Wedding Vows Broken by Her Black Stranger

The champagne flute in Gwen’s hand had gone warm an hour ago. She stood alone in the narrow side hallway off the grand ballroom, back pressed to cool marble, listening to the distant roar of laughter and the band grinding through another slow number she and Rafael were supposed to be dancing to. Twenty-eight years old, white silk still clinging to her hips and the curve of her breasts, veil already discarded somewhere among the empty chairs. Married less than four hours and already invisible. Rafael had vanished into a circle of his college friends and business partners the moment the cake was cut, his hand never once finding the small of her back the way it used to. The heavy diamond on her finger felt like a joke.

She closed her eyes and exhaled, the sound almost a sob. The hallway smelled of polished wood and distant gardenias. Dim wall sconces threw long shadows. Her nipples, still sensitive from the morning’s rushed, distracted fuck that had been their last as an unmarried couple, rubbed against the lace of the corset every time she breathed.

Footsteps. Slow. Deliberate.

She opened her eyes.