Delia turned, her arm still raised, her fingers locked in a death grip around the heavy porcelain figurine. She saw it was Eric. His face was a mask of shock and alarm. He gently but firmly took the figurine from her grasp and set it back down on the table with a soft click.
Delia's wild gaze darted back to the door. Augusta was gone. A choked, frustrated sob escaped her lips. She turned on Eric, her eyes blazing with a grief-stricken fury.
"What are you doing here?" she hissed, her voice a raw, broken sound. "You are not supposed to be here! It is bad luck for the groom to see the bride before the ceremony!"
