Chapter 3: What the Groom Knew
I stared at Thatcher's name on my screen for two full seconds.
Then I answered.
"Thatcher."
"Merritt." His voice was quiet and controlled, the way a person sounds when they have been awake all night deciding something.
"Are you at the hospital?"
"Yes."
"How bad?"
"Another surgery.
Six months minimum."
A pause.
Long enough that I could hear movement on his end — a door closing, footsteps, the muffled sound of the estate's morning activity retreating behind him.
"I need to tell you something," he said.
"And I need you to hear all of it before you respond."
"All right."
"Last night, before the rehearsal, I overheard a conversation between Sloan and your father.
I was in the corridor outside the bridal suite.
The door wasn't fully closed."
I said nothing.
"Sloan told him the venue wouldn't release the catering hold without final payment.
She said the account she'd been using was frozen.
He told her to use your card.
He said you'd never notice until after the wedding, and by then it would be easier to ask forgiveness."
My hand tightened around the phone.
"Judson said that?"
"Word for word.
Then Sloan said — and I'm repeating exactly what I heard — she said, 'And if Merritt makes a scene tonight, the stairs will sort that out.'"
The room went very still.
"Say that again."
"She said the stairs would sort it out." His voice didn't waver.
"I didn't understand what she meant.
Not until I watched her heel catch your ankle."
I looked at the far wall of the hospital room and breathed carefully.
"Thatcher, why are you telling me this now?"
"Because I've been sitting in the parking lot of this estate since two in the morning trying to decide whether I was actually going to walk in there today and marry her."
Greer was watching me from the chair beside the door.
She had stopped pretending to read her phone.
"Have you decided?" I asked.
"I decided when the ambulance left and she went back upstairs to check her hair." A brief silence.
"I'm not getting married today, Merritt."
I closed my eyes for a moment.
"The wedding starts at noon," I said.
"I know."
"There are a hundred and forty guests."
"I know that too."
"Thatcher—"
"She planned it." His voice hardened for just a moment, then settled again.
"Whatever happened on those stairs, she planned it.
I'm not building a life with someone who would do that to her own sister."
I exhaled.
"You need to tell Renata what you heard.
She's here with me.
She's a litigation attorney."
"I'll come to you."
"You'll need to give a statement."
"I know." Another pause.
"Merritt, I'm sorry.
For the staircase.
For not stepping in last night.
For every dinner where I watched your parents treat you like a problem to be managed and didn't say anything."
I didn't have an answer for that yet.
"Come to the hospital," I said.
"Come now, before anyone at the estate realizes you're gone."
The line went quiet for a moment.
Then: "On my way."
I set the phone down on the blanket and looked at Greer.
She was already on her feet.
"He heard them plan it," I said.
Greer's expression didn't change.
May you like
But she picked up her own phone and said, "Renata.
Come back in."
