“Showtime!” I say, opening the door. “Welcome to Bliss. Hi, Mom.”

Most of the people here aren’t really shopping for wedding dresses. Not yet. Some of them are too young, some aren’t engaged, some just want to play dress-up, which we won’t be doing today. But they’re all welcome, because you never know.

“Oh, my God, this looks like Kate Middleton’s gown!” one young woman exclaims. Brides will be emulating that dress until little Prince George gets married.

“This one looks like a cloud,” says another, pointing to a tulle-skirted masterpiece. I smile and murmur thanks, then tell her a little bit about the construction. Someone from the local newspaper takes my picture. I can hear my mother discussing the details of my father’s death.

The door opens, and in come my three little nieces. “Auntie, Auntie!” they clamor, reaching up with their delicious little arms.

“Hello, my sugarplums,” I say, bending down to smooch them all. “You’re so beautiful!” There’s an audible sigh from the customers. Charlotte, Rose and Grace are dressed like flower girls, in tiny pink tulle dresses with long pink ribbons—made by yours truly, of course. Hey, those girls are excellent marketing tools—who wouldn’t want them walking down the aisle, scattering rose petals?

“We’re fancy,” Grace says.

“You sure are.” I give them each a basket full of cookies. “Would you share these with the nice people?” I say, and off they go. Rose eats one, but that just adds to the charm.

Then I stand up, see my sister, and it’s a punch to the heart.

Adam must’ve told her. She knows. Oh, God.

“Hey,” I breathe, and my voice is already shaking.

“It’s okay,” she says. “We’ll talk later. But I’m fine. I don’t want Mom to hear anything.”

No, of course not. And Rachel does look fine. She’s nicely dressed, as always, and as always, she has one eye on the girls. She gives me a little smile. But she looks so old! Rachel, who still gets carded when we go out, suddenly has lines around her eyes and a general droop to her face. Tears flood my eyes.

“No, no,” she says. “This is your day. Jenny, I’m so proud of you. Daddy would be so proud of you. This is simply beautiful.”

Dad would be proud of her, I’m thinking, keeping her shit together, being so generous and strong to come to a public event just for my sake. Then again, his feelings would be mixed, wouldn’t they?

“Speaking of beautiful, hi, Rachel,” Andreas says. He hands her a glass of sparkling wine. “What do you think?”

“I think my sister and you are both geniuses,” she says. She glances at me, then drops her eyes.

Shy. She’s being shy because of me, the only person she’s never shy around—except for her daughters. Shy of me because I know.

That fucking Adam.

“Well, I can’t speak for Andreas, but yes, I’m a genius,” I say, my voice firm and fake.

“I’m just the power behind the throne,” Andreas says.

“Hi,” says Charlotte, attaching herself to his leg.

“Oh, God, get it off me,” he says, making Charlotte dissolve into giggles. “Go away, little octopus.” He shakes his leg, which makes Grace zoom over and latch on to the other one. Rose is too busy sitting under a table, powering through her basket of cookies.

Poor Rachel. I knew it, but I didn’t want to be right. I never wanted to be wrong more.

“Andreas, would you watch the girls for a second?” I ask.

“No. Don’t leave me.”

I ignore him. “Come on, Rach, let’s talk in the back,” I say, taking her hand and towing her through the crowd. “Hello. Thank you for coming.”

“No, Jenny, I—”

“Rach, we’re going to talk. Jesus.”

We get to my office, and I close the door. I wait a second, then open the door a crack to see if Mom tailed us. She didn’t. I close the door once more. “What happened?”

“I went to his office, and...I saw this woman. She came in, and I just knew.” A fine tremor runs across her face. “And he didn’t deny it this time.”

“Oh, Rachel. Oh, honey.” I move to hug her, but she steps back.

“I can’t,” she whispers. “Don’t be nice to me right now, or I’ll lose it.”

“Did he... Is it still... What did he say? Who is it? Do you know her?”

“Emmanuelle St. Pierre. A litigator.”

“What a whorish name.”

“Please don’t make jokes.”

I cringe. “I’m sorry.”

“He said the sex is amazing. He might be in love with her. But he doesn’t want a divorce, because he loves me, too.”

A blue-black cloud of curses churns in my mouth. That bastard. So, he’ll keep Rachel as his perfect wife, and then go have dirty sex with Emmanuelle? Sure. Why not?

“Would it be wrong for me to want to strangle him?” I ask, my fists clenched.

“Don’t. Look. I... We’re working on things. Um...we have a family. We have to do things the right way. It’s complicated.”

“It’s not complicated!” I hiss. “He’s a complete shithead, Rachel!”

“Stop. You’re not helping.”

“What are you going to do?” I ask.

“I don’t know,” she whispers, and that tremor quakes through her face once more. “It means we have to go slowly. We have to think of the girls. And I don’t want to talk about it here.”