I let the velvet part an inch. Chloe appeared at the top of the aisle.

She was breathtaking — a custom Vera Wang, a cascading cloud of silk and French lace that seemed to float. Radiant, drinking in the camera flashes, the envy of the bridesmaids, the sheer power of being the center of the universe.

She walked slowly, her eyes sweeping over her kingdom.

Then her gaze drifted past the ice sculptures. Past the floral arches. Toward the dark alcove near the kitchen.

Her eyes locked onto mine.

The angelic smile vanished, replaced instantly by a contortion of aristocratic rage. She stopped dead in the middle of the red carpet. The procession collided behind her.