Chapter 4 - THE MORNING AFTER THE WEDDING THAT WASN’T
I woke at 6:11 the next morning still wearing my grandmother’s bracelet.
For several seconds, I stared at the unfamiliar ceiling and forgot where I was.
Then memory returned.
Noah.
Lucy.
The dress.
Ryan.
The aisle.
The ceremony.
I closed my eyes.
“Oh God.”
I was not in the honeymoon suite.
That room had been reserved under Noah’s name.
I had refused to enter it.
Instead, I slept in one of Hawthorne Estate’s guest cottages with my cousin Emma in the next room because my mother refused to leave me alone.
The reception had still happened.
Sort of.
Nobody knew whether to call it a reception.
There was food.
A band.
Alcohol.
An enormous wedding cake with our initials that Jenna eventually attacked with a butter knife until only the K remained.
Ryan stayed for two hours.
Then left.
That mattered.
He did not try to turn my ruined engagement into his romantic opportunity.
He danced once with his mother.
Once with mine.
He hugged me before leaving.
Nothing more.
“Call me if you need anything.”
Not:
Call me tomorrow.
Not:
We need to talk.
Anything.
I hated how much that helped.
My phone contained 213 messages.
Some supportive.
Some confused.
A few offensively curious.
One from Noah.
We need to talk when you stop performing for everyone.
I deleted it.
Then Lucy.
You don’t know the whole story.
Delete.
Another from Lucy arrived five minutes later.
Ask Noah why he needed the wedding to happen so badly.
I stopped.
Read it again.
My stomach tightened.
I did not respond.
Instead, I called Ryan.
He answered sleepily.
“Kate?”
“Sorry.”
Instantly awake.
“What happened?”
“Nothing.”
“You don’t call at six-thirty the morning after your canceled wedding for nothing.”
“I got a message from Lucy.”
Silence.
“What did she say?”
I told him.
Ryan went quiet.
“Ryan.”
“I’m thinking.”
“Did you know anything else?”
“No.”
“That answer came quickly.”
“Because after yesterday I am not withholding another piece of information from you.”
Fair.
I got out of bed.
“What could she mean?”
“Could be manipulation.”
“Yes.”
“Could be something financial.”
“Why financial?”
“Noah’s been having cash problems.”
I froze.
“What?”
Ryan swore softly.
“Damn it.”
“You just said you wouldn’t hide anything.”
“I wasn’t hiding it because it involved you. I didn’t know it did.”
“How bad?”
“I don’t know. He asked Dad for money twice this year.”
Noah worked in commercial real estate.
He earned well.
Very well.
He also spent like money was something that became embarrassed if it remained in an account too long.
Luxury apartment.
Cars.
Travel.
Private clubs.
I had always assumed he could afford it.
“Why did he need the money?”
“Dad wouldn’t tell me.”
I looked toward my suitcase.
“Noah asked me to sign investment documents last month.”
Ryan’s voice sharpened.
“What documents?”
“For the townhouse.”
“What townhouse?”
“The one we were supposed to buy after the wedding.”
Silence.
“Kate, did you transfer money?”
“No.”
“Did you sign?”
“Some preliminary papers.”
“How much money?”
“My part of the down payment would have been eight hundred thousand.”
Ryan swore.
“Where did that come from?”
“My grandmother’s trust.”
Another silence.
“Kate.”
“What?”
“Do not sign anything else.”
“I wasn’t planning to.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
I opened my laptop.
The documents Noah sent were in my email.
Luxury townhouse.
Boston.
Purchase price $4.6 million.
Noah called it our first real home.
He said the deal needed to close quickly after the wedding because the seller had another offer.
I had signed an authorization allowing the attorney to prepare funding instructions.
But the final wire was scheduled for Monday.
Tomorrow.
My stomach dropped.
I found an email from the closing firm.
Then another.
Something looked wrong.
“Ryan.”
“Yes?”
“The funding instructions say $1.6 million from me.”
“What?”
“That isn’t what Noah told me.”
I scrolled.
He had said eight hundred thousand each.
Equal.
The document listed my contribution at $1.6 million.
Noah’s?
Two hundred thousand.
I stopped breathing.
“That bastard.”
Ryan’s voice turned cold.
“Send me everything.”
“Why?”
“I know a forensic real-estate attorney.”
“Ryan.”
“Not Harper counsel.”
Good.
“No one who works for my family.”
Even better.
“Send it.”
I did.
At 7:02, Noah knocked on the cottage door.
I knew because Emma opened it and immediately said:
“You have got to be kidding me.”
I walked downstairs.
Noah stood outside wearing yesterday’s suit trousers and a wrinkled white shirt.
He looked terrible.
I felt satisfaction.
Not enough.
“Five minutes,” he said.
“No.”
“Kate.”
“You’re very bad at hearing that word.”
His jaw tightened.
“Lucy is lying to you.”
“I haven’t told you what Lucy said.”
He stopped.
Interesting.
“What is she lying about?”
Noah rubbed his face.
“She’s angry.”
“Why?”
“Because I ended it.”
“When?”
“Yesterday.”
I almost laughed.
“How heroic.”
“Kate.”
“No.”
I stepped outside and closed the door behind me.
“You cheated for eight months.”
“It wasn’t eight months.”
“Please stop acting like reducing the timeline improves your character.”
His face tightened.
“I made mistakes.”
“A mistake is ordering the wrong champagne.”
“Fine. I screwed up.”
“Yes.”
“But you humiliated my entire family yesterday.”
I stared.
“You posed as a groom with my maid of honor under my wedding arch.”
“She started it.”
“And your arm accidentally ended up around her waist?”
No answer.
I continued.
“Why does the townhouse funding paperwork say I’m contributing $1.6 million?”
Everything in Noah’s face changed.
There.
Not guilt.
Fear.
I felt it immediately.
“What are you talking about?”
“You know exactly what.”
“I don’t.”
“Lucy told me to ask why you needed the wedding to happen.”
He looked away.
My blood went cold.
“Noah.”
“It’s complicated.”
“Try me.”
He lowered his voice.
“I had an investment go bad.”
“How bad?”
“Kate.”
“How much?”
He stared toward the ocean.
“About nine hundred thousand.”
I almost laughed.
Then realized he was serious.
“You lost nine hundred thousand dollars?”
“Temporarily.”
“Money does not become temporarily gone.”
“I can recover it.”
“With my trust?”
“No.”
“Then why does the paperwork take twice what you told me from my account?”
He hesitated.
“I was going to replace it.”
My stomach turned.
“Replace what?”
“I needed liquidity for thirty days.”
“You were going to take my money.”
“No.”
“Without telling me.”
“Not permanently.”
I stepped backward.
“Oh my God.”
“Kate, once we were married—”
I raised my hand.
“Finish that sentence very carefully.”
He stopped.
Once we were married.
There it was.
Something Noah believed would change after the ceremony.
Access.
Entitlement.
Maybe leverage.
“You needed me to marry you before Monday.”
His silence confirmed it.
The affair had broken my heart.
This changed the shape of the betrayal.
“You were going to let me walk down that aisle while planning to use my trust money forty-eight hours later.”
“I wasn’t stealing.”
“You lied about the amount.”
“I was protecting you from unnecessary stress.”
I actually laughed.
“That phrase should be illegal.”
Noah stepped toward me.
“Ryan is using this.”
“Ryan has nothing to do with it.”
“He absolutely does.”
“No.”
“You really think he showed up under that arch because he’s noble?”
“He tried not to.”
That stopped him.
“What?”
“I asked.”
Noah stared.
“And he said no.”
I smiled bitterly.
“Imagine that. A Harper brother capable of saying no when something is wrong.”
Noah’s face twisted.
“You’ll regret trusting him.”
“Maybe.”
I opened the cottage door.
“But at least I’m done trusting you.”
I stepped inside.
Noah caught the edge of the door.
“Kate.”
I looked at his hand.
He released it.
“One thing.”
“What?”
“Lucy isn’t innocent.”
“I never said she was.”
“She knew about the money.”
My stomach tightened.
“How?”
Noah’s face hardened.
“Because she was part of the investment.”
The door closed between us.
Twenty minutes later, Ryan called.
His voice sounded completely different.
“Kate.”
“What?”
“Your paperwork is worse than you thought.”
My chest went cold.
“The funding authorization was amended three days ago.”
“I didn’t amend anything.”
“I know.”
“How?”
Ryan paused.
“Your signature was copied.”
I stopped breathing.
“And the account receiving the extra eight hundred thousand?”
“Yes?”
“It isn’t the townhouse escrow.”
I gripped the counter.
May you like
“Where does it go?”
“A company Noah owns with Lucy.”
