“Where?”
“Somewhere we can breathe.”
He guided me toward the private bridal suite.
Behind us, my family was still arguing.
And as we reached the corridor, I heard Khloe shout something that would stay with me for a long time.
**“She ruined my announcement because she couldn’t stand seeing me happy!”**
I stopped walking.
Daniel turned.
“Don’t,” he said gently.
I looked at him.
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t spend another minute of our wedding trying to convince them you deserve your own happiness.”
I swallowed.
Then I followed him into the bridal suite.
***
The room smelled of roses and expensive perfume.
My bouquet lay on the dressing table beside a pair of shoes I’d abandoned after the ceremony.
There was a half-eaten sandwich on a plate.
My veil hung from the back of a chair.
Everything looked exactly as it had before I became Mrs. Daniel Whitmore.
Except now my hands were shaking.
Daniel closed the door.
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Then I laughed.
It wasn’t a happy laugh.
It was the kind that escapes when you’ve spent so long expecting disaster that its arrival feels almost ridiculous.
“I told her no.”
Daniel nodded.
“Six weeks ago.”
“I told Dad no.”
