The priest lifts the gold band and stares at an empty wheelchair in the center of the aisle.
"Is this some kind of joke?" a matron in pearls hisses from the second row.
"Do it, Fernanda," Mrs. Hayes whispers, voice soft as a knife. "Do it and be finished."
Fernanda stands frozen in her gown, the silk tight at her shoulders. Cameras flicker. Phones lift. Someone murmurs, "They really bought the theater for this."
"Fern," Leaf says right at her ear, sharp and loud. "Say no."
Fern moves before she can think. She takes the ring from the priest's hand and slides the band across the empty wheel's armrest.
"Do you, Fernanda Hayes, take—" the priest begins.
Fern beats him. "No," she says. Her voice does not shake.
Gasps crash through the ballroom like thrown stones.
"She said no? She actually said no?" a banker's wife shrieks.
Mrs. Hayes's hand clamps a napkin so tight the lace wrinkles. "Stand down. Sit down," she orders, voice brittle.
"Finish the ceremony," Mr. Hayes says, and his tone tries to be authoritative. "This isn't the time for theatrics."
Someone in the front snaps a photograph. A camera flash catches Fern's face and halts the world.
Leaf yanks Fern by the elbow. "Come on. Move."
Fern doesn't answer. Her heel scuffs the carpet. Guests tilt their heads, eager predators.
"You're humiliated," a cousin snarls into his girlfriend's ear. "It's perfect television."
"Perfect for whom
