I kept imagining Andrew standing in front of me.
By the reception, I had recovered enough to talk to relatives and force down half a plate of food.
The hotel ballroom was crowded and warm.
Glasses clinked.
Music rolled from the speakers.
My aunt was already trying to drag people onto the dance floor.
For the first time in three months, I laughed without immediately feeling guilty.
Then I looked toward the hallway.
And saw Clementine.
At first, I thought I was imagining things.
She was moving quickly along the edge of the ballroom, almost hidden behind a row of tall floral arrangements.
I froze.
It had to be someone else.
Clementine didn’t know Elowen.
As far as I knew, they had never even met.
Then she looked over her shoulder… and hurried through a door marked bridal suite.
A knot formed low in my stomach.
I stared at the door.
Clementine had no reason to be there.
For a few seconds, I tried to convince myself not to follow.
Maybe she was attending another wedding at the hotel.
Maybe she had gone through the wrong door.
Maybe there was an explanation that had nothing to do with me.
But she had looked nervous.
Not confused.
Nervous.
So I followed her.
The hallway was quieter than the ballroom.
The music became a dull pulse behind me.
When I reached the bridal suite, the door hadn’t closed completely.
I pushed it open.
Inside, Clementine was standing beside the bride’s dress, frantically searching through a small white bag.
“Clementine?”
