The Hate Vow by Nicole French

Thirty-Three

The cathedral was a beast. It was a monolith of Anglican pageantry on the Upper West Side, and I had it on good authority (meaning Celeste) that it was the largest Anglican church in the world. The de Vries were Presbyterians, of course, having descended from hordes of good Dutch Calvinists. But the entire city was turning out for this wedding, and it was only the best for the de Vries golden boy, their prodigal son, returned to take over the family throne. And the best (and biggest) was St. John the Divine.

“Are you ready?” Skylar whispered as she took Brandon’s arm in front of me. The rest of the bridal party had already taken the long walk down the aisle.

Stone-faced, I nodded. “Go,” I said. “I’ll be fine.”

Skylar gave me another worried look, then turned and began walking to the crossing with her husband.

“All right, Jane.” Gemma appeared with a headset attached. “Go bridal march,” she said into the mic.

The organs began and the choir started singing a different hymn, their voices raised louder, vibrating through the stone walls. And in that moment, I felt for the first time what I was really marrying into. A complete and utter spectacle, all of it designed to show one thing: power.

Gemma looked at me. “Your turn, beauty. Here we go.”

It was one hundred and forty steps from the lobby of the church, past uncountable apses, row upon row of New York’s elite, down the long, almost interminable knave to the crossing of the basilica-designed cathedral. The arched ceilings yawned above me, with stained glass windows sparkling beyond them and Gothic-style gargoyles at the top, portending some strange kind of doom from beyond. I felt like I was walking to my death, not to a new life. Not for the first time, I wondered if I was truly crazy for doing this.

At last, I reached the crossing, where an elevated platform had been set up in the center so that people in each arm of the basilica and the choir at the head could watch from every direction.

Eric stood next to the minister, watching me the entire time with an expression of awe. His traditional black tuxedo with thin peak lapels and just a hint of tails over the Italian-cut pants was tailored to perfection. He was perfection.

I couldn’t have hated him more. And it wasn’t until I reached him that he must have seen that in my face.

“Hey,” he whispered carefully as he took my arm and guided me up the steps. “Everything…everything okay?”

I swallowed, unable meet his eyes. I could do this. I could get through this charade. We could fight after. Now was not the time. I could do this…

I couldn’t do this.

“I know,” I whispered, just under the hum so only he could hear me.

“You…know?” His eyes were shifty.

“I know everything,” I hissed, gripping my flowers so hard I could feel the stems cracking under their satin bindings. “About you. And Caitlyn. And those red. Fucking. Panties.”

I spat the word, startling the minister who approached.

“Jane?” Skylar touched my elbow from behind, where she stood with Jenny. “Is everything all right?”

But I didn’t look at her. I didn’t look at Brandon either, who frowned over Eric’s shoulder while holding his son’s hand. I could only see Eric—his deep, silver-gray eyes, the way his brows knit together, and then the way clarity passed over his face. The truth of the statement as it registered.

“Shit,” he whispered, with no apparent regard for the church. “Jane, I—”

“Are we ready?” asked the minister.

“No,” Eric snapped. “We need a minute to talk.” He jerked his head toward an apse behind us. “Over here.”

I scowled. “Eric, I am standing in a thirty-foot train that has been perfectly placed over those steps and takes at least five people to move properly. I am not moving anywhere.”

He glanced toward the crowd, where people were already watching us curiously, wondering about the obvious delay. “Jane, come on.”

“How could you?” I hissed through my teeth, trying and failing to maintain an even tone.

“Ms. Lefferts, really, if you need a moment—”

“No, it’s fine, Reverend,” I cut the minister off again. “We’ll continue. Mr. de Vries here just needs to understand one thing.”

But Eric just glared. “Jane, I’m only going to say this one more time. Pick up the goddamn train and follow me.” And then, without waiting, he turned on his patent-leather heel and strode off toward one of the doors that exited the main altar where we stood.

The crowd watching us immediately started to jabber, and past Skylar’s shoulder, Caitlyn tried and failing to hide a grin. The reverend turned to me questioningly.

“Sky,” I whispered.

“Right here, Janey.”

“Grab my train, please.” I turned to the reverend. “We’ll, um, just be a minute.”

“Brandon!” Skylar hissed as we trotted off. “Take the kids, and entertain the crowd.”

Brandon gave her a look like she was crazy, but turned to the filled pews as we trotted in the direction Eric had gone.

We found him pacing a smaller chapel that jutted off the main altar.

“You want me to stay?” Skylar asked. She looked like she would rather do anything but.

I took the fabric out of her hands. “No, it’s fine. We’ll be right out.”

She gave me a look that was utterly disbelieving, but sighed and left.

Eric turned from his place under a stone saint as the door shut behind her. “Jane.”

“Don’t,” I said, holding up a manicured hand. “I honestly don’t want to hear it. I’m so over this shit, Eric. So over it. It’s five years old. It’s done.”

“It’s not done. You’re obviously still pissed off about it.” He shook his head like he couldn’t believe it. “About something that happened five years ago. It’s unbelievable.”

“You think I’m mad because you slept with someone five years ago?” My voice shot up an octave with incredulity. “God, you’re really that fucking clueless, aren’t you?”

I strode in the opposite direction, unable to face him. Instead, I came face-to-face with a statue of a noble-looking dude labeled “King Eric IX.”

“Arggh!” I screamed at it. “Of fucking course!”

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

I whirled around. “I’ll tell youwhat is wrong with me, you pedantic, patronizing, sociopathic liar! Caitlyn. Fucking. Calvert. And her tiny red thong. That was balled up in your fucking sheets the night I came back for you. It’s not the fact that you slept with someone, you asshole. It’s that you slept with her. And you. Never. Told. Me.”

As I spoke the words, the color in Eric’s face drained, making him look a lot like the statue behind me.

“Jane,” he started.

“Spare me.”

“Jane.”

“Stop.”

“Jane.”

“Shut up!” I screeched. “For once in your fucking life, take your smug, condescending remarks and shove them straight up your entitled ass, right along with the stick that seems to be permanently lodged there!”

I paced around the room, tripping on my train and alternately kicking it out of the way. The edges were already getting smudged with the grime from the stone floors. It seemed to fit the utter illusion of this day. We looked so perfect from far away, but up close, it was a fucking mess. And there was nothing beautiful about it.

Eric took a tentative step toward me, his shiny black shoes clipping on the hard floors. “Jane, you have to let me explain. Jesus, it was five years ago.”

“I asked you. Last night. Do you have any secrets, Eric? And what did you say, huh?”

His arms flew out. “Jane, this isn’t a secret. I honestly just didn’t think it mattered.”

“Didn’t think it mattered? Eric, that passive-aggressive bitch has been trying to weasel her way back into your life since you showed up. I’d bet ten dollars it was her who got those kids to throw paint on me. Honestly, I bet she knew I was in the hotel room the entire time she gabbed to Nina about her little affair with you.”

“It wasn’t an affair,” he said. “And may I remind you that you and I were split up—by your choice, I might add. Why doesn’t that ever get through to you! Am I supposed to tell you every goddamn woman I’ve fucked in the last five years, Jane? Or the last fifteen, for that matter? You already know it’s a long fucking list, sweetheart!”

“You’re disgusting,” I spat. “And missing the goddamn point, as usual. I don’t care about any of those women, Eric. But you know what I do care about? Honesty. I care about my partner being straight with me. With him telling me the fucking truth instead of lying to my face!”

“I didn’t tell you because I knew you’d fucking react like this!” he exploded. “You’d blow it out of proportion, just like you did back then, and we’d be right back at square one.” He started pacing around. “Honestly, Jane. It’s like you don’t care about anything from the past four months. You don’t fucking care about us, you’re so willing to throw it away!”

I gaped, wishing I had something else to throw at him. “Don’t care? Are you serious right now? Look at me! Look at this!” I gestured up and down at the dress, my face, my hair, the entire church. “This isn’t me, Eric. Does this look like someone who doesn’t fucking care?”

“I never asked you to do any of that, did I?”

“You didn’t have to. Not in so many words. God, look at me. I look like a mannequin, a fucking shadow of myself. I’m literally a person in black and white.”

“I told you to put your hair back the way it was,” Eric retorted.

“It’s not just about the hair, though, is it? You’ve been pleased as punch every time I’ve gotten along with your family. Well, playing that game has required some chameleon skills, asshole. And you haven’t exactly been complaining about any of it, either. ‘Pleasantly surprised,’ you said, right? Happy that I was fitting in.”

“Jesus Christ, you really are determined to take everything out of context, aren’t you?” Eric rubbed his hands over his face and groaned. “Fucking nightmare.”

“Nightmare of your own making, I’d say.”

He looked up with new resolve. “Look. I didn’t ask for this giant circus of a wedding. I didn’t ask for the ninety-foot dress or the fifty-person bridal party or a ceremony in the biggest church in the world. I just wanted you, Jane! That’s it!”

He roared every one of the last words, his words echoing off the hard stone walls and floor. But none of them mattered. All I could see were those stupid red panties. And now, of course, the utterly punchable woman who wore them.

“Well, you can’t have me,” I said at last, taking a firm grip on the back of one of the old wood chairs to stay in place. “Not now. Not ever.”

His face dropped. Legitimate, real surprise replaced all his frustration. “You’re kidding. You don’t mean that.”

“All I’ve done is try my hardest to fit in,” I said, biting back tears. “And I didn’t just do it for you—I did it for me. I didn’t want to be a big fucking joke to you or your family. So no matter what they did—the backstabbing comments, the weird pranks—it didn’t matter, because in the end, I knew if I could win you over, I could do the same with them. Turns out, the person who thought I was the biggest joke of all was you.”

“Jane, stop. You don’t mean that.”

“Don’t tell me what I mean, asshole.”

“Come on!” Eric shouted. “This is ridiculous. It’s ancient fucking history, and we have moved on. I love you, Jane! Doesn’t that mean anything to you? Did it ever?”

“I don’t know what it means anymore.”

“Why? Give me one good reason why something that happened five fucking years ago should be this important.”

“Because you broke my heart!” I screamed.

“Well, YOU BROKE MINE TOO!”

We stood, seething at each other, unable to tear ourselves away, but unable to forgive either. In that moment, the fury fell out of Eric’s eyes, replaced with utter, heart-wrenching despair. I choked, unable to breathe, trying my hardest to swallow back everything I’d just yelled at the top of my lungs.

I tried to shake everything away like a bad dream. That’s all it was anyway. That’s all any of this was.

“I don’t know why I do this to myself,” Eric said, his voice dropped again, low, despondent. “I must be a fucking masochist. I keep trying to make it work with you, but I should have known you’d do this again. Find some excuse. Some fucking reason to pull the rug out from under me all over again.”

“Excuse me for not wanting to love a fucking liar and lothario,” I snapped. “If you want someone who’s willing to let you manipulate her for the rest of her life, you should have done what was expected of you in the first place and given this ring to Caitlyn Calvert.”

In my frenzy, I yanked the engagement ring off my finger and hurled it at him. The ring bounced off his chest and to the floor in a series of light tings. Slowly, Eric dropped to his knees and picked it up, then held it up in a parody of another proposal.

“Put it on,” he ordered in a voice of steel.

“No.”

Eric stood. “So this is how it’s going to be? You want to end this? Now?”

I gulped. Was that what I was doing? In front of five thousand of New York’s finest?

“If you do, that’s twenty million gone, Jane.” Eric held out the ring, pinched between two fingers. “Not to mention Nina’s inheritance. My aunt’s and my mother’s. Countless cousins, relatives, not to mention hundreds, maybe thousands of people out of work if Grandmother actually sells off all her shares.” He let the ring roll into the palm of his hand. “Think about what you’re doing.”

His voice was hard. Cold. Completely devoid of any emotion. It was the one thing that told me the last months were erased. We were back to where we started. If I did this, it would be nothing but a transaction. A deal, just like he promised.

I stared at the ring for a long time. Watched the bright, sparkling diamonds reflect prisms of light to the edges of Eric’s hand while the black stone in the middle seemed to consume all light at the same time. For a moment, I wondered if it would consume me too. Like the ocean. This city. This man. This life.

Breathe, peanut. Think about what you’re doing.

But for once, the calm, soothing voice of my father only made things worse. I shuttered him away. After all, he was nothing but a lie too.

I looked up. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yes. But it’s not for the twenty million dollars,” I said. “It’s because I won’t let you or your family toss red paint on my dress again.”

Eric shook his head as I took the ring and slid it back on my finger, wishing it would disappear.

“I’ll say the vows,” I said. “But I’ll hate every minute of it.”