The bishop cleared his throat loudly.

“Please,” he said, his voice echoing in the rafters.

“I must ask you to leave the nave.”

“The ceremony is officially postponed.”

Celeste let out a sharp, choked sob.

She looked at the empty pews, then at the altar flowers.

“Postponed?” she whispered.

“Adrian, we can’t postpone. The reception is set. The press is outside.”

Adrian ignored her, keeping his eyes on me.

“We are leaving,” he said to his mother.

“Get the car moved to the side entrance.”

Margaret nodded once, her expression hard as flint.

She turned her back on us and walked toward the side door.

Adrian looked at me one last time, a dark promise in his eyes.

“This isn’t over, Vivian,” he said.

“Not by a long shot.”

He turned and walked back toward the altar, grabbing Celeste by the elbow.

She stumbled slightly in her heels, her veil snagging on a wooden pew.

Grace touched my arm.

“Are you alright?” she asked.

“I’m fine,” I said, though my heart was hammering against my ribs.

“We did what we came to do.”