Chapter 2 - THE BRIDE WHO WALKED DOWN THE AISLE ALONE
Naomi reached for the microphone on the dressing-room table.
“Put that down,” Eric warned.
She looked at the red wine spreading across her wedding dress, then at the man she had planned to marry in less than two hours.
“Why? Are you afraid someone might hear what happened?”
Marisol stood beside Daniel, clutching what remained of her ruined ponytail.
“You attacked me!” she shouted. “Daniel, tell her!”
Daniel stepped forward.
“Naomi, you've gone too far. Apologize to my wife.”
Naomi glanced at the wall where her brother had shoved her moments earlier. Her back still hurt.
Then she turned toward her mother.
Miriam sat beside the dressing table, holding the uneven ends of her freshly cut hair. She looked smaller than Naomi had ever seen her.
For thirty years, that braid had been part of her identity.
Her grandmother had taught her how to weave it. Her own mother had tied it with a blue ribbon before her wedding. And when Naomi was little, Miriam had promised that one day she would use that same ribbon for her daughter's ceremony.
Now the braid lay in a paper bag on the table.
And everyone except Naomi was acting as though nothing important had happened.
“Mom,” Naomi asked quietly, “do you want to go home?”
Miriam raised her eyes.
“I don't want you to lose your wedding because of me.”
Naomi felt something break inside her.
“You're not taking anything away from me.”
Eric grabbed her wrist.
“Enough. We have one hundred and forty guests downstairs. My business partners are here. Do you understand how embarrassing this is?”
Naomi looked at his hand.
“Let go.”
He hesitated.
“Naomi—”
“Let. Go.”
He released her.
She removed her engagement ring.
Eric's expression changed immediately.
“Don't be ridiculous.”
Naomi dropped the diamond ring into the half-empty wineglass Marisol had left on the table.
The small splash sounded unusually loud.
“There,” Naomi said. “Now we both have something ruined.”
Marisol stared.
“You're canceling your wedding over a haircut?”
“No,” Naomi answered. “I'm canceling it because of what all of you did afterward.”
She picked up the paper bag containing Miriam's braid.
Then she opened the dressing-room door.
Eric hurried after her.
“Where are you going?”
“To tell our guests the truth.”
The ceremony room at the Bellweather Hotel was filled with white roses and soft violin music.
Guests turned when Naomi appeared in the doorway.
Her ivory dress was stained crimson.
Her veil hung loosely behind her shoulders.
And instead of holding a bouquet, she carried a small brown paper bag.
The violinist stopped.
Whispers spread through the room.
Naomi's Aunt June, sitting in the second row, immediately rose.
“Sweetheart, what happened?”
Naomi looked toward the front, where a silver microphone stood beside the wedding arch.
She had practiced walking down this aisle for months.
She had imagined Eric waiting beneath the flowers.
She had imagined her mother's braid resting over one shoulder while they performed the family ribbon ceremony.
But she had never imagined standing here alone.
She took a breath.
Then she walked forward.
Eric entered behind her, accompanied by Daniel and Marisol.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Eric announced quickly, forcing a smile, “we've had a small family disagreement. Everything is under control.”
Naomi reached the microphone.
“No,” she said.
The room became silent.
“Everything is not under control.”
Eric stopped smiling.
Naomi looked toward Miriam, who had appeared in the doorway beside Aunt June.
“My mother has worn her hair in a braid for more than thirty years. It was a tradition passed down through the women in our family.”
Her voice trembled, but she continued.
“Today, someone took her to a hairstylist and had that braid cut off without her permission.”
Several guests gasped.
Naomi did not mention her own retaliation yet.
She wanted them to understand what had happened first.
“When I confronted the people responsible, my brother shoved me into a wall.”
Daniel lowered his eyes.
“And my fiancé told me to apologize.”
Eric stepped toward the microphone.
“Naomi, this is a private matter.”
“It stopped being private when you decided my mother's dignity mattered less than your guests.”
Marisol crossed her arms.
“She cut my hair, too! Tell them that!”
Naomi nodded.
“Yes. I did.”
The honesty surprised everyone.
“I was furious. I picked up scissors and cut Marisol's ponytail. That was wrong, and I will take responsibility for it.”
She paused.
“But I will not apologize for defending my mother. And I will not marry a man who watches someone hurt me and then demands I make his evening more comfortable.”
Aunt June began crying.
Miriam covered her mouth.
Naomi removed the blue ribbon from the paper bag.
It had been woven through Miriam's braid that morning.
She walked toward her mother.
“Mom, would you still walk with me?”
Miriam stared at her.
“Where?”
“Out of here.”
For the first time that afternoon, Miriam smiled.
It was small and uncertain, but it was real.
She took her daughter's hand.
The guests stood as they walked back toward the doors.
Not everyone applauded.
Some were too shocked.
Others simply watched.
But Aunt June stepped into the aisle and gently placed her hand against Miriam's shoulder.
“Your grandmother would be proud of you both,” she whispered.
Naomi nearly cried.
Then Eric's voice cut through the room.
“Before everyone starts congratulating her, perhaps Naomi should explain something.”
She stopped.
Eric was holding an ivory envelope.
“Tell them about Willow House.”
Naomi turned slowly.
Willow House was the old family property on the outskirts of town.
Her grandmother had lived there.
Her mother still lived there.
Naomi owned half of it, while Miriam owned the other half.
It was where three generations had celebrated birthdays, cooked holiday dinners, and gathered around the same worn kitchen table.
“What about Willow House?” Naomi asked.
Eric removed several papers from the envelope.
“You've made quite a speech about family traditions. But apparently traditions don't matter when there's money involved.”
Daniel looked suddenly frightened.
“Eric,” he warned, “not here.”
Eric ignored him.
He held up the first page.
“This is a preliminary authorization for the sale of Willow House to Longview Development.”
Naomi frowned.
“I never agreed to sell our home.”
Eric smiled coldly.
“Really?”
He walked down the aisle and placed the document in her hands.
Naomi saw her full name printed beneath a paragraph approving the sale.
Below it was a signature that looked exactly like hers.
Her stomach tightened.
She read the date.
Eight days earlier.
Then she saw Miriam's signature beside it.
Naomi raised her eyes.
“Mom?”
Miriam had gone pale.
Eric leaned closer.
“The sale closes after the financing conditions are satisfied. And according to that document, you already agreed.”
Naomi stared at the signature.
May you like
Because she had never signed that paper.
And yet someone had signed it for her.
