The Bride Wore Size 12 (Heather Wells 5)

And if I do trip, what’s the worst that can happen?

I’ll get back up again, like I always have.

“Okay, Dad,” I say, and slip my hand through the crook of his arm.

The Grand Ballroom is even grander—and larger—than I remember it from last night’s rehearsal, especially when it’s filled with hundreds of chairs, and those chairs are filled with hundreds of people, most of whom I don’t recognize. My heart begins beating so quickly when I see them, I’m certain it’s going to burst. The music is beautiful, but it can’t drown out the sound of my pulse.

Still, the girls look lovely as they move slowly down the aisle. Not slowly enough, however. Before I know it, the music changes, and it’s my turn. Everyone is standing.

No, no, don’t stand. Turn around. Sit down. Don’t look at me. Nothing to see here, folks. Go home.

But no one’s listening. Everyone’s looking at me, and smiling too, and whispering to one another. What are they whispering about? Me. They’re whispering about me? Shut up! Stop talking about me. I hope they’re saying nice things. They must be because they’re smiling. Where’s Cooper? Where’s Cooper? Where’s—

Oh, there he is. I see him. He’s only a tiny blob because the aisle is so long, but he has to be the tall man in the tuxedo standing so proudly at the end of the aisle, without crutches or even a cane because the doctor declared him such a speedy healer. To be honest, he’s still limping a little, but he’s sworn to take it easy for the—

What’s that flash? Oh, I see. Some of the people are taking photos with their phones. The flashes dazzle my eyes. My God, I can’t see. No, wait; I can. I can see. I’m starting to recognize people in the seats. There’s Detective Canavan. He looks incredibly uncomfortable in his tuxedo, but quite distinguished as well. The excited-looking woman beside him in the new dress, taking all the photos, must be his wife. I’m glad, actually, that Nicole invited them.

Okay, maybe not so glad that she invited Carl, who’s sitting in front of them and is toasting me with a cocktail he’s already secured from the bar, but whatever. Julio and his wife look so pleased to be here (without actually being drunk before the reception’s even started).

And there’s Sarah, from the office in Fischer Hall. What’s she doing here? Oh, right, I invited her. Who’s that next to her?

Oh, Dave Fernandez, that’s right, she asked if she could bring a plus one. Dave moved into Jasmine Albright’s room after we finished removing all her belongings, and is proving to be an amazing asset to the staff. The other day, while I was talking to him at the front desk while he was putting braille stickers on the mailboxes, a group of freshmen boys walked by wearing backpacks, and Dave called out to them, “Hey, are you going to share those with me?”

“Share what?” the boys asked.

“Those beers you have in your backpacks,” Dave said.

I made the boys unzip their backpacks. Somehow they’d gotten hold of three twelve-packs of bottled Budweiser. I confiscated the beer, then asked Dave how he’d known. He’d cocked his head at me as if I were crazy.

“I could hear them,” he said. “Couldn’t you?”

Sitting in front of Sarah and Dave are Muffy Fowler and her date—I have no idea who that guy is. He looks rich, though. Which would explain why Muffy looks so happy.

Beside them is Tom Snelling with his partner, Steven, the New York College basketball coach. Tom looks extremely handsome in his cream-colored tuxedo. He catches my eye and lays a hand upon his heart and mouths the famous line “You complete me.”

In front of Tom is Eva from the medical examiner’s office and . . . oh my God, Special Agent Lancaster. He looks incredibly hot—I can see that Tom thinks so too, since he’s taking a huge amount of photos of him, though he’s trying to be subtle about it. It’s all right, though. Special Agent Lancaster is doing us a solid, arranging for both Prince Rashid and his new bride to receive asylum in the United States.

The fallout from Qalif hasn’t been subtle, though it’s been kept very hushed up in the press. No more leaks to the Express, though Cameron Ripley’s been released from the hospital and has returned to his position as editor. He’s been occupying himself with stories on the no-confidence vote on President Allington (not that this will have any effect whatsoever on the way things are run around the school). He’s also apparently trained his baby rat to do tricks, including to come when called.

What Cameron—and the other members of the press—doesn’t know is that Rashid’s father pulled his $500 million donation to New York College in a rage as soon as he found out what Rashid had done—married a girl of his own choosing, and one of “common” blood, at that. The general sheikh cut off not only New York College, but Rashid, without a cent. The Escalade, the home theater, the lunches at Nobu—all gone, in the blink of an eye.

But Rashid, as far as I can tell, has never been happier. He’s gotten to keep his room and his bodyguard detail, of course—courtesy of the U.S. government—because his father also vowed to send armed assassins to America to kill Ameera, and make the prince a widower, and thus eliminate the problem.

Rashid’s mother, on the other hand—the first and oldest of the general sheikh’s nine wives—vowed to do the opposite: welcome her son and his new bride back to Qalif whenever they wish to come, and to support them in any way she can. She’s even opened a Twitter account—the first royal woman ever to do so in Qalif—in order to publicly vent her dissatisfaction with the way her husband is handling the situation. Rashid told me the other day, with a smile, “Spring is coming to Qalif. It may take a little while. But it’s coming.”

Ameera’s moved into the prince’s room, so Kaileigh got what her mother most wanted for her in the world:

A single.

Well, a single within a suite, since she still lives with Chantelle and Nishi.

The only person who hasn’t gotten what he wanted out of Rashid’s coming to New York College is President Allington. His half billion is gone, vanished somehow—poof!—because it turns out the sheikh’s donation was only ever promised, never actually sent.

The worst part is, the president already spent it on plans to build a new state-of-the-art fitness center for his beloved basketball team.