The best man

Chapter 12

During the party, while everyone is enjoying themselves, chatting and laughing around the beautifully arranged tables, I notice Anne sitting alone at the front. She's talking to her sister, their heads close together as they giggle over something. Anne looks so happy, glowing even, and for a moment, I feel a pang of something I can't quite name—maybe guilt, maybe pity. I can't shake the feeling that everything she's built, all the joy she feels, is based on lies. But where is Conor? My eyes search for him instinctively, wondering why he's not by her side. Maybe he's out there smoking. Then again, why do I even care?

Trying to push those thoughts aside, I excuse myself to the restroom. As I walk through the corridor, I hear noises from behind the door—a woman's voice, laughter, followed by a man's. It feels oddly out of place. I pause at the door, my hand on the handle, hesitating. The laughter grows louder, and I knock lightly, unsure what I'll find on the other side.

A voice—a woman's—calls out, "Come later, please. We're busy in here." My stomach twists. I take a step back, deciding to wait. Maybe it's just some couple sneaking away for some alone time, I think, trying to shrug it off. After all, weddings can make people act in ways they normally wouldn't. I stand there, pretending I don't mind waiting, but a strange feeling nags at the back of my mind.

Minutes pass, and then I hear faint whispers, followed by a different voice, "They must be gone." The door creaks open slowly, and my pulse quickens. First, one of the bridesmaids steps out—her hair is a mess, her makeup slightly smudged, and her dress looks ruffled in a way that's hard to ignore. She doesn't even glance at me, just keeps her head down as she hurries past, looking guilty, almost panicked.

And then I see him.

Conor.

I freeze, my heart hammering in my chest. Of all the people to walk out after her, of all the possibilities running through my head, none of them prepared me for this. Conor. On his wedding day, sneaking out of the bathroom after what is painfully obvious—he was with her. One of Anne's bridesmaids. I feel sick.

He doesn't notice me at first, too busy straightening his tie, fixing his hair, as if nothing's out of the ordinary. But when his eyes finally meet mine, he freezes. For a second, there's a flicker of something—panic? Guilt? But just as quickly, it's gone, replaced by that infuriating calm, that same façade he always puts on. He straightens his posture, his face betraying no emotion, as if what just happened never happened at all.