Chapter 3 - The Groom Who Wouldn’t Answer
The stranger introduced himself as Mateo Serrano.
He was not the officiant.
Not a wedding guest.
Not somebody I had ever seen.
He was a notary from Toledo.
And judging by Carmen’s face, he was the last person she wanted at my wedding.
“Why are you here?” she demanded.
Mateo did not answer her.
He looked at me.
“Are you Elena García?”
“Yes.”
“Before we continue, I need to confirm whether you signed several preliminary authorizations related to a marital property agreement.”
My skin went cold.
“No.”
Álvaro closed his eyes.
I saw it.
“Álvaro.”
He looked at me.
“What is he talking about?”
“Preliminary paperwork.”
“Paperwork I signed?”
“No.”
Mateo opened his case.
“That is why I came personally.”
Carmen stepped between us.
“This is a misunderstanding.”
Mateo looked at her.
“Mrs. Ruiz, please.”
His tone was polite.
Nothing more.
But Carmen moved.
That frightened me.
Powerful people rarely obey strangers unless they know the stranger has something stronger than social authority.
I held out my hand.
“Show me.”
Mateo hesitated.
“I can show you the documents bearing your name. I cannot discuss confidential matters concerning other parties.”
“Fine.”
He handed me three pages.
I read the first paragraph.
Then read it again.
Legal language has a strange ability to make terrible ideas sound boring.
Consent.
Management.
Marital assets.
Future interests.
Business entities.
Separate property.
Authority.
My name appeared near the bottom.
Elena García Martín.
My address.
My identification number.
My profession.
All correct.
Below that was a signature.
Not mine.
It looked like mine.
Close enough that somebody had studied it.
But the E was wrong.
I always looped the top.
This one was sharp.
I looked up.
“Who gave you this?”
Mateo said, “It was delivered to my office through a representative of Ruiz Holdings.”
Julián, Álvaro’s father, finally approached.
Until then he had remained near the head table.
He looked genuinely confused.
“What representative?”
Mateo named a lawyer.
Julián’s face changed.
I recognized the name.
Carmen’s cousin.
I turned toward her.
She lifted her chin.
“This is ridiculous.”
“Is it my signature?”
“I wouldn’t know.”
“You’ve seen my signature.”
“Not closely.”
Álvaro stepped beside me.
“Let me see.”
I pulled the papers away.
“No.”
He stared.
“Elena.”
“You first.”
“What?”
“Tell me what these documents were supposed to do.”
He looked at Mateo.
Mateo remained silent.
This was Álvaro’s answer to give.
Finally he said, “My parents wanted certain assets separated.”
“So did I.”
“I know.”
“No. Apparently you don’t. I already told you I wanted my apartment and business legally protected.”
“Yes.”
“Then why is there a document using my name that I never signed?”
“I didn’t know about that.”
“Did you know about the agreement?”
“Yes.”
The word landed quietly.
No drama.
No gasp.
Just yes.
I looked at him.
“When were you going to tell me?”
“We talked about a prenup.”
“We talked about getting one.”
“Yes.”
“We never agreed to terms.”
“My mother’s lawyer drafted—”
“Your mother’s lawyer?”
He rubbed his face.
“Elena.”
“My lawyer was supposed to review anything before I signed.”
“I know.”
“So why didn’t my lawyer see this?”
No answer.
Mateo said gently, “This document would not be valid without proper verification and formal execution.”
Carmen seized the opening.
“Exactly. Nothing happened.”
I turned toward her.
“Someone forged my name.”
“That is a dramatic word.”
Mateo said, “It is also the accurate concern.”
Carmen glared at him.
He continued.
“My assistant noticed inconsistencies when preparing the execution packet. We attempted to contact Ms. García directly this morning.”
I pulled out my phone.
No calls.
“Which number?”
Mateo read it.
It was one digit wrong.
I looked at Álvaro.
He frowned.
“That isn’t her number.”
“I know,” Mateo said.
“Who provided it?”
Mateo looked at the submission record.
“The representative.”
Carmen interrupted.
“Could we please stop doing this in the middle of a wedding?”
I laughed.
I could not help it.
The sound came out wrong.
Sharp.
Almost disbelieving.
“In the middle of a wedding?”
I held up the papers.
“This is exactly where we should do it.”
“Elena.”
“No. You wanted everything done before the ceremony. Apparently somebody else did too.”
My mother came beside me.
“What does it mean?”
I looked at her.
I wanted to say nothing.
I wanted to protect her.
She had already spent the afternoon being treated like an embarrassment.
But she deserved truth too.
“Someone prepared financial documents in my name.”
“Without you?”
“Yes.”
Dad’s expression became unreadable.
He looked at Álvaro.
“Did you know?”
“No,” Álvaro said immediately.
Dad nodded slowly.
“Did you know anything was being prepared?”
Álvaro hesitated.
Dad stopped nodding.
That was worse.
“I knew there was a draft.”
“What kind of draft?”
“A marital agreement.”
“And Elena hadn’t seen it?”
“I was going to show her.”
“When?”
Álvaro looked toward the decorated ceremony doors.
Nobody needed him to answer.
My father did anyway.
“After she married you?”
“No.”
“Then when?”
“Tonight.”
The room went silent again.
Even Carmen looked at him.
“Tonight?” I repeated.
He realized how terrible it sounded.
“No. I mean, after the reception. We were going to discuss it before leaving for the honeymoon.”
I stared.
“After the wedding.”
“It wasn’t final.”
“Then why did someone sign my name?”
“I don’t know!”
His voice rose.
Not a shout.
But enough.
He immediately lowered it.
“I don’t know.”
For the first time, he looked frightened rather than defensive.
That mattered.
Because I knew Álvaro.
I knew when he was pretending.
He had hidden things from me.
Clearly.
But the signature shocked him.
I believed that.
The question was whether it mattered anymore.
Carmen stepped toward her son.
“This has gone far enough.”
He turned.
“Did you submit these?”
She stared at him.
“Do not interrogate me.”
“Did you?”
“I was protecting you.”
There.
No confession.
But close.
Julián moved closer.
“Carmen.”
She looked at her husband.
He held out his hand.
“Give me your phone.”
Her face hardened.
“What?”
“Your phone.”
“Have you lost your mind?”
“I want to see whether you communicated with Javier about this.”
Javier.
The cousin-lawyer.
Carmen laughed.
“You are taking her side now?”
Julián glanced at me.
“This is not a side.”
Then he looked back at Carmen.
“This is a signature.”
She did not move.
Mateo quietly closed his case.
“I suggest that nobody destroy or alter any communications relating to these documents.”
That sentence changed the temperature of the room.
Carmen understood exactly what he meant.
I did too.
Álvaro looked at me.
“Elena, can we go somewhere private?”
“No.”
“Please.”
“No more private conversations where everybody gets a different version.”
He flinched.
Good.
“I didn’t forge your signature.”
“I believe you.”
His relief lasted less than a second.
“Then—”
“But you did hide the agreement.”
“I was afraid you’d misunderstand.”
I stared at him.
“You were afraid I would understand.”
He had no response.
That was the truth.
People say secrets exist because somebody is afraid of losing you.
Sometimes that is true.
But fear does not make secrecy romantic.
It just explains cowardice.
I looked at the clock.
4:55.
Five minutes until the ceremony.
Lucía approached carefully.
“Elena.”
I turned.
“The officiant wants to know whether we should delay.”
I looked toward the ceremony space beyond the glass doors.
Rows of chairs.
White flowers.
The arch.
Everything exactly as we had planned.
My stomach twisted.
I had imagined walking down that aisle hundreds of times.
My father beside me.
Álvaro waiting.
My mother crying quietly.
Carmen probably judging the flowers.
All of it seemed absurd now.
“Delay,” I said.
“For how long?”
“I don’t know.”
Carmen spoke behind me.
“You cannot keep two hundred people waiting indefinitely.”
I turned.
“Yes, I can.”
Her eyes widened.
“It is my wedding.”
She opened her mouth.
I continued.
“Remember?”
A few people lowered their heads to hide smiles.
Carmen noticed.
Her humiliation had begun.
I wish I could say I enjoyed it.
I did not.
I was too tired.
I walked toward my parents.
“Come with me.”
Mom looked surprised.
“Where?”
“The bridal room.”
Dad started to protest.
I shook my head.
“Please.”
Clara followed.
Mateo asked whether I wanted copies of the documents.
“Yes.”
He gave them to me.
Álvaro took one step toward us.
“Elena.”
I stopped.
“I need time.”
“How much?”
“I don’t know.”
“Are you cancelling?”
The fear in his voice almost broke me.
Almost.
“I don’t know.”
Carmen whispered something behind him.
He snapped around.
“Stop.”
She froze.
Everyone did.
I had never heard Álvaro speak to her that way.
“Not another word,” he said.
His mother stared at him.
He turned back to me.
“I’m sorry.”
I believed him.
That was the terrible part.
I believed he was sorry.
But apology and trust are not the same thing.
I entered the bridal room with my parents and Clara.
Dad closed the door.
Nobody spoke for almost thirty seconds.
Then my mother sat beside me.
“Do you want to take the dress off?”
I looked at her.
That question almost destroyed me.
Not should we call a lawyer.
Not what will people think.
Not how much money will we lose.
Do you want to take the dress off?
She was asking whether I wanted the day to end.
I looked down at the ivory satin gathered around me.
“I don’t know.”
She touched my hand.
“Then don’t decide yet.”
Dad stood near the window.
His shoulders were stiff.
“I should have said something earlier.”
“About what?”
He did not turn around.
“Carmen.”
My mother closed her eyes.
I looked between them.
“What?”
Dad finally faced me.
“This wasn’t the first time.”
My stomach tightened.
“What did she do?”
He reached into the inside pocket of his suit.
The same suit he had bought on installments for my wedding.
He removed an envelope.
“I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to ruin today.”
The envelope had my name on it.
“Elena.”
I took it.
“Where did this come from?”
“Carmen gave it to me yesterday.”
My mother whispered, “Miguel.”
He ignored her.
“She asked me to read it after the wedding.”
I opened it.
Inside was a check.
And a handwritten note.
The amount on the check made my hands go cold.
Twenty-five thousand euros.
The note was only one sentence.
For whatever your family needs to make the transition easier.
I stared at Dad.
“What transition?”
He looked ashamed.
“I asked her the same thing.”
“And?”
“She said after you married Álvaro, it would be better if your mother and I understood that his family had certain expectations about boundaries.”
My throat tightened.
“What boundaries?”
Dad swallowed.
“She said we shouldn’t expect to be included in everything anymore.”
I stood so quickly the chair moved backward.
Clara caught it.
Dad continued.
“I refused the check.”
“Why do you still have it?”
“She put it in my jacket.”
I looked at the signature.
Carmen Ruiz.
Not forged.
Not hidden.
Proudly hers.
My phone buzzed.
A message from an unknown number.
I opened it.
There was no greeting.
Only a photograph.
Álvaro and Carmen sat at a lawyer’s office.
The date was three weeks earlier.
On the table between them lay a folder.
Across the front were two words:
GARCÍA ASSETS.
May you like
Beneath the photo was a message.
Ask your fiancé why your apartment is in that file.
