Chapter 3: What the Letter Said
The room was so quiet I could hear the candles.
Grant smoothed the paper with one hand.
His jaw was set.
His eyes moved across the page, and then he looked up at the room — not at Vanessa, not at her mother — at everyone.
"This is a message," he said.
"Sent three weeks ago.
From Vanessa to her cousin Diane."
Vanessa's hand shot out.
"Grant, that is private—"
"You sent it from your laptop.
On my desk.
Using my wifi." He looked at her steadily.
"Nothing about that was private."
He began to read.
"'Diane, I know you think I'm making a mistake, but you don't understand what I'm working with here.
Grant is sweet but he's weak.
His mother is the real problem.
She has opinions about everything and Grant actually listens to her, which is insane.
Once we're married I'm going to make sure that changes.
She'll be lucky if she sees him twice a year.
I'm not spending my life competing with a woman who still cuts his sandwiches into triangles.'"
Someone at the back of the room made a sound.
Not quite a laugh.
Not quite a gasp.
Grant folded the paper.
Vanessa's face had gone the color of the white tablecloths.
"That was out of context," she said.
Her voice was still controlled.
Barely.
"You know I was venting.
Diane knows I was venting.
You can't just—"
"There's more," Grant said.
Her mouth closed.
"'The prenup is the other thing.
His mother keeps asking about it.
Grant keeps saying we don't need one because he trusts me.
Which is exactly the point.
I need him to keep thinking that.
Once we're past the wedding, the money situation sorts itself out.
His grandmother's trust transfers when he's thirty-two.
That's fourteen months away.
I just need to be patient.'"
The silence that followed was different from the one before.
I looked at Vanessa's mother.
She had her hand pressed flat on the table.
Her eyes were fixed on her daughter.
Even she hadn't known.
"Grant—" Vanessa started.
"Don't." His voice didn't rise.
It didn't need to.
"I found it by accident.
I wasn't looking for anything.
I was printing a boarding pass and it was sitting in the print queue."
"You don't understand what you're reading."
"I understand exactly what I'm reading."
"It was a bad week.
I was scared.
People say things they don't mean when they're scared—"
"Which part didn't you mean?" Grant asked.
"The part about keeping my mother away?
Or the part about the trust?"
Vanessa looked at me then.
For the first time all day, she looked at me like I was a real person.
"Joan." Her voice dropped.
"Please.
You know how much I love him.
You know this isn't—"
"Don't," I said.
"Don't do that."
She turned back to Grant.
Her composure was cracking now, something desperate moving underneath it.
"I love you.
Whatever that letter sounds like, I love you.
We can talk about this.
Not here.
Not like this.
Please."
Grant picked up his champagne glass.
He looked at it for a moment.
Then he set it back down, still full.
"I think," he said quietly, "we need to talk to the officiant."
Vanessa's mother stood up.
Her chair scraped hard against the floor.
"Now just a moment," she said.
"You are not going to humiliate my daughter in front of two hundred people over a private message that you had no right to read—"
"Sit down, Linda." Grant's uncle Ray said it from across the room.
Flat.
Final.
Linda turned to look at him.
Ray didn't look away.
Linda sat down.
Grant walked toward the door that led to the corridor where the officiant was waiting.
He paused with his hand on the frame.
He didn't look back at Vanessa.
He looked at me.
"Mom.
Come with me?"
I was on my feet before he finished the sentence.
Behind us, I heard Vanessa say his name once more.
Quietly.
Like she already knew it wouldn't work.
We walked out together.
The door swung shut behind us, and the noise of the room disappeared.
In the corridor, Grant leaned against the wall.
His eyes closed.
His shoulders dropped two full inches.
I put my hand on his arm and didn't say anything.
After a moment he said, "I should have listened to you."
"You listened now," I said.
"That's what matters."
He opened his eyes.
Down the corridor, I could see the officiant standing near the chapel door, watching us with careful, uncertain eyes.
And then my phone buzzed in my bag.
I almost ignored it.
But something made me look.
It was a text from a number I didn't recognize.
*There's more she didn't put in the letter.
May you like
Meet me outside.
I'm Diane.*
