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Book: A Moment of Truth: A Complete Bonus Set (A Matter of Trust #1-2) by Q. T. Ruby
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Authors: Q. T. Ruby
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I’d give her.
With my mother and Mark’s parents already seated, my father, Bridget, Camille, and I gathered in the vestibule of the church. We straightened bouquets, touched up makeup, and fluffed my dress while waiting for our cue to walk down the aisle. The three of us girls quietly sang “Going to the Chapel,” giggling the entire time.
The sweet, light scent of the roses and tulips energized the air, and the string quartet’s musical notes blended gracefully as one, further sweeping me into the most romantic of moods.
It was like a dream.
I played with my bouquet, wondering if I should I hold it low near my hips or at my waist. I tried varying levels while we waited for what seemed like too long. I laughed at the predictability of it—Mark was late to everything. My mother used to make that tired joke about him being late to his own funeral.
Suddenly, the doors behind us crashed opened. Will, Mark’s best man, barged in, sweating and out of breath.
My dad clasped Will’s shoulder. “Are you all right, son?”
Will leaned over, his hands on his knees. He shook his head.
We all froze. The worst ran through my mind.
Mark’s been in an accident.
He’s hurt.
He’s dead!
My heart jackhammered a hole in my chest. “Oh my God, is Mark okay?” I asked.
Will took another breath and straightened up. He looked me in the eye. “I went to pick him up . . . and he didn’t answer the door . . . so I let myself in with the key from under the mat . . . and found this on the kitchen table.”
He handed me a folded piece of notebook paper with my name scrawled on the outside. By the look on Will’s face, I knew he’d already read it. I flipped it open.
I can’t do this. I’m sorry. ~ Mark
I blinked at Will and then at the paper a few times, trying to wrap my brain around this. For a moment, I wondered if this was some kind of horribly vivid nightmare, except the pain that gripped my chest tied me firmly to reality.
No.
No, no . . .
I couldn’t breathe. I blinked harder, trying to wake up. Wake up! Surely being left at the altar was just an urban legend, not a real thing, not really happening.
What?
Why?
What happened? I was ready to commit . . . he was ready to commit . . . just last night. What happened to being his wife? What happened to forever? Anger, crushing grief, and humiliation flooded me. Who knew that six words could pack such a devastating blow?
My father, Will, Camille, and Bridget stared at me, waiting for me to say something—anything. I shook my head. The soundless minutes ticked by.
My father turned to Will and snapped, “What is going on here?”
Will backed away, holding up his palms.
Hearing the rumble of loud voices, my brothers joined us.
“What’s going on?” asked my oldest brother, John.
Camille relayed the events as I stood listening to her. Who was she talking about? And then I glanced down at my white dress, all sparkly and new, and realized it was me and . . . this was real.
But I played by the rules! I should have won! That was the deal!
Questions were fired my way, but I couldn’t speak; there was only heart-shattering confusion.
Finally, when many voices blurred into white noise, I tapped Camille’s shoulder. “Get me out of here.” Without another word, Camille grabbed my hand and the keys to her car and drove my mangled heart and me far, far away.
“Claire?”
I shake my head, trying to clear the memory. “He . . . left me on our wedding day.” Why does it still hurt to say?
Dan shakes his head like he’s heard me wrong then realizes he didn’t. His eyes widen. “What? Why would he do that?”
I stare at the photo of the heartbreaker. “Well, the short story is that he fell in love with someone I thought was a friend. They were secretly together for about six months before our wedding. I guess he couldn’t commit to me when he felt that way about someone else . . . her.” I point her out in a group photo in the collage and then turn
With my mother and Mark’s parents already seated, my father, Bridget, Camille, and I gathered in the vestibule of the church. We straightened bouquets, touched up makeup, and fluffed my dress while waiting for our cue to walk down the aisle. The three of us girls quietly sang “Going to the Chapel,” giggling the entire time.
The sweet, light scent of the roses and tulips energized the air, and the string quartet’s musical notes blended gracefully as one, further sweeping me into the most romantic of moods.
It was like a dream.
I played with my bouquet, wondering if I should I hold it low near my hips or at my waist. I tried varying levels while we waited for what seemed like too long. I laughed at the predictability of it—Mark was late to everything. My mother used to make that tired joke about him being late to his own funeral.
Suddenly, the doors behind us crashed opened. Will, Mark’s best man, barged in, sweating and out of breath.
My dad clasped Will’s shoulder. “Are you all right, son?”
Will leaned over, his hands on his knees. He shook his head.
We all froze. The worst ran through my mind.
Mark’s been in an accident.
He’s hurt.
He’s dead!
My heart jackhammered a hole in my chest. “Oh my God, is Mark okay?” I asked.
Will took another breath and straightened up. He looked me in the eye. “I went to pick him up . . . and he didn’t answer the door . . . so I let myself in with the key from under the mat . . . and found this on the kitchen table.”
He handed me a folded piece of notebook paper with my name scrawled on the outside. By the look on Will’s face, I knew he’d already read it. I flipped it open.
I can’t do this. I’m sorry. ~ Mark
I blinked at Will and then at the paper a few times, trying to wrap my brain around this. For a moment, I wondered if this was some kind of horribly vivid nightmare, except the pain that gripped my chest tied me firmly to reality.
No.
No, no . . .
I couldn’t breathe. I blinked harder, trying to wake up. Wake up! Surely being left at the altar was just an urban legend, not a real thing, not really happening.
What?
Why?
What happened? I was ready to commit . . . he was ready to commit . . . just last night. What happened to being his wife? What happened to forever? Anger, crushing grief, and humiliation flooded me. Who knew that six words could pack such a devastating blow?
My father, Will, Camille, and Bridget stared at me, waiting for me to say something—anything. I shook my head. The soundless minutes ticked by.
My father turned to Will and snapped, “What is going on here?”
Will backed away, holding up his palms.
Hearing the rumble of loud voices, my brothers joined us.
“What’s going on?” asked my oldest brother, John.
Camille relayed the events as I stood listening to her. Who was she talking about? And then I glanced down at my white dress, all sparkly and new, and realized it was me and . . . this was real.
But I played by the rules! I should have won! That was the deal!
Questions were fired my way, but I couldn’t speak; there was only heart-shattering confusion.
Finally, when many voices blurred into white noise, I tapped Camille’s shoulder. “Get me out of here.” Without another word, Camille grabbed my hand and the keys to her car and drove my mangled heart and me far, far away.
“Claire?”
I shake my head, trying to clear the memory. “He . . . left me on our wedding day.” Why does it still hurt to say?
Dan shakes his head like he’s heard me wrong then realizes he didn’t. His eyes widen. “What? Why would he do that?”
I stare at the photo of the heartbreaker. “Well, the short story is that he fell in love with someone I thought was a friend. They were secretly together for about six months before our wedding. I guess he couldn’t commit to me when he felt that way about someone else . . . her.” I point her out in a group photo in the collage and then turn
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