
“Claire, there are contracts tied to this broadcast and three hundred people in that room. End the stream. Be angry when there aren’t cameras on you.”
“This estate belongs to my family.”
Eleanor turned toward the security team near the arch. “End the livestream. Remove the press.”
No one moved. Julian had brought the guards, but they were standing on Whitford property. The estate manager stepped out from beside the guests.
“We take our instructions from Ms. Whitford.”
Julian pulled me behind the floral arch and closed his hand around my wrist. “I’ll apologize any way you want. Just don’t turn this into entertainment for the whole world.”
“Let go.”
“You’re not thinking clearly.”
I looked down at his hand. He followed my gaze and finally released me.
His handprint was still on my wrist. Another argument would let him discuss my temper, my company, and his family name instead of what he had done.
I walked away.
Behind me, Eleanor ordered the side doors closed.
Julian called my name again. The plea had vanished from his voice. He sounded like a shareholder watching a vote slip away.
I entered the bridal suite and locked the door.
The champagne, vow cards, and unused hairpins were still where we had left them. I set the pearls on the vanity and opened the tablet Ruthie had slipped into my hand.
The livestream was still running.
Comments poured down one side of the screen. Some condemned Julian. Others claimed I had planned the whole thing. The first sponsor demanded that we remove its logo immediately or face a claim for damages.
Eight hundred and twenty thousand people had watched me refuse him. Now they would see how much that refusal cost.
Footsteps hurried down the hall.
“It’s me,” Ruthie said through the door. “Your attorney, Miles Greer, is here. He sent this.”
A manila folder slid beneath the door. Julian’s voice followed from farther down the hall.
“Claire, open the door.”
I didn’t answer.
The first page listed the apartment, the beach house, the jewelry, and the cash. The final page contained only three lines.
I picked up a pen, crossed out the first two, and circled the final word.
The doorknob began to turn.