Her eyes widened. "What kind of question is that? We're getting married in two hours—"
"That's not an answer."
"Barry—"
"Rachel." I stepped closer. Not touching. Just closer, "I need you to be honest. Not polite. Not worried about what everyone else thinks. Just honest."
Her lip trembled.
"I don't know," she whispered.
There it was.
The truth neither of us had been brave enough to say out loud.
"Okay," I said.
"Okay?"
"If you don't know, then we shouldn't do this."
She stared at me like I'd spoken a foreign language. "What?"
"Marriage isn't something you do because you've already sent the invitations. It's something you do because you can't imagine not doing it."
"But everyone's here—"
"I don't care."
"My parents spent—"
"I'll cover it."
"Barry, two hundred people are downstairs—"
"And I won't trap you in a marriage you're not sure about. That's not fair to either of us."
Tears welled in her eyes. Spilled over. Ruined the makeup someone had spent an hour applying.
"I thought I wanted this," she said. "I thought I was ready. My whole life, this is what I was supposed to want. The wedding. The husband. The life everyone expects."
"What do you want?"
"I don't know!" She pressed her hands to her face. "I don't know who I am or what I want or how to be anything except what everyone tells me I should be!"
I pulled the handkerchief from my jacket pocket. Handed it to her.
She took it. Wiped her eyes. Mascara stained the white fabric black.
"I'm so sorry," she sobbed. "I'm so, so sorry."
"Don't apologize for being honest."
"I'm ruining everything—"
"You're not ruining anything. You're stopping us from making a terrible mistake."
She looked up at me. "You think marrying me would be a mistake?"
"I think marrying someone who doesn't want to marry me would be a disaster. For both of us."
She laughed. It came out broken. "You're being so calm about this."
"One of us has to be."
"Aren't you angry?"
"No."
"Why not?"
Because I'd seen this coming. Because I had memories screaming at me that this engagement had been doomed from the start. Because Barry had proposed to prove something to her father and society, not because he actually wanted to spend his life with her.
But I couldn't say any of that.
"Because being angry won't change anything," I said instead. "And you deserve to figure out who you are before you promise to be someone's wife."
She cried harder.
I stood there. Let her cry. Didn't try to fix it.
After a few minutes, she took a shaky breath.
"What do we do now?" she asked.
"I'll handle it."
"Handle what?"
"The announcement. The guests. Your parents."
"Barry, you can't—"
"Yes, I can. You stay here. Collect yourself. I'll take care of everything else."
"That's not fair to you—"
"Rachel." I held her gaze. "Let me do this. Please."
She nodded. Unable to speak.
I walked back inside.
Left her on the terrace.
And went to dismantle a wedding.
The photographer was setting up when I found him.
"We need to pause the photos," I said.
He looked up from his camera. "Is there a problem?"
"The wedding is canceled."
His face went blank. "Excuse me?"
"The bride and I have mutually decided not to proceed. I need you to pack up."
"But—I have a contract—"
"You'll be paid for your time. Full contract amount. Just... give us the room."
He stared. Then started packing his equipment with the careful movements of someone trying not to get involved in a disaster.
I found my mother next.
She was in the hallway, discussing flower arrangements with Rachel's mother.
"Mom. Mrs. Green. Can I speak with you both?"
Rachel's mother—Dr. Green's wife, perfectly coiffed, diamonds at her throat—smiled. "Barry, darling, we were just discussing whether the centerpieces should—"
"The wedding is off."
Both women froze.
"What?" my mother whispered.
"Rachel and I have decided not to get married. We're calling it off."
Mrs. Green's smile didn't falter. But her eyes went cold. "This is a joke."
"It's not."
"Young man, do you have any idea how much we've invested in this day—"
"I'll cover the costs. Every penny. But the wedding isn't happening."
"You'll COVER the costs?" Her voice rose. "This isn't about money, this is about reputation, about—"
"Barbara." My mother's hand on her arm. Firm. "Let him speak."
I looked at my mother. Saw her reading my face.
She'd always been able to tell when I was serious.
"Rachel isn't ready," I said quietly. "Neither am I. We're calling it off. I'm going to make the announcement myself."
Mrs. Green opened her mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.
"Where is Rachel?" she demanded.
"Taking a moment. She'll speak with you after."
"I want to see my daughter—"
"In a few minutes. Let me handle the guests first."
I walked away before she could argue.
The ceremony space was a cathedral. Vaulted ceilings. Stained glass. Flower arrangements that cost more than most people's monthly rent.
Two hundred guests filled the pews.
Family. Friends. Business associates. People I barely knew.
My father saw me approaching. Frowned. Started to stand.
I shook my head.
Walked to the front where the officiant stood.
"Dr. Farber?" The officiant whispered. "We're not starting for another—"
"I need to make an announcement."
"What?"
I took the microphone from the stand.
The string quartet stopped playing.
Two hundred faces turned toward me.
Silence fell like a held breath.
"Good morning," I said. My voice echoed in the cathedral. "Thank you all for being here today."
Murmurs rippled through the crowd.
I saw confusion. Concern. My mother's hand pressed to her mouth.
"Rachel and I have decided not to get married."
The murmurs became gasps.
Someone dropped the ceremony booklet. The sound cracked through the silence.
"This was a mutual decision, made with honesty and respect. We both realized we're not ready for marriage. We wish each other well. We apologize for the inconvenience, and we appreciate your understanding."
I set down the microphone.
Dr. Green stood abruptly from the front. "What the hell is going on?"
Before I could answer, Rachel appeared in the doorway.
Still in her wedding dress. Makeup ruined. But standing straight.
"Daddy," she said. Her voice carried across the cathedral. "I can't do this."
"Can't do what?"
"Get married. I'm not ready. I thought I was, but I'm not."
Her mother rushed forward. "Rachel Karen Green, you get back in that bridal suite right now—"
"No." Rachel's voice was firmer now. "I'm sorry. I know this is embarrassing. I know it's expensive. But I can't marry someone just because it's expected."
The room erupted.
Voices overlapped. Questions shouted. Someone's aunt started crying.
I stepped back.
Let Rachel have her moment.
This was her declaration. Her choice. Her life.
I'd given her the opening.
Now she had to walk through it.
Rachel's eyes found mine across the chaos.
Mouthed: Thank you.
I nodded once.
Then I turned and walked out the side door.
The car ride back to my apartment was silent.
The driver—hired for the day, paid in advance—kept glancing at me in the rearview mirror. Probably wondering if he should say something. Offer condolences.
He stayed quiet.
Smart man.
My apartment was in Murray Hill. One bedroom. Decent location. Modest by Upper East Side standards, but original Barry had been saving for a house. Something to impress the Greens.
I unlocked the door.
Stood in the middle of the living room.
END CHAPTER 1 (2)
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