“That recording is backed up,” I said, and she stopped.

“So what?” she snapped, rallying.

“You think one bad afternoon cancels everything?

Gabriel loves me.

The wedding is in six days.

Everyone is coming.” She was still, even now, reaching for the frame in which she won — in which a single unfortunate scene could be waved away against the great momentum of a wedding already in motion, invitations sent, money spent.

“Not anymore,” Gabriel said.

She spun toward him.

“You don’t mean that.” “I do.” And now, finally, real fear came into her eyes — but it was, I noticed, the wrong fear.

Not the fear of having wounded the man she loved.