Page 29 of Faithless Vows

Her red-painted lips curve into a smile, like I’ve given her exactly the answer she wanted. “Oh. Ronin?”

There’s a familiarity in the way she says his name that makes me hesitate. “Yes.”

“Don’t worry,” she says, as though she’s reassuring me. “He’s at the bar. I just saw him.”

“You did?” The words come out before I can stop them.

“Of course I did.” She tilts her head, considering me. “You know, I was actually hoping we’d have a chance to speak today.”

I don’t know this woman, or why she’s talking to me as if I should. I search her face, trying to remember if we’ve met, but I can’t place her. “I’m sorry, who—”

“Kathleen,” she says, holding out her hand. “But my friends call me Kitty.” When I don’t take it, she lowers it without missing a beat. “I figured there’s no reason we shouldn’t get along. Since we’re both going to be in his life.”

My brows draw together. “I don’t understand.”

Her smile widens, just a fraction. “What’s there not to understand? Ronin and I have been in love for years,” she says, her voice light, almost cheerful. “I’m sorry. He promised me he’d tell you before the wedding, but from the look on your face, I can tell he didn’t.”

The room tilts. I must not have heard her right. “My Ronin?” The words come out strangled.

“What did you think?” she asks. “That you were the only one? Honey, I had him in the backseat of that fancy Cadillac of his as recently as the night of his stag.”

She keeps talking, but my mind can’t seem to grasp her words.

In love.

The backseat of the Cadillac.

The night of his stag.

I hear them, but they float, disconnected, like I’m underwater and sound is reaching me too slowly. Ronin wouldn’t do that to me. He wouldn’t. I shake my head. “You’re lying.”

She leans closer. “You’ll get used to it,” she says. “Most women do.”

My chest tightens. No. This can’t be happening. There has to be another explanation. “I need to find my husband,” I say.

She gives a quiet laugh. “Of course you do.”

Then she’s gone.

I stand there, my heart pounding against my ribs. I replay her words again and again, trying to make them harmless, trying to make them wrong. Music from the ballroom carries down the hall, cutting through my thoughts. The bandleader is waiting to announce us.

Ronin said he’d be at the bar. Our reception is about to start.

I start toward the bar, slower now, my breath coming too fast. My vision blurs, and when I lift a hand to my face, my fingers come away wet. When did I start crying? I swipe beneath my eyes, willing the tears to stop.

When I step into the lounge, I find Ronin at the bar with Danny, a glass in his hand. The room is nearly empty, most of our guests already in the ballroom waiting for us. I can’t tear my eyes away from him as he laughs at something Danny says and takes a drink. He looks exactly the same as he did when he left me in the lobby, the same man who stood beside me at the altar and promised to love me for the rest of our lives. A few more tears fall. I don’t understand how anything that woman said could be true.

Ronin looks up, a smile still on his face. When he sees me, I watch it slowly fade as concern takes its place. He sets his glass down and comes toward me. The closer he gets, the harder it is to look at him. When he reaches me, I lower my eyes. “They’re ready to announce us.” I force the words out, then turn to leave.

His hand closes over my shoulder before I can get away. “Why are you crying?” he asks. “What happened?”

I wipe the tears from my cheeks, not even caring if I ruin my makeup, then take a deep breath and try to pull myself together. There’s still a whole night ahead of me.Dear God, how am I supposed to get through it?

“Lana,” he says. When I make no move to face him, he steps around in front of me. I keep my eyes onthe delicate white orchid I chose for him, still pinned to his lapel, refusing to look any higher. His voice softens. “Baby, what’s wrong?”

Something inside me cracks at the gentleness in his voice, and I finally look up at him. “I met Kitty,” I whisper.

His face drains of colour. “What?” The word is barely audible.