Chapter 4The Wedding He Stole From Me

They all thought I was sensible.

They all thought I could not leave Adrian.

So my wedding could be given away. My dress could be given away. Even the safe house meant to become my home could be given away.

The next morning, Adrian sent a message.

Nico said you went to Southbank House last night.

Livia is only staying there for a while. You don’t need to be angry over this.

A few minutes later, another message arrived.

I’m free this morning.

Didn’t we agree to visit Mrs. Bellamy after the wedding?

Mrs. Bellamy had been my first teacher at Vale Atelier.

Seven years ago, she was the first person who told me I should stop repairing other women’s dresses and start putting my own name on my work.

She liked Adrian.

She used to say that a man willing to wait outside my studio until midnight could not be entirely heartless.

I looked at the screen and did not reply.

Still, I changed clothes and went to her workshop.

Not to give Adrian another chance.

Only to give seven years a proper ending.

At nine, I sat across from Mrs. Bellamy.

She had prepared tea and scones. A narrow gift box rested beside the tray.

“Where is Adrian?”

“Probably stuck in traffic.”

Mrs. Bellamy smiled.

“The first time he came here with you, he looked like a loaded gun. I thought you had lost your mind, loving a man like that.”

She adjusted her glasses.

“Then I saw him wait outside for four hours. When you came downstairs, he put his coat over your shoulders and walked to the car in the rain.”

“That was when I thought perhaps this Don had a heart.”

I lowered my eyes.

At nine thirty, Adrian had not arrived.

At ten, his call finally came.

Thunder sounded in the background. So did Livia’s crying.

“Elena, are you there?”

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry. Livia is terrified of storms. Thunder hit a few minutes ago, and she locked herself in the bathroom.”

His voice was tense.

“I can’t leave right now. Apologize to Mrs. Bellamy for me. We’ll visit her together next time.”

I said nothing.

On his side of the line, Livia sobbed his name.

“Adrian, I’m scared…”

“I’m here.”

His voice softened at once.

Then he returned to me.

“Elena, don’t make this difficult right now.”

“Livia is unstable. I don’t have the mind for anything else.”

The call ended.

Mrs. Bellamy looked at me.

“What happened, child?”

I held the teacup. Tears still fell.

“Mrs. Bellamy, I don’t want Adrian anymore.”

She did not ask why.

She only pushed the gift box toward me.

Inside was an old pair of shears. The handle was worn smooth, but the blades had been kept sharp.

“I used these when I was young,” she said. “I meant to give them to you after your wedding.”

I closed the box.

“You still can.”

After leaving Mrs. Bellamy’s workshop, I did not return to Vale Atelier.

I went to the station.

Three days earlier, I had received an email from a natural-dye workshop in Santa Fe. They had accepted me for a residency. A room and a temporary worktable were already arranged.

Back then, I had not decided whether to go.

Now there was nothing left to decide.

While waiting for the train, I opened the family chat.

Adrian had posted a video.

Livia sat on the sofa at Southbank House, wrapped in a wool blanket, holding a cup of warm milk.

Adrian sat behind her, drying her hair.

The caption read:

Taking care of a patient. Hope the storm passes soon.

A line of relatives had liked it.

My mother commented:

Adrian is a good man. We can trust him with Livia.

My aunt added:

This is what family looks like.

I read the words and left the chat.

Then I deleted Adrian and blocked every relative.

Finally, I took out my SIM card and dropped it into the trash.

The boarding announcement came.

I carried one suitcase onto the platform.

At eight that night, Adrian finally left Livia and went to Vale Atelier.

He carried a box of hazelnut cake.

It had once been my favorite dessert.

He pushed open the door.

“Elena, I came to apologize.”

The atelier was empty.

The wedding sketches had been removed from the walls. Half the storage cabinets stood open. On the table lay only a torn draft of the black eagle crest.

Adrian stopped at the entrance.

The cake box slowly lowered in his hand.