I reached into my handbag, found my phone by touch, and turned the screen on. I didn’t take it out—I just left the bag open on my lap, microphone facing up.
“How did you do it?” I asked. “The whole thing. The paramedics, the doctor…”
He hesitated. Then muttered, “Daniel helped. The paramedics were actors. They thought it was for some kind of filmed event. And the doctor owed him a favor.”
By then, people around us were openly listening. An older woman across the aisle leaned forward.
“Excuse me,” she said. “I don’t mean to interfere, but did this man pretend to die at his own wedding?”
Karl’s face darkened. “This is private.”
“It stopped being private when you started confessing on public transportation,” she said.
A younger guy behind us made a face. “Okay, but his parents sound insane.”
The woman snapped, “And so does he.”
