Chapter 2 - The Missing Groom
The afternoon light outside Chloe’s office window began to fade, casting long, slanted shadows across the downtown street.
Inside the conference room, the tension had shifted from mild annoyance to active panic. Brenda was no longer leaning back in her chair; she was leaning forward, her hands flat on the table, glaring at me as though I had just pulled a knife in a church.
“Liam agreed to this!” Brenda insisted, her voice rising an octave. “He told Vanessa that his mother would handle the financial details without a fuss! You’re making a mountain out of a molehill!”
“If Liam agreed to erase his own mother and his entire paternal family from his wedding day, then Liam needs to walk into this office and tell me so to my face,” I said, my voice unwavering. “Until he sits in that chair and explains to me why thirty years of family devotion are being thrown out to satisfy an ‘aesthetic,’ that check stays right where it is.”
Vanessa’s phone buzzed on the table. She snatched it up, her eyes scanning the screen. Her face contorted into a furious scowl.
“I’m calling him right now,” Vanessa muttered, swiping angrily at her screen. “He said he was wrapping up a meeting at his office ten minutes ago. He should be here.”
She put the phone to her ear, tapping her foot against the designer rug. We all sat in silence, listening to the faint, rhythmic tone of the call ringing through the speaker.
Ring.
Ring.
“Hi, you’ve reached Liam. Leave a message.”
Vanessa dropped her phone onto the table with a sharp clatter. “Voicemail. Of course.”
“He’s probably parking,” Brenda said smoothly, though a flicker of genuine anxiety crossed her features. “Liam is a busy man, Georgia. He’s up for partner at his firm. He doesn’t have time to manage family emotional tantrums.”
“An emotional tantrum is wanting your family to witness your marriage, Brenda,” I said quietly, closing my leather binder with a soft, decisive snap. “What I am doing right now is exercising financial accountability.”
Chloe cleared her throat, clearly wishing she was anywhere else on earth. She was a professional handling a high-dollar contract, and she could smell a collapsing wedding budget from a mile away.
“Well,” Chloe said, adjusting her tablet. “Without Mr. Owens’ signature—or rather, Mr. Liam Owens’ co-signature and Mrs. Owens’ authorization—we cannot process the venue deposit or finalize the catering orders for the greenhouse. The tentative hold on the date expires at 5:00 PM tomorrow.”
“Thank you, Chloe,” I said, standing up and sliding my leather binder into my tote bag.
I left the fifteen-thousand-dollar cashier’s check resting on the mahogany table. I didn't pocket it, and I didn't push it toward them. It sat there like an unexploded bomb between two opposing armies.
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“Where are you going?” Vanessa demanded, her voice shrill. “We haven't finished the aesthetic layout!”
“You have until tomorrow at five o’clock to decide whether you are hosting an intimate wedding for Vanessa’s family using Vanessa’s family’s money,” I said, walking toward the office door. “Or a wedding that honors both the groom and the bride. When Liam figures out which one of those things he’s actually marrying into, he can call me.”
