But then I realize—she's noticed the bruises. That's why she's looking at me like that. A prickle of heat crawls up my neck, but I force myself to stay still. My hands clench into fists on my lap so I don't fidget with the hair Mrs. Monti just spent several minutes on.
"Hi, you must be Gianna." Her voice is soft, almost musical. "I'm Elira."
She tucks a stray curl behind her ear, and I catch the glint of a large rock on her finger. My breath catches. She's married. And Michael can't marry me if he's already married to her, which means—
She's married to someone else.
The tightness in my belly unfurls a little. "Hello," I greet cautiously.
She glances back at Mrs. Monti. "I'm sorry, can I have a moment alone with the bride?"
Mrs. Monti raises a questioning brow at me, and I nod. "Give us thirty minutes, please." I'm curious about what the redhead has to say—I get the feeling she has something important to discuss.
