Chapter 6 - THE MEETING HE PLANNED BEFORE THE WEDDING
“KEEP NOAH OUT.”
I read Daniel's handwritten words again.
Then I looked at Noah.
“Eighteen months ago, you suddenly stopped coming around as much.”
He looked uncomfortable.
“I was busy.”
“Noah.”
He leaned against Dad's workbench.
“Daniel told me you were uncomfortable with how often I visited.”
My chest tightened.
“What?”
“He said you were trying to build a future together and needed some distance from old friendships.”
I stared at him.
“He said that?”
“Yes.”
“And you believed him?”
Noah was quiet.
Then he said, “I should have asked you directly.”
I sat on the edge of the workbench.
For years, Daniel had accused Noah of having feelings for me.
Whenever Noah invited us to dinner, Daniel found an excuse.
Whenever Noah offered to help Dad, Daniel complained afterward.
I had thought Daniel was insecure.
Now I realized his jealousy had been useful.
It kept Noah away from me.
And away from our business.
“Why didn't you tell me?” I asked.
“Because I thought he was repeating something you wanted.”
Noah gave a small, unhappy smile.
“I wasn't going to interfere with your marriage just because I didn't like the man.”
I studied him.
“Did you ever think Daniel was right?”
“About what?”
“About you being interested in me.”
He looked toward the shelves.
For several seconds, the workshop was silent.
Then Noah answered.
“I've cared about you since college, Claire. Sometimes more than was convenient.”
My heart skipped.
He continued before I could speak.
“But you chose Daniel. I respected that.”
I swallowed.
“You never said anything.”
“Because friendship wasn't a consolation prize to me.”
He picked up Dad's green ledger.
“And this isn't the time to ask you for something you haven't had a chance to choose.”
That was Noah.
Even now, he was giving me room to breathe.
We spent the afternoon organizing evidence.
Original sketches.
Project photographs.
Customer invoices.
Supplier receipts.
Everything that could establish when our designs had been created and who owned them.
Around four o'clock, Olivia Hart appeared at the workshop.
I almost didn't recognize her.
Her hair was pulled back.
She wore jeans and an ordinary gray sweater.
There was no makeup hiding the exhaustion beneath her eyes.
“Claire,” she said, “I need to talk to you.”
Noah looked at me.
I nodded.
He went into the back office but left the door open.
Olivia stepped inside.
Her eyes moved over the wooden panels stacked against the wall.
“I didn't know your father made all of this himself.”
“You've been photographed standing in this workshop.”
She winced.
“I know.”
“Then don't insult me with another lie.”
Olivia folded her arms.
For a moment, I saw the familiar defensiveness.
Then it disappeared.
“Daniel told me your father had agreed to license the designs.”
“And you believed him?”
“I wanted to.”
That answer surprised me.
She looked down.
“My mother's care costs almost seven thousand dollars a month. I lost my event-planning job last year. Hart Studio was supposed to be my way out.”
“So you decided to use my father's work?”
“I thought Daniel had arranged a legitimate partnership.”
“Did you ever ask me?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
She lifted her eyes.
“Because I knew you didn't like me.”
I stared at her.
“Olivia, I didn't dislike you because you were successful or beautiful. I disliked watching you ask my fiancé to put you first every time I needed him.”
Her face reddened.
“I didn't always ask.”
“No,” I said. “Sometimes he volunteered.”
That seemed to hurt more than an accusation.
Olivia looked toward Dad's workbench.
“On the wedding morning, I discovered Daniel had included a signed design-rights authorization in our presentation. Your father's name was on it.”
I went still.
“Did you know the signature was questionable?”
“I suspected something was wrong. I asked Daniel to come explain it.”
“So you weren't having a panic attack.”
“I was frightened,” she answered. “But not because I needed him to comfort me.”
I remembered Daniel's words.
You know I'm the only one who can calm her down.
He had used the oldest excuse in our relationship to cover something entirely different.
“Why didn't you tell me?” I asked.
“Because Daniel promised he'd explain everything after the wedding.”
I laughed without humor.
“He promised me the same thing.”
For the first time, Olivia looked ashamed.
“I should have asked you myself.”
“Yes,” I said. “You should have.”
Before she left, she placed one of Dad's missing walnut samples on the workbench.
“I brought this back.”
I examined the tiny carved tulip.
“Where are the others?”
“At the Bellrose. Daniel arranged a private presentation that morning.”
I looked up.
“What morning?”
She swallowed.
“Your wedding morning.”
Rachel arrived that evening with the event paperwork she'd collected from the hotel.
She'd been trying to recover the unused reception deposit.
When I told her about Olivia, she immediately opened the venue schedule.
“Wait. There was a private lounge reservation I didn't understand.”
She flipped through the pages.
Then stopped.
East Ballroom Lounge.
9:45 a.m. to 10:15 a.m.
Private Design Proofing — Reed/Hart.
It had been booked eleven days before our wedding.
My hands began to shake.
Daniel hadn't been unexpectedly called away.
He had scheduled a business presentation with Olivia during the ceremony he'd promised my dying father he would attend.
Then Rachel pointed to a handwritten instruction beneath the booking.
All sample boards must be removed before the bridal party enters the east reception corridor.
She stared at me.
“Claire, he wasn't just keeping Olivia's project secret.”
I looked at the schedule.
May you like
Rachel finished the thought.
“He was making sure you never saw what they were showing.”
