Chapter 3 - The Man in the Gray Suit
Colin was in a private lounge adjusting his cuff links.
He smiled when he saw me.
“There you are. You look incredible.”
For a moment, I understood how easy it would be to accept the compliment, kiss him, and let the next hour carry us forward.
The guests were seated.
The flowers were paid for.
My dress fit perfectly.
So much effort had gone into making the day happen that stopping it felt almost physically difficult.
I closed the lounge door.
“Why did you remove June from the ceremony?”
His hands stopped moving.
Then he sighed.
“I was going to explain.”
“When?”
“Paige, let’s not start like this.”
“Answer me.”
He glanced toward the clock.
“I thought it would be simpler. She’s a child. She doesn’t need to carry the emotional weight of walking you down the aisle.”
“She wanted to.”
“Children want lots of things.”
I stared at him.
He moved closer.
“I’m trying to make this a beautiful day for us.”
“Why did you tell Laurel I approved the changes?”
A pause.
“I knew you’d get upset if it became a whole discussion.”
“So you lied.”
“That’s a strong word.”
“It is an accurate one.”
His expression tightened.
Until that morning, I had rarely challenged Colin directly. When something felt wrong, I asked questions gently. I gave him room to explain. I worried about sounding unreasonable.
Now I wondered how often my carefulness had looked like permission.
“June says you told her your family would be uncomfortable because she came from my first marriage.”
“I said my family is traditional.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means some people prefer a ceremony focused on the couple.”
“Which people?”
“Paige.”
“Your mother?”
He looked away.
“Don’t drag my mother into this.”
“You already did.”
For the first time, I saw irritation replace his practiced patience.
“You’re taking an eleven-year-old’s version of a complicated conversation.”
“She understood that you wanted her to disappear from our wedding.”
“That’s dramatic.”
“She changed out of her dress because she thought loving me meant making room for you.”
He rubbed his forehead.
“I didn’t say it like that.”
“Did you tell her I might cancel the wedding if she told me?”
He said nothing.
“Colin.”
“I told her you might overreact. And here we are.”
The sentence landed with ugly precision.
He wasn’t sorry she had been hurt.
He was annoyed that the method had failed.
I placed Laurel’s printed schedule on the table.
“What about the photographs?”
“We can take pictures with her later.”
“After immediate family?”
“That’s a technical phrase the photographer uses.”
“It’s your email.”
He looked at the paper.
Then back at me.
“Are you really going to throw away what we have over some seating changes?”
“This is about my daughter believing she’s an obstacle to my happiness.”
“You’ve made your entire life about her.”
I felt my face go cold.
“She’s eleven.”
“And you’re thirty-eight. At some point you’re allowed to have a marriage.”
“A marriage that includes my child.”
“Of course it includes her. But it can’t revolve around her.”
He spoke as though this were a reasonable discussion we had postponed too long.
Perhaps, in his mind, it was.
“What did you tell her about staying with Ben more?”
His jaw tightened.
“That was a suggestion.”
“Did you discuss it with Ben?”
He hesitated.
The room seemed to tilt.
“Did you?”
“We had coffee.”
“When?”
“Last week.”
“What did you say?”
“That newlyweds need time to establish themselves. That maybe he could help with the transition.”
I stared at him.
Ben had texted me Thursday asking whether we could talk after the wedding about “something Colin raised.”
I had assumed it concerned school transportation.
Now every ordinary detail seemed to have a second meaning.
“Did you tell him I wanted that?”
“I said we were considering it.”
“We weren’t.”
“You never give yourself the opportunity to consider anything.”
There it was again.
My life, treated as a problem he intended to solve once I had signed the necessary papers.
I took off my engagement ring.
Colin looked at my hand before he looked at my face.
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
I set it beside the schedule.
“There will not be a wedding today.”
He laughed once, without humor.
“You’re embarrassed. You’re angry. We can talk after the ceremony.”
“No.”
“There are a hundred and forty people outside.”
“I know.”
“My parents have paid for half of this.”
“We’ll deal with the money.”
“You’re seriously choosing a child’s feelings over our future?”
I opened the door.
May you like
“She was already part of my future when you met me.”
Then I walked out before he could turn another answer into a negotiation.
