The booking alone cost more than my parents had paid for their first home.
When I hesitated, she smiled.
“You only marry into the Ashford family once.”
The sentence sounded generous.
It also made the wedding feel like an Ashford production from the beginning.
My parents offered to contribute, but Eleanor refused.
“We have certain standards for large events,” she explained during our first planning dinner.
My mother’s face tightened.
Julian did not notice.
I touched Mom’s knee beneath the table.
She smiled and changed the subject.
I worked as a senior architectural designer. My parents were both public school teachers before retiring. We were comfortable, not wealthy.
They had saved for my wedding since I was a child, even though I repeatedly told them not to.
When the Ashfords took over most expenses, Dad transferred the money into an investment account for us.
Eleanor heard about it and said, “That’s very practical of them.”
Practical was her preferred word for anything she considered modest.
