Doris exhaled slowly, trying to calm her racing heart. “I need you to get her away for at least a couple of minutes,” she finished.
“Just far enough that I can talk to her privately, that she can tell me what’s happening. After that, I’ll handle it. I have a plan.
Sort of.”
She wasn’t sure the plan would actually work. All she had was a desperate, blazing desire to get her daughter out of that tent, off that estate, and away from these people who seemed to think they could own her. But she would figure out the details as she went.
She had to. She glanced back at the platform. Preston was holding Simone’s hand possessively, his grip tight even from this distance, talking to an older man in an expensive suit who looked like he’d flown in from New York or Chicago just for this event, someone important in the Sturgis business empire.
Simone stood silently beside him, eyes downcast, hands clasped in front of her, like a beautiful doll in a display case, decorative and silent. The five minutes passed agonizingly slowly. Doris stood near one of the tent poles, counting the seconds by her pulse, squeezing the bouquet so tightly her knuckles ached and the thorns hidden beneath the ribbon cut into her palm.
The note remained clenched in her other fist, the paper growing damp with sweat. She watched the girls prepare themselves, saw them exchange one last look of determination. Finally, Kendra pushed back her chair with a soft scrape, straightened her emerald bridesmaid dress, took a deep breath that lifted her shoulders, and walked toward the platform.
Doris watched every step, her own breathing shallow. Kendra reached Simone, hugged her warmly, and said something in a bright, cheerful tone that carried just far enough. Doris couldn’t hear the exact words but saw Simone’s face light up briefly with genuine pleasure at seeing her friend.
Preston turned to them, his face carefully neutral but his eyes cold, calculating, immediately suspicious of any intrusion. Kendra kept talking, gesturing animatedly with her hands, putting on a performance of enthusiastic friendship and tradition. Simone nodded, seeming to relax slightly, then said something to Preston.
His mouth tightened into a hard line, his jaw clenching. Doris saw his lips shape the word no, saw him start to pull Simone closer to his side. Then Sierra approached from the other direction and slipped her arm through Simone’s from the other side, beaming with that practiced cheerfulness that came from years of customer service jobs and dealing with difficult people, her voice bright and carrying.
Two friends against one groom, bracketing Simone protectively. Preston was clearly annoyed, his face darkening. His fingers tightened on Simone’s hand until Doris could see the tendons in his wrist stand out, see Simone wince at the pressure.
But some of the nearby guests had begun to look in their direction, curious about what was happening, phones already half-raised in case something interesting occurred. Preston couldn’t make a scene, couldn’t be the groom who manhandled his bride in front of two hundred witnesses. Not without consequences to his image.
Slowly, visibly reluctant, he unclenched his fingers. Simone pulled her hand free quickly, rubbing her wrist subtly. With her friends bracketing her on both sides, creating a protective buffer, she stepped down from the platform.
Together, the three of them headed for the edge of the tent, moving with purpose. Preston took a step as if to follow, his face darkening further with anger barely contained. But Aubrey rushed up to him right on cue, talking quickly and pointing toward his parents’ table, her small hands fluttering expressively, her voice rising just enough to be distracting.
Something about a family friend wanting to speak with him, some important connection he couldn’t ignore. Preston turned in annoyance, torn between following Simone and dealing with whatever Aubrey was saying. In that moment of hesitation, Simone and her friends disappeared behind one of the white tent columns, slipping out into the evening air.
Doris exhaled for what felt like the first time in minutes, her chest loosening slightly. Phase one had worked. The hardest part was still ahead, but they’d gotten Simone away from Preston’s immediate control.
That was something. She moved quickly, skirting the tables, nodding distractedly at anyone who tried to speak to her, mumbling apologies and excuses. She slipped out of the tent into the cooler evening air, the temperature dropping as the sun sank lower.
The Texas sky was turning shades of orange and purple, beautiful and indifferent to the human drama unfolding below. It didn’t take long to find them. At the far end of the manicured garden, near a small stone fountain lit by soft landscape lights that cast dancing shadows on the water, Simone sat on the low stone rim, her white dress spilling around her like a puddle of milk.
Kendra, Sierra, and Aubrey stood close by, their faces worried, talking in hushed, urgent tones. “Simone, what’s going on?” Kendra was asking, her voice tight with concern and fear. “Your mom said you were in danger.
Is that true? Please, talk to us.”
Simone didn’t answer immediately. She sat hugging herself despite the warm evening, her shoulders rigid, her whole body trembling like a leaf in a storm.
In the soft lantern light, Doris saw that her daughter’s makeup was smudged, mascara tracking down her cheeks in dark lines, the carefully applied foundation cracking. “Simone,” Doris said softly, stepping closer, her heart breaking at the sight. She crouched down in front of her daughter with effort, her knees protesting, and gently took Simone’s cold hands in hers.
They were ice-cold despite the warm Texas evening, trembling violently. “I got your note,” Doris said quietly, squeezing her hands. “I understand.
I’m here. Whatever you need, whatever is happening, I’m here now.”
Simone lifted her head slowly, and when their eyes met, Doris saw her daughter’s carefully maintained composure finally shatter. Her eyes flooded with tears that had been held back all evening, probably for weeks, finally breaking free.
Her lower lip trembled uncontrollably. “Mom, I couldn’t—I didn’t know how else—” she whispered hoarsely, her voice breaking on every word. “He watches me all the time, every second.
I can’t even talk to you alone. He checks my phone, monitors my calls. I couldn’t call you, couldn’t text, couldn’t say anything.
This was the only way I could think of to get a message to you without him knowing.”
The words came in broken pieces, fragmented and desperate. Simone pressed her mother’s hands to her face and finally cried—quiet, muffled sobs, as if even now she was afraid someone might hear and drag her back to that tent, back to Preston’s side where she belonged according to the marriage license they’d signed just hours ago. “It’s okay,” Doris murmured, stroking her daughter’s hair with one hand, feeling anger ignite in her chest like a Texas brushfire, hot and consuming.
“Everything’s going to be okay. I promise you. We’re leaving now.
Right now. You’re not going back in there.”
“No.” Simone shook her head quickly, almost violently, panic flaring in her eyes. “We can’t.
You don’t understand. He won’t let me. His parents—they said if I call off the wedding, if I try to leave him, they’ll destroy you, Mom.
They said they’d get you fired from your job with one phone call, that you’d never find work in Dallas again, that they have connections everywhere. They said they have people who can make your life hell, who can ruin your credit, freeze your accounts, make sure no one in the county will hire you.”
She was speaking faster now, the words tumbling out. “They said they’d make sure everyone knows you’re a troublemaker, unreliable, that they’d spread rumors about you being unstable or stealing or anything they needed to say.
They have money, Mom. They have power. They can do things we can’t even imagine.
Preston said if I tried to run, he’d find me no matter where I went, that there’s nowhere in Texas I could hide that his family couldn’t reach.”
“Let them try,” Doris said, and there was so much steel in her voice that Simone flinched, her eyes going wide. “I’m not that easy to destroy, sweetheart. I’ve survived worse than rich people with connections.
And I won’t let anyone hurt you. You’re my daughter. If I have to fight their whole family, their money, all their connections, every lawyer they can afford, I will.
I will burn every bridge and fight every battle to keep you safe.”
She stood up, pulling Simone to her feet with gentle but firm hands. “But you,” Doris said, cupping her daughter’s tear-stained face, “are going to stand up right now, and we are going to walk out of here together. You and
