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Fifteen minutes.

Justine was supposed to be at this altar fifteen minutes ago. I sip in a breath, not wanting to show everyone I'm worried. Scanning the guests, I lock eyes with Diana. She shoots me a what-the-hell stare, and I beckon with my head for her to come over.

Smiling delicately, she slides up beside me, her blue dress fluttering in the warm wind that's kicked up.

"Where is she?" Diana hisses, obviously not wanting to alarm anyone else.

"I was going to ask you the same thing. Is she feeling okay?"

Diana looks to the sky as if pondering the meaning of life. "When I left her, she was going to take a few minutes to herself, probably drink a sip of water. Jesus, I hope she didn't try to go to the bathroom in that dress and then fuck it up."

"She's only three months pregnant, not an invalid." I try to modulate my voice. "But I'm concerned something happened. Did she fall sick?"

"She said her morning sickness hasn't been too bad. But she did mention back pa—"

My glare makes Diana cut her words short. "Back pain? Does she have back pain? She hasn't mentioned this to me. Perhaps she's up there and can't move."

"Her doctor said it was nothing. She probably didn't think it was worth telling you." Diana swallows, and I sense she's hiding something from me.

"How long has she had back pain?" I'm about two minutes from going upstairs.

"Just, uh, the other day. And today. But, Rafael, don't worry. The doctor says she's perfectly healthy and so is the baby. She was moving around just fine when I last saw her."

I clear my throat softly and try not to think about what happened eleven years ago when she had a miscarriage. "I'm sure you can understand with the history we have that I'm worried about her. Especially after she fainted last month at the paper."

"Sure. Understandable. But she's strong. I don't know why she hasn't come down, though. I wonder if she had a snack and got food on her dress." Diana glances in the direction of the upstairs library. She scratches her neck with deep red nails. "Maybe I should go check on her."

"I think that's an excellent idea. Because if you don't, I'm going to."

"No, no. Don't do that." Diana's words tumble out of her mouth. "Stay here. I'll go right now. Remain calm."

Diana waves at Caroline as she walks down the lawn, avoiding the carpet of white rose petals. I catch David's eye, and he shoots me a small, questioning smile. Everyone's seated in a half-circle, facing me and the jasmine canopy, with a gap in the chairs for Justine to walk through. "She's always late," I joke and force myself to laugh. I turn back to Laurie, the minister. "I'm sorry. My fiancée sometimes isn't the most punctual. And I'm a little worried something has happened. She's three months pregnant."

Laurie puts her hand on my arm and grins. "This is nothing. We've had brides hold up the ceremony for a half-hour, forty-five minutes. An hour, one time. I was ready to pack up and go. It was at a country club on Amelia Island. The bride had cold feet and was inside talking to her therapist on the phone for that hour."

I must look alarmed because Laurie rubs my upper arm. "But she went through with the ceremony and you know what? They've been happily married for ten years. See? Not to worry. Sometimes weddings bring up some powerful emotions for people and they just need a little time. Don't you worry. Justine's a lovely person with a sensible head on her shoulders. She'll be down soon. Another bride once was late because she'd spilled red wine on her gown. Oh, that was interesting..."

As Laurie chatters on about how to get wine out of a silk wedding dress, I wonder if Justine's having second thoughts. Is she upstairs, panicking about marrying me? Does she think I'm going to be a terrible husband? One who screws around on her, lies, and treats her poorly? Is she rethinking whether she should raise a child with me? Jesus, I hope not. I worship the ground she walks on. Always have, ever since I met her. No. That's idiotic to think she doesn't want to be with me. Since I proposed, she's been more loving than ever. Doted on me, in fact. And I've eaten every second of her attention up with a spoon. Sometimes I watch her sleep and my heart aches, I love her so much.

My worries are probably just the guilt of not telling her about Christine. As soon as the paternity test comes back, I'm planning to tell her everything. It will be a footnote in our relationship.

"Rafael?" Laurie points behind me. My chest tightens because I'm finally going to see Justine in her dress, and I turn.

And I'm immediately disappointed.

Diana is powering toward us, all wide-eyed. She's also gnawing on her bottom lip, a bad sign.

"What is it?" I can't control the concern in my voice.

Diana comes close enough to whisper in my ear. "I think you need to come inside."

Acutely aware that the harpist has stopped playing and a hushed pall has set over the courtyard, I turn from Diana and toward the guests. They're staring at me, and I hold up a hand. "We're going to be delayed by a few moments. Sit tight and enjoy the music." I motion to the waiters, standing by with buckets of champagne in ice. "And the champagne."

I nod to the harpist, and her fingers begin plucking the chords again, but the song sounds like a funeral dirge to my ears. Diana and I don't walk down the flower-covered path—that would be too embarrassing. Instead, I take her arm and propel her around the side of the seats, toward the house. It's all I can do to not scream questions at her. I nod and smile at the waiters setting the champagne flutes on silver trays.

Once we're inside the solarium with the doors closed, I let go of Diana and head for the stairs.

"Wait." There's panic in her voice, and I whirl. Now that we're alone, I see the terror in her eyes, too.

"What? Tell me right now."

Diana's gasping for breath, clutching her hand to her chest. "Justine's not there."

I step to Diana and take her shoulders in my hands. "What? She's not where?"

"She's not upstairs. She's gone."

Swearing in Spanish, I storm up the steps to the library, calling Justine's name. My voice is met with echoes that bounce off the tile floor and white plaster walls.

I burst into the library, where Justine was supposed to get ready prior to the ceremony. "Justine?" There's no answer. Tearing down the hall, I grow more anxious when she's not in the bedroom. Nor is she in the bathroom. I search in every guest room on the second floor, and then it hits me.

"Diana," I thunder. "Call her."

Diana's out of breath from running up the stairs. "What did you say? I couldn't hear. She's not downstairs, not anywhere."

"Call her. Now."

Nodding, Diana points at the library. "My purse. It's in there."

A hundred scenarios race through my mind as I pace the messy space. There are clothes and lipsticks and drinking glasses everywhere. Tissues and curling irons. Everything a woman needs for a wedding. Her wedding bouquet is still in the box. Untouched.

I inhale sharply and press my palms to my eyes. "Where the fuck is she?"

Diana's shaking as she dials Justine's number. She shuts her eyes and weakly holds the phone to her ear. I snatch the phone out of her hands.

Justine's throaty voice is in my ear, but it's voicemail. Diana and I stand in the middle of the room, and I feel like I'm going to burst with anxiety.

"Where could she have gone? I don't understand," Diana whimpers, almost on the verge of tears. "She was so happy when I saw her, what, fifteen, twenty minutes ago."

"We need to call the police. I'm worried. This isn't like her."

"It's not. I mean, you guys didn't have a fight, did you? She didn't mention anything to me. She seemed happier than I've ever seen her."

I frown. "No. We've been getting along extremely well. Better than ever. Of course she was happy. We've both wanted this day for fifteen years. So where is she? Justine wouldn't just leave on our wedding day."

The magnitude of that sentence hits me, and I stab at the phone keypad, dialing Justine again.

Voicemail. Fuck. Where the hell is she?

My eyes scan the library again, looking for clues, as if the room could talk. That's when I get a whiff of something sour.

I glance down, and there's a trash bin. "What's this?" I point to the wastebasket and sniff the foul air. "Did someone vomit?"

Diana comes closer and leans over. She scowls. "No. Nobody threw up while we were in here. But that does smell like it. Eww." She straightens. "Do you think she got sick and drove herself to the hospital?"

I groan. "Christ, no. I think she'd tell me first. Unless she didn't want to worry me. But let's call her doctor. Let's start there."

Diana nods. "Do you have a number for the doctor?"

"On the fridge. She stuck the card to the fridge with a magnet."

"Okay. I'll go get that." Diana hustles out the door, and I'm left with silence. Something about the room isn't right. I rifle through the mess, and when I don't see Justine's purse, my heart feels like it's filled with frozen steel. Why did she leave me? Or did she? Could someone have come inside and kidnapped her? It's irrational, but I do have a lot of money. Perhaps I should have had security here... My eyes drift to the door and an empty space next to it. Isn't that where I'd put her suitcase two days ago?

I replay that night, when I watched her pack for our honeymoon. She was laughing and kissing me in between stuffing little dresses and sexy lingerie into the suitcase. When she'd tried to hoist the bag off the bed, I'd stepped in. She'd made a face. "You're always wanting to do things for me. I can lift this."

"Nope. Not when you're pregnant. You can lift all the stuff you want after you have the baby."

That made her smile. "Just put it in the library, Rafa. I'm not sure if I'll need anything out of it while getting ready."

And so I'd wheeled it right...there. But it isn't where I'd left it. Did she leave with her suitcase? I stomp into the bedroom, and I don't see it there. I grab my phone, about to text David and ask him to come inside, when I see he's already texted me.

Dude. You okay? Justine okay?

Hey. Can you come up here? On the second floor.

Be right there.

I pace the hall between the bedroom and the library, hearing the strains of Diana's insistent voice. "No. I need you to get the doctor on the phone with me now. It's an emergency, goddamnit. Yes. Justine Lavoie."

Justine Menendez, I want to scream. The sound of heavy footsteps on the stairs tells me David's coming, and I stop pacing.

Why the hell does he look upset, too? What is happening today?

I run a hand over my hair. "Justine's gone."

Whenever he doesn't want to tell me something—like if a deal fell through or we've lost money somehow—he tilts his head, widens his eyes, and scrunches up his mouth. He doesn't do it often because he usually knows that whatever he's going to tell me will piss me off.

He's making that face now.

"What? What's going on? What do you know?" I'm practically shouting.

"Well..." He pauses.

"Well, what?" My voice is low.

"Well, I wonder if she might have seen this." David takes his phone out of his pocket and hands it to me.

I scowl at the small letters.

Cliché Alert: Miami's Richest Man Fathers Child With Secretary

Just as my vision flashes red with anger, Diana runs up the stairs, screaming. "Rafael, Justine's car's gone!"

____

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