Chapter 1 - The Wedding That Wasn't a Movie
Angela Parker grabbed Charlie Henderson's sleeve and whispered, “Tell me this isn't real.”
Charlie placed the marriage certificate on the table.
Her full legal name was printed beneath his.
And beside it was a state registration number.
Angela realized she had not been hired to act in a wedding.
She had been hired to become a wife.
Three hours earlier, twenty thousand dollars had seemed like enough money to solve almost everything wrong with Angela Parker's life.
Now it looked like the price someone had paid to purchase her consent.
She stood beneath a crystal chandelier in a private room of the Harbor Crown Hotel, still wearing a wedding gown she had never chosen. White lace hugged her waist. A long veil fell from the elegant twist of brown hair at the back of her head. The diamond on her left hand caught the afternoon light every time her fingers trembled.
Charlie stood six feet away.
He had removed neither his black tuxedo jacket nor the white rose pinned to his lapel. His dark hair remained perfectly arranged despite the chaos of the reception.
He looked infuriatingly calm.
Angela pointed at the document.
“You knew.”
“I knew this was a legal ceremony.”
“You knew I didn't.”
His jaw tightened.
“No.”
“Don't lie to me.”
“I'm not.”
“You told me to say yes.”
“Because you were standing at the altar.”
“Because somebody paid me to stand there!”
That finally broke his composure.
Charlie stared at her.
“What?”
Angela laughed once, but there was no humor in it.
“Twenty thousand dollars. Cash. A man named Martin Vale hired me this morning. He said it was a private production.”
Charlie stopped breathing for half a second.
“Martin Vale?”
“Yes.”
“What did he look like?”
“Why?”
“Angela.”
The use of her first name sounded different now.
Not intimate.
Urgent.
“Mid-fifties. Gray hair. Charcoal suit. Mirrored sunglasses. He knew my phone number. He knew where I lived. He knew I was an actress.”
Charlie crossed the room.
Angela immediately stepped backward.
“Stay away from me.”
He stopped.
That small act surprised her.
His hands remained visible at his sides.
“I won't touch you.”
“You already married me.”
“I didn't arrange the payment.”
“Convenient.”
“I was told you understood.”
“Understood what?”
“That this was a legal marriage.”
Angela stared at him.
Charlie looked toward the closed door.
Something in his expression changed.
For the first time, the billionaire groom looked worried.
“Who told you that?” Angela asked.
“My family's attorney.”
“Name.”
“Richard Cole.”
“And who told him?”
Charlie didn't answer.
Angela reached for the marriage certificate.
He let her take it.
Her eyes moved across the document.
Angelina Rose Parker.
Charles Everett Henderson.
Two witnesses.
A priest.
A license number.
Her signature.
Angela remembered the papers she had signed at the salon.
Yellow tabs.
Initial here.
Sign here.
She had been distracted by three stylists, a makeup artist, champagne, and the absurdity of wearing a gown that probably cost forty thousand dollars.
She felt sick.
“I want an annulment.”
Charlie nodded immediately.
“All right.”
The speed of his answer startled her.
“You're not going to fight me?”
“No.”
“Then call your lawyer.”
“I will.”
“Now.”
Charlie took out his phone.
Before he could unlock it, the door opened.
Margaret Henderson entered.
Charlie's mother had changed nothing about herself since the reception. Silver hair. Diamond earrings. Pale silver gown. Perfect posture.
But her expression was no longer gracious.
It was frightened.
“Charles.”
“Not now, Mother.”
Margaret ignored him.
She looked directly at Angela.
“Where did you get that necklace?”
Angela's hand instinctively moved to her throat.
Beneath the lace neckline rested a tiny gold pendant.
It wasn't part of the bridal jewelry.
It was hers.
A small oval locket her mother had given her when she turned eighteen.
“This?”
Margaret moved closer.
Charlie stepped between them.
“Mom.”
“Let me see it.”
Angela's anger briefly surrendered to confusion.
“Why?”
Margaret's eyes glistened.
“Please.”
Angela opened the locket.
Inside was a faded photograph of her mother, Susan Parker, holding Angela as a baby.
Margaret's face lost its color.
Charlie saw it.
“Mom?”
Margaret reached toward the photograph but stopped before touching it.
“Where did your mother get this?”
“I don't know. She's had it forever.”
“What is her full name?”
“Susan Marie Parker.”
Margaret closed her eyes.
Charlie stared at his mother.
“You know her.”
Margaret didn't answer.
Angela felt the room tightening around her.
“Mrs. Henderson.”
Margaret opened her eyes.
“Call me Margaret.”
“I don't plan on knowing you long enough for that.”
Pain crossed the older woman's face.
It looked genuine.
Angela hated that she noticed.
“My mother is in Queens,” Angela continued. “Her electricity is overdue. My sister needs dental surgery. I had eighty-six dollars in my bank account this morning. Somebody knew all of that and used it to put me in this dress.”
Margaret looked toward Charlie.
“You didn't tell her?”
“Tell me what?”
Charlie turned sharply.
“Mother, what exactly do you think I knew?”
Margaret's silence answered too much.
Charlie took a step toward her.
“What did you do?”
“I protected this family.”
“From what?”
“From making the same mistake twice.”
Angela picked up her purse.
“I am leaving.”
Charlie moved aside immediately.
“Take my car.”
“I'd rather walk barefoot.”
“Angela, whoever arranged this knows where you live.”
She stopped.
It was the first useful thing anyone had said.
“You think I'm in danger?”
“I think somebody engineered a legal marriage between two strangers.”
“We aren't strangers.”
Margaret's voice was barely audible.
Angela turned.
Charlie did too.
Margaret was staring at them.
“What did you say?” Charlie asked.
His mother seemed to realize she had spoken aloud.
“Nothing.”
“No. You said we aren't strangers.”
Margaret's eyes moved toward the wall.
Toward the enormous black-and-white portrait Angela had noticed during the reception.
A handsome young man stood in the photograph wearing a dark suit.
He looked remarkably like Charlie.
But that wasn't what made Angela stare.
A woman stood beside him.
Only half of her face was visible because the photograph had been deliberately cropped by its ornate frame.
Angela walked closer.
“Who is she?”
Margaret's hands tightened.
“My sister.”
Charlie frowned.
“You told me Aunt Rose died before I was born.”
“She did.”
Angela stopped.
Rose.
Her middle name.
Angelina Rose Parker.
Coincidence.
It had to be.
She reached toward the frame.
Margaret suddenly said, “Don't.”
Angela looked at her.
That was enough.
She lifted the frame away from the wall.
A small yellowed envelope fell from behind it.
All three stared at the floor.
Angela bent down.
Margaret moved first.
“Angela, please.”
But Angela already had the envelope.
Her name was written across the front.
Not Angelina.
Angela.
The handwriting was faded.
The postmark was twenty-six years old.
Charlie stepped beside her.
Angela turned the envelope over.
One sentence had been written across the back.
FOR ANGELA, WHEN SHE FINALLY COMES HOME.
Nobody spoke.
Angela slid one finger beneath the sealed flap.
Margaret whispered, “If you open that, everything changes.”
Angela tore the envelope open.
Inside was a photograph.
She pulled it halfway out.
Then she saw the woman holding a newborn baby.
The woman was Margaret's dead sister.
And around the baby's neck was Angela's gold locket.
Behind them, the door quietly opened.
A man's voice said, “That letter was never meant to reach her.”
May you like
Angela turned.
Martin Vale was standing there.
