The Roses Wilted at Dusk Chapter 06
“He found the book,” Marlowe said. “He read it page by page for a long time.”
“Did he finish it?”
“After he finished, he sat in your chair and flipped through it again from the beginning.”
“Halfway through the second time, he suddenly asked me whether the processional, the dessert table, and the outdoor ceremony in the wedding plan all came from that book.”
“What did you say?”
“I said I didn’t know. But he matched them up himself. He compared the book line by line with the printout Tamsin Calder gave us, and the more he compared, the paler he got.”
I stood by the window. The sea breeze lifted the curtain and let it fall again.
He finally knew.
The perfect wedding he thought Tamsin Calder wanted had been mine in every detail.
The white roses were mine. Clair de Lune was mine. The lemon tarts were mine. The garden at dusk was mine. The handwritten vows were mine.
He had taken my dream apart and pasted it piece by piece onto someone else’s wedding.
At nine that night, a voice message broke through Do Not Disturb.
It was not from Dashiell’s number. Marlowe had
forwarded it.
I tapped it open. His voice came through the receiver, dry and hoarse to the point of roughness.
“Audra Ellison, this wedding… was yours, wasn’t it?”
“From beginning to end, it was yours.”
After listening, I exited the chat and opened my
conversation with Dashiell.
The red notification badge was glaringly high.
I did not scroll.
I only typed one line.
[Mr. Lockwood, please settle the final payment according to the contract schedule.]
Then I dragged his chat to the bottom and turned off my phone.
Outside the window, waves beat the shore, again and again, forming a slow rhythm.
