Chapter 3No Second Chances for My Amnesiac Groom

My spine pressed flat against the chilled plaster.

So that was it.

The rare, tragic diagnosis. The transient dissociative amnesia his private neurologist had supposedly confirmed three years ago.

Every time he looked at me with unrecognizing eyes. Every time he abandoned our anniversary dinners to rush across town because Evelyn couldn’t breathe. Every time he wavered between two women, retreating into the fortress of a convenient, untestable mental fog.

It was theater.

Seven years of immaculate, rehearsed theater.

And for seven years, I had believed him. I had wiped my own tears in hospital waiting rooms, smoothed things over with his horrified friends, comforted my weeping mother, and swallowed every humiliation whole. I had held his hand in the dark and told him, It’s okay, Simon. I love you enough for the both of us. We’ll wait for you to come back.

I was the clown in his private circus.

Inside the vestry, Simon spoke again, adjusting his cuffs. "Stay out of it, Marcus. If something happens to Evelyn because I hesitated, I won't be able to live with myself."

I closed my eyes.

When I opened them, the small, desperate ember of love I had nurtured since I was eighteen was gone. Not smothered. Crushed into fine, gray powder.

He was right about one thing. I was sensible. I knew how to fix myself.

And once I fixed myself, I didn't want his child.

And I didn't want him.

I turned around, lifting the hem of my dress, and walked back onto the raised platform.

The officiant was still standing frozen behind the pulpit, holding the leather-bound service book like a shield. Four hundred guests stared at me, their eyes burning into my skin like branding irons.

I didn't look back at them.

I walked up to the minister, reached out, and took the wireless microphone from his hand. The metal casing was still warm from Simon’s palm.

I turned to the congregation. My voice, honed by years of live news broadcasts, came out entirely level.

"Thank you all for coming," I said. "Please consider this your official notice: the wedding is canceled."

Total silence fell over the room.

"From this moment forward, Simon Mercer and I have no relation to one another. Our lives are separate."

I set the microphone gently on the wooden lectern.

I stepped down from the dais just as the vestry door swung open.

Simon stepped out. Hearing my announcement, his face didn't register a flicker of surprise or panic. He didn't even look in my direction.

Instead, he walked straight back to the second row. He leaned over Evelyn Ward, brushed a stray dark curl away from her forehead, and smiled with infinite tenderness.

"Little princess," he murmured, his voice carrying clearly in the quiet. "Want to ditch this place with me?"

A sharp intake of breath rippled across the pews.

I smiled. A tiny, genuine pull at the corner of my mouth.

It was astonishing how quiet a heart could be when it finally stopped beating for someone.

I walked to the front row where my mother sat. Her tears were soaking through her lapels, her hands shaking so hard she couldn't pick up her purse.

"Nora..." she choked out. "My sweet girl..."

I pulled a tissue from my pocket, gently dabbed the corners of her eyes, and kept my voice low. "It’s over, Mom. Let’s go home."