Everything looked perfect at my best friend’s wedding until I noticed the groom’s strange habit. He wouldn’t stop rubbing his wrist, and it was something eerily familiar. That one subtle gesture unraveled a secret that could’ve wrecked my friend’s life if I hadn’t stepped in on time.
I adjusted the straps of my satin white bridesmaid dress, trying not to fidget as I stood at the altar beside the other girls.
The Lakeside Manor gardens were transformed into something magical.
White rose petals scattered across the aisle, fairy lights strung through the willow trees, and the afternoon sun casting a golden glow across the water. It was perfect, except for the knot in my stomach that wouldn’t go away.
“Stop fussing with your dress, Kate,” whispered Tina, one of the other bridesmaids.
“You look gorgeous.”
I forced a smile, but my eyes drifted back to my best friend Aisha’s fiancé, Jason, who stood at the altar looking like a GQ model in his tailored tux. Something was off.
I’d known him for three years… not as long as I’d known Aisha, but long enough to recognize when something wasn’t right.
His smile seemed plastered on, and he kept tugging at his left cuff, rubbing his wrist when he thought no one was looking.
The string quartet transitioned to the bridal march, and the guests rose to their feet. I turned to see Aisha at the end of the aisle, a vision in ivory lace. God, she looked beautiful and radiant in a way that transcended the dress, makeup, and all of it.
“She looks incredible,” Tina whispered.
“She does,” I agreed, blinking back unexpected tears.
But as Aisha glided down the aisle on her father’s arm, I noticed Jason again. The twitching fingers. The subtle wince as he rubbed his wrist…
harder this time.
I’d seen that gesture before. My brother had done the same thing after getting his first tattoo, trying to soothe the tenderness without drawing attention to it.
It hit me like a punch to the gut.
Had Jason seriously gotten a fresh tattoo right before his wedding? Who does that? And if it was just a tattoo, why hide it?
As Aisha reached the altar, her father kissed her cheek and placed her hand in Jason’s.
I watched him carefully. When their hands touched, his sleeve rode up just enough for me to catch a glimpse of red, irritated skin and black ink.
That’s when I saw it—a name. Not Aisha’s.
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