“I’m not changing my mind about that.” His voice was heavy
with emphasis, the implication being that he was changing his mind about
something else, something big.
Rachel stilled, her gaze sweeping over her fiancé’s face,
noting for the first time the look of total misery swamping his hazel eyes—eyes
that were usually glinting with good humour. He jammed his hands in the pockets
of his trousers and hung his head. He looked guilty. Her stomach cramped.
“What’s going on, Dan?”
“Can we go somewhere private?”
They were standing in the foyer of the vicarage—her family
home since she’d been a toddler—having just finished the rehearsal in the
church, with her father officiating, a tear already glinting in his eye. Everyone
was heading over to The Winter Hare, Thornthwaite’s one bistro, for the
rehearsal dinner, but Rachel had wanted to freshen up first and Dan had
followed her back to the vicarage.
“Somewhere private?” she echoed. “No one’s here.” The house
echoed emptily around them, its familiar rooms suddenly feeling ominous…or was
that just the awful look on Dan’s face? Why was he looking so miserable, when
they were about to get married?
“Please, Rachel.”
“Fine.” She took a deep breath, trying not to show her irritation
as well as her fear. Surely it couldn’t be as bad as all that? Dan was so
reasonable, so eminently even-tempered. Surely it was nothing. Rachel pushed
open the door to the vicarage’s sitting room and went inside. With its wide,
floor-to-ceiling bay window, high ceilings, and ornate fireplace, it looked
like something out of a Jane Austen drama on the BBC, and there had certainly
been enough parishioners perched on the settee over the years, cups of tea
balanced on their knees as they made chitchat with the vicar. Now the room was
empty and silent, having been ruthlessly cleaned both for the wedding and her
parents’ imminent move to China, where her father had accepted a ministry
position.
Rachel turned around and faced her fiancé of nearly six
months.
“What is it, Dan? You aren’t…you aren’t getting cold feet, are you?”
She tried to make it a joke and didn’t quite manage it.
“I’m not getting cold feet.” Again with the emphasis, making
Rachel feel both frustrated and fearful.
“What are you trying to say?” She let out an impatient
breath and stalked forward, plucking another piece of ribbon from his hair. At
the rehearsal, her sisters had thrown handfuls of ribbons from her pretend
bouquet all over them, everyone laughing, but it felt offensively ridiculous in
this moment to talk about something serious while festooned with bits of pink
satin.
“Rachel…” Dan sighed and raked a hand through his hair, his
slumped shoulders seeming to bear the weight of the world, and then only just.
“This isn’t easy to say…”
“Obviously.” She folded her arms, barely managing to keep
from tapping her foot. Better to seem irritated than terrified, surely. At
least it made her seem strong. “Just spit it out, Dan, please.”
“The wedding’s off.” Rachel blinked. “What I mean is, I’m
calling it off.”
She blinked again, trying to absorb what he’d said. Even
now, dazedly, she wondered if he was joking, but she knew from his face that he
wasn’t. Still it felt too impossible to accept. The wedding was tomorrow.
“What… Why…” She was too stunned to ask a question, or even
to know what question to ask. “Why would you do this?” she finally said,
framing the words with effort, each painful syllable costing her something.
“How could you do this? Everything’s planned…” The church. The reception. Their
house, their lovely house up on the fells, with its Lakeland stone exterior and
huge fireplace, the views of Derwentwater glinting in the distance, waiting for
them to move in and start living their happy life together. “How could you do
this?” The cry was ripped from her, the words ringing out.
“I’m sorry, Rachel.” Dan looked completely wretched, but
also resolute. “I wish I’d had the guts to do it earlier, and save us both a
lot of pain. I kept closing my eyes to the truth because I so, so wanted this to
work out. I hope you believe that.”
“I don’t know what I should believe. I can’t even think.”
Her lips felt numb, everything in her buzzing. She pressed her hands to her
pale cheeks, trying to formulate at least one coherent thought when her mind
felt as if it were full of static. “Dan, there are fifty people waiting for us
at The Winter Hare to celebrate our marriage tomorrow.”
“I know.”
“All my relatives are here…all your relatives…my dress…our
honeymoon in France!” Her voice rose on a peal of despair as the realisations
kept piling on top of one another, crowding each other out. All of
it…everything…over. “We’re meant to be flying to Nice tomorrow night.”
“I know, Rachel.”
Even in the midst of her shock she caught a flicker of
something almost like annoyance or even hurt in his eyes and she stilled,
dropping her hands from her face. “Doesn’t any of that matter to you?”
“Of course it does, but not, I think, as much as it matters
to you.”
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