Chapter 4 - THE BRIDESMAID ARRIVES
A rhythmic, confident knock sounded on the suite door before Julian could finish his sentence.
"Vee? It's me!" Celeste’s voice sang out from the hallway, sweet and brimming with faux excitement.
"I brought the antique hairpins and the mimosa kit!"
Vivien froze, her eyes snapping toward the double doors.
Julian did not flinch; he raised two fingers toward the corridor, and the side door connecting to the service elevator opened silently.
"Make your decision, Miss Mercer," Julian whispered, stepping into the shadow of the pantry hallway.
"You can put on that veil, play the cooperative lamb, and let me handle Graham on my terms."
"Or you can run now, call your own counsel, and watch him strip your family name down to the studs by nightfall."
Vivien looked down at the forged deed on the table.
Then she looked at the ultrasound photo beside her engagement ring.
Running was the reflex of a victim.
Her grandmother had survived the sweatshops of Lower Manhattan by never showing her back to someone holding shears.
"Neither," Vivien said, her voice dropping to a low, lethal hum.
"Stay where you can hear this, Mr. Vance."
"I am not running."
"And I am definitely not putting on that veil."
Julian looked at her for three seconds, his stone-hard expression cracking into something resembling respect.
He stepped backward into the darkened service pantry and pulled the door flush.
Vivien took a deep breath, walked to the main door, and turned the bronze handle.
Celeste Marlo stood in the hallway holding a floral garment bag and a silver ice bucket with two champagne flutes.
She wore a pale blush silk dress with a tailored cream coat that cleverly concealed her waistline.
Her smile was radiant, her makeup impeccable, her eyes shining with practiced affection.
"There she is!" Celeste squeaked, pushing past Vivien into the living area with breezy familiarity.
"Oh, Vee, the ballroom downstairs looks like a cathedral!"
"The orchids came in from Holland this morning, and Graham is already downstairs looking completely breathless."
Celeste set the ice bucket on the table, right next to the open manila folder.
She stopped mid-movement.
Her gaze fell across the exposed signature page bearing her notary seal.
Then her eyes shifted three inches to the right.
The sonogram of her fourteen-week fetus sat under the harsh chandelier lights, anchored down by Vivien's discarded diamond ring.
The color evacuated Celeste's face so rapidly that her blush appeared like two garish paint marks on chalk.
The champagne flutes clinked inside the silver bucket as her hands lost their grip.
Vivien closed the heavy suite door and slid the deadbolt home with a loud, mechanical snap.
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"You forgot to take your prenatal vitamins out of the car, Celeste," Vivien said smoothly, leaning her back against the door.
"Or did Graham remind you to take them when he hid our ultrasound in his tuxedo pocket?"
