Page 134 of No One Was Supposed to Die at This Wedding

“Ditto.”

She cocks her head to the side. “So, did I do it?”

“I concluded that you had not. Didn’t say that part out loud, huh?”

“Nope.”

“Tyler was communicating with José. So unless you were in cahoots with him, too, you’re in the clear.”

“Glad to hear it.” Emma reaches out and slips her engagement ring onto her finger.

“You swear you’re not mad?”

“I’m not mad.”

“So, what now?”

“I think you have to walk down the aisle in front of me.”

“Let’s do it.”

The wedding is tasteful and subdued. A man died, after all, but maybe that’s also just Emma and Fred. Despite all the glitz and glamour and outward flash—the exotic location, the photographer fromPeople, the cameras set up recording the whole thing, Mrs. Winter crying loudly into her handkerchief while Mr. Winter rubs her hand to soothe her—it’s still only a wedding. Something people do every day.

Two people facing each other and making those age-old promises.

To love.

To cherish.

Even to obey.

It’s my personal belief that the only people who hate weddings are sociopaths. Because they’re in a room full of people they have to pretend in front of. That they understand love. That they canlive a simple life and do the things that everyone does. Couple up. Make promises. Be there for each other. That puts a strain on a person who can’t feel anything for anyone but themselves.

You might disagree, but I’m not a sociopath.

I am, however, pretending, too.

That everything is okay with me and Oliver.

That I’m not jealous of Emma.

That I believe Tyler killed José.

I might not be a very good actress, but Idowalk down the aisle with a smile on my face, holding a bouquet of exotic fresh-cut flowers that are stand-ins for the understated tulips Emma wanted. And when I reach Oliver in his seat, he holds his hand over his heart and mouthsI love youandYou look beautifuland I know all’s forgiven, that we’ll make it through this wedding intact after all.

I mouth it back and walk toward Fred. He’s beaming like he’s a little boy who’s won a prize, and of course he has.

Emma.

She’s a radiant bride. Under the glare of the lights and the flashes from the photographer, she walks without hesitation into Fred’s arms, not saving the kiss until the end of the ceremony.

Everyone laughs, releasing the tension, and the ceremony proceeds without a hitch, with Inspector Tucci reading their vows from a printout he got off the internet.

I’m not guessing this; he told us so as part of his spiel.

It was, how do you say, said to get a laugh.

Like this.

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