At the next stop, the doors opened. People boarded.
One of them slid into the empty seat beside me, and a familiar scent hit me so strongly it made my stomach twist.
Karl’s cologne.
I turned my head.
It was Karl.
part2
Not someone who resembled him. Not grief playing tricks on me. Karl. Alive, pale, tired—but undeniably real.
Before I could scream, he leaned close and said, “Don’t scream. You need to know the whole truth.”
My voice came out thin and raw. “You died at our wedding.”
“I had to. I did it for us.”
“What the heck are you talking about? I buried you.”
A couple across the aisle glanced over.
Karl lowered his voice. “Please. Just listen. My parents cut me off years ago because I refused to join the family business. I wanted my own life. They said I was throwing everything away.”
I stared at him.
“When they found out I was getting married, they offered me a chance to ‘fix my mistake.’”
“What offer?”
“They said they’d restore my access to the family money if I came back. If I returned with my wife.”
I blinked. “What does this have to do with you faking your death at our wedding?”
He glanced around the bus, then back at me. “I agreed.”
