The Bride Asked for My Taste. I Gave Her a Wedding Gift She Couldn’t Return.

Grant stepped toward me. “Vivienne. We can discuss this privately.”

One syllable.

It stopped him.

He lowered his voice, forgetting the microphone still loved him. “You’ll destroy us both.”

I looked around the ballroom.

At the chandeliers.

At the flowers.

At the guests who had come to watch me disappear and were now recording my resurrection.

“No, Grant,” I continue reading …