Chapter 2

Jenna Davis POV:

Donovan's smile froze for an instant. He frowned slightly, a flicker of impatience in his eyes: "What are you talking about? The joke is over, Jenna. You've already proved you love me. There's no need to keep standing on the railing."

I gripped the cold iron railing behind me, desperately suppressing the violent convulsions tearing through my internal organs.

Heather rolled her eyes, crossed her arms over her chest: "Oh, please! Don't tell me you're being a sore loser! We gave you the ultimate romantic confirmation! Any other girl would be crying tears of joy by now!"

The group of friends behind them burst into laughter.

"Exactly," one of Donovan's brothers egged on. "Donovan stayed in a hotel for three whole days just to give you a chance to prove yourself!"

I ignored the noise and stared only at Donovan: "Where were you these three days?"

"The lakeside resort suite at the end of the road." He waved his hand carelessly. "We hooked up the high-definition cameras in the memorial hall. I watched you on my laptop the whole time."

My knees nearly gave way: "You were watching?"

"Of course. Otherwise how could it be called a test?"

"You watched your mother slap me until the corner of my mouth split?"

"She was acting according to the script. Don't be so sensitive."

"You watched your sisters pour buckets of dirty water over my head while I was kneeling?"

"They got a little carried away, but didn't that make it more realistic?" Donovan said without a trace of guilt. "You didn't leave. That's what matters. You proved yourself."

He grabbed my wrist, saw the bruises, and casually squeezed it: "See? You're fine. They'll fade before the wedding tomorrow. Get in the car."

Before I could speak, Heather suddenly staggered and fell onto the asphalt: "Ow! Donovan, my ankle! I think I twisted it!"

Donovan instantly let go of my bruised arm and rushed over, dropping to one knee, cradling her foot in his hands: "Where does it hurt?"

Heather leaned softly against his chest: "It hurts so much... I can't walk. What if it's broken?"

Donovan shouted to his friends: "Clear the back seat of the SUV! I'm taking her to the emergency room right now!"

Heather lay against his shoulder, her gaze meeting mine, and the corner of her mouth curled into a cold smirk. Morning light fell on the Bender family heirloom ring on her left hand, stinging my eyes.

That ring should have been placed on my hand at our wedding. Before my late mother died, she had met Donovan's grandmother, and both families had long agreed that this heirloom belonged to the bride.

"Donovan," I said, my voice trembling as my stomach churned, "that ring on her hand is the token belonging to our marriage."

Donovan did not even look up as he lifted Heather into his arms: "Heather helped us so much. What's wrong with letting her wear it for a few days? She's really injured now. Don't be so petty over a piece of jewelry."

Yesterday afternoon, his mother had been wearing that very heavy gold ring when she slapped me across the face and cut my skin open.

Heather buried her face in Donovan's neck, sweet and mocking: "Don't worry, Jenna. Tomorrow before the wedding altar, I'll make sure to wipe it clean and give it back to you. Consider it a wedding gift."

Donovan carried Heather toward the SUV, leaving the huge bouquet of pink lilies lying alone in the mud at my feet.

I slowly climbed down from the railing.

I bent down and picked up the flowers from the mud.

A sharp stem pierced my palm and cut the tender skin on my thumb. A drop of bright red blood fell onto the pure white wrapping paper and quickly spread into a glaring dark stain.

Donovan turned his head the moment before opening the SUV door and looked at me with furrowed brows.

"Look at you, getting mud and blood all over the flowers. I got up at five in the morning specifically to buy these for you, and you really never know how to appreciate anything."

I looked down at the bouquet in my arms. It was stuffed with stargazer lilies, giving off a strong pollen smell.

Heather loved lilies most.

And I was severely allergic to lily pollen. Even just getting close to smell them would make my throat swell and choke.

Seven years. He remembered that Heather liked lilies, but he could not remember that lilies could kill me.

"Donovan," I pressed the bloodstained wrapping paper tightly against my chest, my voice hoarse and low, "what if I didn't come to the bridge to jump at all? What if I had already taken poison before I left the house?"