Doris took two more napkins and scribbled short instructions for Sierra and Aubrey, her handwriting rushed but legible. Sierra was to approach from the other side, mention some made-up tradition about the bride needing a moment with her bridesmaids, and insist that Simone needed to step away to change or fix her dress—any excuse that sounded plausible.
Aubrey was to act as cover, distracting Preston or his parents if necessary, keeping their attention diverted while the others moved Simone away from the crowd. The girls read their napkins silently, their eyes moving quickly over the words. They exchanged quick glances, a whole conversation happening in the space of a few seconds without words.
Doris watched their faces shift—from surprise to dawning understanding, from understanding to hardening determination, the kind of resolve that comes when you realize your friend needs you and there’s no time to second-guess. “Have you noticed anything wrong with her?” Doris asked quietly, needing to know if her instincts were shared, if she was the only one who had seen the signs. “Over the past few months?
Any changes in how she acted?”
Sierra slowly nodded, her lips pressing into a thin line. “She’s been different the last couple of months,” Sierra said, her voice barely above a whisper. “Withdrawn.
Distant. We used to see each other every week without fail, just hanging out around Dallas—brunch at our favorite spots, shopping at NorthPark Mall, movie nights at Kendra’s apartment with popcorn and wine. Then she started canceling plans out of nowhere, saying she was busy, that Preston needed her for something.
And when we did manage to get together, she was constantly checking her phone, jumping whenever it rang like she was expecting bad news.”
She paused, swallowing hard. “I just thought she was in love,” Sierra admitted, guilt flickering across her face. “You know, the way people get weird at the beginning of a relationship.
All consumed and distracted. I thought it was just… the effect of a new relationship making her act different. I didn’t think…”
“I saw a bruise,” Aubrey said suddenly, her voice small but firm.
She touched her own shoulder as if feeling phantom pain. “Three weeks ago, when we went shoe shopping for the wedding at NorthPark Mall, trying to find the perfect heels. She tried on a dress in one of those boutiques, and the strap slipped down her shoulder.
I saw the mark on her skin—dark purple and yellow, the colors of an old bruise. She said she’d bumped into a door frame at Preston’s place, that she was clumsy, but the bruise was… odd. Not the round shape you get from hitting something.
Like the shape of fingers, like somebody had grabbed her hard and held on.”
Doris’s stomach twisted painfully, nausea rising. Fingers. So it had started even then, maybe earlier.
And she—her own mother—hadn’t seen anything, hadn’t known, had been too busy being happy about the wedding to notice that her daughter was being hurt. “I tried to talk to her once,” Kendra added, nervously twisting the edge of her napkin until it tore slightly. “About a month ago.
I asked straight up, just the two of us in my car after lunch. ‘Simone, are you really happy? This seems so fast.
Maybe you should wait, get to know him better before jumping into marriage.’ She looked at me like she was scared, like I’d said something dangerous, and said, ‘Kendra, everything’s fine. I’m just nervous. It’s the wedding, you know, all the stress.
Please don’t make this harder.’ But I knew she was lying. I could see it in her eyes. And I still didn’t push.
I still didn’t do anything. I was afraid to interfere, afraid I was wrong. I thought, ‘What if I’m imagining things?
What if they really are happy and I ruin it?’”
“Stop blaming yourselves,” Doris said sharply, reaching out to grip Kendra’s hand. “There’s no time for guilt or second-guessing. We’re going to fix this right now.
We’re going to get her out.”
She looked each of them in the eye, making sure they understood the stakes. “Are you ready? Because once we start, we can’t stop.
We’re committed.”
All three girls nodded, their expressions resolute. “Then listen very carefully,” Doris said, leaning in closer so her voice wouldn’t carry. “In five minutes—I’ll check my watch and signal you—Kendra, you go to Simone.
Tell her you have to carry out some important tradition, that the bride needs a moment alone with her friends to make a wish or do some ritual. Improvise if you have to, make it sound authentic. The important thing is to get her away from Preston.
If he refuses to let her go, Sierra, you back her up immediately. Say it’s a mandatory part of the program, some Southern wedding tradition the planner mysteriously forgot to include in the schedule. Preston won’t want to come off as the guy who ruins traditions in front of his parents’ guests, not with everyone watching.”
She took a breath, her mind racing through the plan, looking for holes.
“Aubrey, you distract his parents—ask them a question about the estate, mention some relative, anything that keeps their attention off Simone for a few crucial minutes. Keep them talking.”
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.
