The Wedding (and What Comes Before)

The rehearsal was scheduled for six o'clock, but Isabella had been dressed since four. The dress was cream silk, modest, chosen by someone else and delivered to her room that morning with a note in handwriting she didn't recognize. For the rehearsal. Wear the pearls. The pearls sat in a velvet box on the vanity, unopened. She had no intention of wearing them.

She stood at the window instead, watching the grounds crew string lights through the bare branches of the maple trees that lined the garden path. The tent for the reception had gone up that morning, a white mountain rising from the frozen lawn, and caterers had been streaming through the service entrance for hours. The compound was transforming itself into something almost festive, and Isabella felt the disconnect like a physical ache. This was not her wedding. This was a performance, and she was the understudy who had been handed the script three days ago.