The first thing my husband did after cutting our wedding cake was grab the back of my neck and slam my face into it. The second thing he did was laugh while two hundred people stared—and that was the moment I thought, I leave now… or I may never leave alive.
For three seconds, I didn’t move.
Buttercream filled my nose. Champagne-soaked laughter rippled through the ballroom. My cheek burned where it had struck the wooden cake platform beneath the frosting.
Then I heard Derek’s mother, Patricia, shriek with delight.
“Oh, look at her! Derek, you ruined her makeup!”
Derek tightened his fingers around my shoulder.
“Smile, Claire,” he whispered near my ear. “Don’t embarrass me.”
I lifted my head slowly.
White frosting covered my hair, eyelashes, and the front of my silk wedding gown. A thin streak of blood ran from my nostril.
The laughter weakened.
