The estate garden, cloaked beneath a blanket of soft, overcast sky, breathed with a quiet kind of grandeur. The grounds stretched with practiced elegance—stone pathways lined with aged rosebushes, and trimmed hedges that held centuries of stories in their shadows. Marble fountains murmured gently nearby, and willows swayed with the breeze like they were whispering secrets to the garden floor. The air was cool, laced with the scent of damp earth and early jasmine, as clouds gathered low and silvery above.
The ceremony was just about to begin.
Guests had started to hush, their murmurs quieting as the string quartet shifted into the soft prelude. Zoe stood at the front, radiant in ivory blush, her bridesmaids seated in the first row, a soft blur of sage green and smiles.
She glanced subtly toward the side aisle—expecting, then not expecting—and her jaw tightened ever so slightly when she saw movement.
Sarah had arrived.
Not dramatically. Not disruptively. But late, nonetheless.
Sarah moved with quiet grace, her sage green chiffon gown stirring in the breeze beneath the grey sky. The ruffled tulle sleeves and delicate buttons lent the bodice a soft elegance, while airy overlay panels fluttered at her waist, adding a hint of whimsy to the muted afternoon.
Her chestnut brown hair, touched with auburn undertones, pinned in a soft chignon, was laced with baby's breath and pale flowers that trembled gently as she moved—fragile, lovely, and just a little windblown.
A few guests near the back glanced sideways, their eyes tracking the gentle sweep of green fabric that moved through the garden like the breeze itself. But most eyes were on Zoe, or the aisle, or the minister adjusting his notes.
Except for Eric.
He saw her the moment she appeared.
His gaze lingered—not just in admiration, but with a stillness, as if the sight of her pressed pause on something inside him. It wasn't dramatic. But it was deep. And it did not go unnoticed.
Seated near the front, Elena turned.
She followed Eric's gaze, just enough to see where her son's attention had gone.
And when she saw the way his gaze followed Sarah—the subtle softening in his eyes, the momentary forgetting of everything else—something flickered behind her composed expression. Not shock, not anger. Just quiet awareness. A note made and stored away with the precision only a mother like Elena could carry.
Her lips pressed into a thinner line.
Then Zoe caught Sarah's eye.
It was a flash of something restrained—half apology, half reprimand. No words passed between them, just a glance. The kind that said you're here and you're late all at once. But there wasn't time for more. The ceremony was beginning.
The quartet played its final soft prelude, and a quiet expectancy had settled over the garden. Sarah, walking towards the other bridesmaids, leaned slightly toward Chloe—her voice a whisper behind a polite smile. But then she paused.
Her seat wasn't clean.
A faint smear of damp earth stained the cushion—likely from the breeze and the soft, unsettled weather. She hesitated only a second, then gracefully stepped away, eyes scanning for another seat that wouldn't cause a scene.
The row just ahead had an empty chair. Without drawing attention, she slipped past the other guests and into the vacant seat just as the officiant rose to speak.
She smoothed her gown quickly, breath steadying. Then, instinctively, she turned her head with a polite, reflexive smile toward the person beside her—
And met Eric's eyes.
Looking right at her.
For the briefest moment, the world narrowed to just that gaze.
He look surprised. Not suspicious. Just quiet. Intent.
But Sarah's breath caught.
She froze.
Because in that second—locked in his eyes—she felt it: the sharp twist of guilt in her chest. The memory of the lie she and Chloe had spun. That day at the café. Pretending to be Chloe. Hisdate. The beginning of it all.
She hadn't been thinking of that moment for weeks. But now, under his gaze, in the stillness of the garden, it came rushing back like a wave: What if he knows? What if he remembers too clearly?
Her smile faltered.
And quickly—almost too quickly—she turned her face away, eyes fixed now on the back of Chloe's head just ahead of her, willing her expression to stay neutral.
Calm on the outside.
But inside her chest, her heart thudded in an uneven rhythm, the weight of a half-forgotten lie pressing against the edges of this too-close moment. The scent of wet roses drifted on the breeze, but she barely noticed.
Next to her, Eric leaned just slightly, his voice low, quiet, but touched unmistakably with surprise.
"You're… here?"
A pause. Then,
"Zoe didn't mention you."
Just that. There was no accusation in his tone, no sharp edge. Just surprise, soft and genuine, as if he hadn't expected to see her at all—let alone here, among close friends, dressed in sage green like she belonged in the heart of it.
But the way he said it — Zoe.
So familiar. So… comfortable.
As if they'd known each other longer than Sarah realized.
A faint tremor moved through her chest. She kept her face forward, her expression still. But inside, her thoughts jolted like a snapped string.
He knows Zoe well?
That wasn't part of the plan.
That wasn't supposed to happen.
If he and Zoe were close — really close — then one simple question, one quiet moment, and everything could fall apart. The lie she and Chloe had buried at the café, wrapped in politeness and timing, would be dug up in seconds. And this time, it wouldn't be charming. It would be humiliating.
She swallowed hard, her throat dry.
Eric spoke again, softer.
"I wasn't expecting to see you here."
Sarah finally glanced his way, just once, with the gentlest of expressions. Careful. Light. Her fingers smoothing fabric that didn't need smoothing.
"Neither was I."
That made him smile slightly.
A wave of heat rose beneath her skin, and she wished—not for the first time—that the earth would simply open beneath her feet and swallow her whole.
She sat still.
Eyes forward.
Heart not.
"You look different," he said, after a pause.
"From the café."
Sarah's heart skipped. Her throat felt tight. But she held the smile—just barely.
"It's a wedding."
"It's good to see you again," he said after a pause, his voice lower now, softer somehow—like he meant it.
That made her chest tighten.
A soft breeze stirred through the leaves, catching the edges of white drapes that framed the ceremony space, rustling petals beneath the guests' feet.
And then she turned back toward the front, quiet again, as if the conversation had ended.
Eric didn't press.
But the way he looked at her hadn't changed.
Not since the first time.
And Elena…
She watched it all, face unreadable, composed as always, but her fingers tapped once—absently—against her knee.