“She said that?”
“Yes.”
“Exact words?”
“Yes.”
“Who heard?”
“Celeste’s assistant. Caroline. Maybe Arthur.”
I felt heat move through my face.
Rachel touched my arm.
“I’m sorry.”
“Did Julian hear?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Did you tell him?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“I thought you should decide what happens.”
I nodded.
That was what real respect looked like.
Information.
Choice.
Not protection through silence.
I found Julian near the bar.
“We need to talk.”
His smile faded.
“Now?”
“Yes.”
We walked toward an empty path beside the reflecting pool.
The ballroom lights shimmered across the water.
I told him what Rachel said.
He closed his eyes.
“My mother should not have said that.”
“That’s your response?”
“What do you want me to say?”
“She took the exact photograph we agreed not to take.”
“You stepped away.”
“I went for water.”
“Everyone was standing there.”
“So?”
“Natalie, the photographer was packing up.”
“She was packing because the list was finished.”
He sighed.
“It was one photograph.”
“It was the one photograph we discussed.”
“My mother wanted a picture with her children.”
“She can have one.”
“She did.”
“At our wedding, during formal portraits, while I was gone.”
He rubbed the back of his neck.
“This is exactly what I was worried about.”
“What?”
“You making the wedding about whether my family validates you enough.”
