“If you truly want it, you’re going to have to earn it.”
He nodded, taking the full weight of it.
Portia, meanwhile, argued with the officers as they walked her toward the exit — that it was all an overreaction, that the pearls were a loan, the shaved head a joke, that Rosalind was an abusive, controlling mother.
Every excuse fell flat against the mountain of evidence.
At the door, she turned back to Emerson one last time.
“Are you really going to let them take me on our wedding day?”
Emerson slowly unclasped his platinum band and set it on the table.
“This wedding was over before it ever began.”
Several guests raised their phones to record.
Rosalind lifted a hand to the microphone.