It was a quarter past two in the morning as Victor slowly made his way down the stairway. He took a long gaze at the family portrait hanging at the base of the stairs. It was such a beautiful family. He had a lovely wife and amazing daughter. He couldn't let this slip away from him, he wouldn't allow it.
It was just another in a long string of restless nights he'd been having for quite some time. Every time he closed his eyes, he felt like he was drowning in his own thoughts. He felt like a fraud and assumed everyone knew it. People seemed to be treating him differently. Is it possible some of them had figured it out? Or did they treat him the same, and he was simply over-analyzing the situation? That was it, just overthinking. No one could know.
He made his way into his private study and logged onto his work computer. He scrolled through his email. There were several new and unread, but not the one he was waiting on. Frustrated, he turned off the screen. The information you want always takes the longest to retrieve. He needed a drink.
He got up and walked into the kitchen. The wood floor was cold beneath his bare feet. He pulled a bottle from the cabinet and poured himself a small glass of scotch.
"Do you sink, he knows?"
Victor turned to see his wife in the doorway. She was wearing her dark pink floral nightgown. "No, he doesn't," Victor took a sip.
"Whaht ahbout ze brathair?" Alessandra stepped around the counter and pulled out a stool to sit on.
"I'm not sure," Victor let out a sigh, "He could just be here for the wedding." His gaze met his wife's, and without saying a word, they both knew they didn't believe that possible. Not with what was at stake.
"We'll be okay," Alessandra said, "No mahttair whaht."
"Yes, we will," Victor said, half-heartedly, taking another sip, "Whatever it takes."
She smiled, "Whatevair eet tahkes."
Victor watched as his wife made her way back to the stairs. He loved her more than anything and would hate for her to be hurt by his poor choices.
He lifted the glass to his mouth. Finding it empty, he reached for the bottle for a refill. He allowed himself to dwell in self-pity a while longer, then decided it was time to do something.
He walked back to his office, turned his computer screen back on, and sank into his leather chair. He scrolled back through the email, looking for a specific chain. It could wait until tomorrow, but he liked to get things done when the problems arose. He dialed the number in the wedding planner's signature.
The call went straight to voicemail. He didn't care.
"Tiffany, this is Victor Bissett. I appreciate everything you've done, I know this is last minute, but I’d like to move the wedding to as soon as possible."